Reservation (Preservation Series), page 4
I slowly pivoted around, finding that familiar wicked glint in her eyes. Adjusting the grip on my briefcase, I breathed deeply. “You’re wrong. People do change, if they want to. And I want to. I’m no longer interested in what you have to offer. So the next time you step foot in my classroom like this, I won’t hesitate to—”
“To what, call campus security?” She threw her head back and laughed. “Please. I’ve already been scolded for being caught in the act with you on campus. You think I care what a few security officers will do? It won’t hurt my grades, if that’s what you’re thinking. And if I recall, you almost lost your job over that little incident. You really think crying to campus security about me will do a damn thing?”
Her mischievous smile only made me glare at her harder, furious that she was right. Even though the school’s fraternization policy didn’t completely prohibit student-teacher relations, it definitely frowned up them, especially when those relations were happening right here, on their campus. Administration wanted any and all fraternization to happen off campus, if it had to happen at all. My reputation with the dean had certainly been less than spotless since being busted with Miss Mercer, and reporting something as petty as this would only make me look worse. It didn’t matter that this was my last semester at the university. I wanted to leave with at least a shred of dignity intact.
“I want you to leave me alone, Amy. Are we clear?”
“Okay, keep telling yourself that, Mr. Campbell.” She placed her hands on her hips, that naughty smile still curling her lips. “When this monogamous affair of yours starts going south, though—and there’s no doubt in my mind it will—just remember how much you loved bending me over in that locker room. Remember the control I gave you.” She slinked forward and let her ass brush against me as she squeezed by, sliding a glance over her shoulder. “No rings, no rules, no expectations. Just the way you like it.” With a wink, she was gone, and I was left staring at the classroom door, my appetite for lunch suddenly gone. It was clear to me then, what this new path of mine required. What it was all about. It was more than a road to redemption, more than righting my wrongs with Kate.
It was about burning and building bridges. And Amy was one bridge I needed to burn to the ground.
***
“Hey, Sam. Damn, it’s good to see you. Been a long time.” I tossed my blazer across the counter and sank down in the chair, my fingers moving to unbutton my shirt. I’d blown off lunch after Amy nixed my appetite and went straight to see Sam instead.
“Too long, Ryan. How’ve you been, baby? Coming straight from work, I take it?” She greeted me with a wide smile, her bright red lips popping against her pale skin. They were always striking against her pitch-black hair, which sat in heavy, loose curls around her shoulders. She was a spitting image of a 1950s pin-up girl. A Bettie Page covered in tattoos, badass bangs, curves and all.
“Yeah, just had two classes this morning. I have a business dinner tonight, but I have a few hours. Thanks for squeezing me in. Things have been busy as hell, but good. How’s Jess been?”
“She’s been great, but oh, man, she keeps bringing these dogs home from work—you know how she gives me those puppy dog eyes and I cave every damn time? Anyway, we’ve already adopted three of them, and I told her no more. So between that and work, I have my hands full.” She laughed and started preparing everything, turning to take my shirt. Setting it on top of my blazer, she returned to look at my bare skin and gave me that devious look of hers. “So, what’s the deal, Romeo? How are the birdies holdin’ up? Still prompting lots of panty dropping, no doubt?”
I chuckled and shook my head, following her gaze to my raven tattoos. “Nah,” I ran my hand over the black ink, “not quite.” Well, they sure as hell dropped Kate’s panties often, but I wasn’t one to kiss and tell.
“Mmmm, ‘tis a sad day in Ryan Land when the panty dropping comes to a halt, ay? Does this mean you finally got tired of being Mr. No Good Manwhore? Have you finally found a girl?”
“Ouch,” I faked a punch to the gut, squinting my eyes in pain, “shit, I forgot you totally don’t mince words with me, do you?”
“Hell no, baby. Life’s too short for bullshit, that’s Jess’s motto. And I stand by it one hundred percent. So who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“The woman I clearly need to meet if she tamed your sorry ass?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you wanna play me, baby? Who has the needle in her hand right now, huh? Out with it.” She cocked a black brow and I sighed heavily.
She had me.
I knew it was coming, I guess I just wasn’t ready for it. Sam had been a good friend of mine for years—since I’d been with Jamie. I met her with Jamie, actually, during college. We ran into each other at a club one night. The band had been playing a terrible Radiohead cover—terrible because they butchered it, not because of any lack of brilliance on Radiohead’s part—and we instantly bonded when we sought refuge at the bar for a drink to try and tune out the tortuous sounds. Jamie wasn’t threatened by Sam, since Sam was there with her girlfriend, Jess, and I felt as if I’d known the girl for years after shootin’ the shit for less than twenty minutes.
It was instant friendship.
Since then, we both got busy and lost touch. Well, it was more like Sam just got lost. She couldn’t stand Jamie and thought she was all wrong for me from day one. Then I began my love and leave ‘em streak when things ended with Jamie, and it hurt her to watch me rip through women like tornadoes. She’d never stopped being my friend, just made herself scarcer, loving me from a distance. While I was engaged to Jamie, I’d met up with Sam and Jess every now and then on my own, but gradually we saw each other less and less. Until I showed up at her shop after Jamie left, demanding she ink me.
I remembered the look she gave me like it was yesterday.
She approached me with her palms up, cautious like she was approaching an animal with rabies. After asking me over and over again if I was sure I wanted the ravens, she finally gave in and did the job. She’d warned me that every time I looked at the birds, I’d think of Jamie, but I told her that was the point.
I wanted to remind myself how much self control, confidence, pride, and sanity I’d allowed myself to lose because of her. By giving my heart to the woman, I’d lost sight of reality entirely, was consumed with my own sort of madness. And that madness was more than just a result of being burned by a lover. People cheated all the time. Hell, I knew there was nothing about that scenario that made me all that different from the millions who were also cheated on. The madness that ensued because of Jamie’s unfaithfulness was about more than just her betrayal.
It was about me betraying myself.
When I missed the appointment with the publisher the morning I’d found Jason between her legs, it was then that I realized just how much I’d lost myself in the illusion of what I thought we were. I’d always prided myself on having a healthy sense of identity, but when Jamie left, it made me question everything I’d ever believed about myself. I felt blind, stupid, and crushed, knowing she’d leveled my trust and possibly tainted me for any woman who came after her. Not only that, but the only other love I had, my dream to be a published author, was destroyed because of that distraction. Looking back, I realized it was only temporarily destroyed, but at the time, it felt pretty damn permanent.
Still to this day, I couldn’t help but mentally kick myself for not getting up and going to that meeting anyway, even though the publisher made it clear I wasn’t welcome. Instead of sitting on that damn living room floor and giving into that breakdown when Jamie walked out the door, I should’ve pulled myself up and charged over there, demanding to speak with them and show them how badly I wanted the deal. How I wouldn’t let them down and how they had to publish my novel, they just had to.
I’d known I could’ve pursued other publishing deals, but my spirit was broken. Not only was my first impression completely tarnished with this publisher, but I was faced with having to start the submission process all over again—which wasn’t exactly a short process—and basically start from scratch, after I’d been so, so close. Hell, the contract was on the table, the ink fresh and ready to sign. All we needed to do was hammer out a few details.
Sam had understood all this the day I came to the shop asking for the tattoos.
I sighed again, ready to answer her.
“Fine. Her name’s Kate.”
At that, she dropped what she was doing and pulled up a stool, giving me her full attention. “Ah, a classic name. I like her already. Spill.”
I eyed her cautiously. “Don’t judge.”
“When do I ever?”
“She was a student of mine.”
“Surprise, surprise.” She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.
“Hey, I said no judging!”
“Excuse me, Romeo, but I never did approve of you turning all Man Whore on your students when Jamie left. It was so...extreme for you. Not to mention wrong.”
I tipped my head back against the chair, exhaling loudly.
“Hey,” I felt her fingers tug at my forearm, which was now gripping the armrest, “I still blame that jackass Ian for sending you down that path. That wasn’t you.”
“What?” My head snapped up, my eyes finding hers again. “How is that Ian’s fault?”
“He was a bad influence.”
“He was only doing what you were doing, telling me to move on and forget Jamie.”
She huffed, her sarcasm running deep. “Um, yeah, okay, I said forget Jamie, not sleep with half of the student population, dude.” She crossed her arms smugly and cocked a brow. “It was Ian’s bright idea to take a sledge hammer to your moral code. I simply wanted you to get over the bitch. You know, prove to yourself that any woman would be thrilled to get their hands on a fine piece of ass like you. You could’ve gone about that waaayyyy differently.”
I laughed. The woman had a point. Ian, my best friend from college, watched me devote myself to Jamie and was the first one to give me the “I told you so” spiel the second she cheated on me. Then he made it his life’s mission to take me out and get me plastered until I took someone home, and insisted I start taking my students up on their offers. He was all for Amy Mercer and her kinky ways. Finally, when I did start taking his advice, whenever we went out together, he acted like a complete douche when he wasn’t the one getting any action. He was equally cranky when Amy didn’t invite him to play with us. He pitched a fit like a three-year-old boy.
I stopped hanging out with him after that.
Okay, in retrospect, maybe he wasn’t that great of a friend. But for a while, he was all I really had in the way of guy friends. Most of my close friends from college moved out of state after graduation, and then there was the typical plague that wiped out any friendships associated with the person I broke up with. Of course, Jamie’s friends took her side, and that left me alone. I can’t say I minded it, though. It was nice for once to not have to put my energy into high-maintenance friendships—the last thing I wanted after Jamie cheated. I just didn’t have the energy, not to mention the focus, for it.
“Alright, there might be some truth to that,” I said, loosening my grip on the armrest, “but come on, Sam, it was all my doing. I chose to do that shit all on my own. Ian just...encouraged me.”
“How is the little punk, anyway?”
“Don’t know.” I shrugged. “We went our separate ways after he threw a fucking hissy fit over something ridiculous.” I loved Sam to death, but I wouldn’t be telling her exactly what that ridiculousness was. No need to share the gory details about my threesomes with Amy and lower her opinion of me any further.
“Ah, friends come and go. He’ll get over it. Maybe you guys will kiss and make up some day.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
“Anyway, back to Kate. So she was just another student—”
“No,” I replied quickly, my jaw tensing. “She’s nothing like the others.” I felt a defensive ball form in my gut, Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. She straightened and her face grew serious. “She’s fucking rare, Sam. A fine wine. Elegant, down to earth, smart...I can’t even...” My eyes wandered aimlessly around the shop, searching for the words, jaw still tight.
“Oh, brother, you’ve got it bad.”
My eyes met hers, softer now, my body relaxing. A crooked grin returned to my lips. “I proposed.”
“Holy shit!” She startled me, flying up from the stool and locking me in a bear hug, her squeals deafening my ears. “When do I meet this woman? I need to meet her, like right fucking now, dude. Bring her over for dinner. I’ll cook. Come on, baby, don’t hold out on me.”
I grunted from the impact of her tackle, my breath stirring her jet-black hair. “She’s in St. Lucia right now. She’ll be home in three weeks to go dress shopping. Can we bring two of her friends? You have to meet these guys, too, Sam. They’re a riot.”
“Hell, yes! Of course Ry, anything for you and Kate. I just know I’m gonna love this chick. She’s rockin’ my world already and I haven’t even met her.” Pulling back to rest on the stool again, her hand clenched my forearm, her smile so wide it broke me in two. Her eyes glistened.
“Samantha Gardenia, are you crying on me over here?” I leaned forward to rest my arms on my knees, holding her hand.
“You deserve this, Ryan.” Her lips thinned as she worked the tears back. “I saw how that bitch changed you. I didn’t like that Ryan—whoever he was—I’ll be honest. But this one,” she scanned me from head to toe with a fond grin, “he looks good on you, baby.”
“Thanks, Sam.” I squeezed her hand, in awe of how fucking lucky I was to have a friend like her. She was the real kind. The kind I could go not seeing for months and months, and when I did see her again, we just picked up again right where we left off. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“That makes two of us.” She clapped in resolution. “Okay, so let’s get you inked and you can tell me all about this rad chick, starting with why she’s in St. Lucia right now.”
I straightened in my seat and started rattling off a recap about the past month’s events, tensing at the first touch of the needle on my chest. The only thing that actually felt better than the sting of the needle was being inside Kate.
And that was something I was counting down the days to feel again.
***
Chez Danyele was bustling when I arrived, full of businessmen gabbing over brandy and couples enjoying a romantic evening out. I spotted a pale woman in a black cocktail dress, and watched as she accepted a spoonful of ème brûlée from her male companion. I whispered Kate’s name aloud, as if I could somehow will her to be the woman in the black dress. It was the exact kind of dress Kate would wear, and she’d look ten times better in it.
“Ryan Campbell?” A voice greeted me the moment the waiter escorted me to a booth in the corner. “Neda’s told me great things about you.”
“That’d be me,” I said with a smile, holding out my hand. “Neda’s fantastic.”
“Danny. Great to meet you. And I agree. I’m a lucky man.” He stood and shook my hand firmly, then sat back down, straightening his tie. He must’ve been mid-forties, with red hair and traces of a goatee dusting his face.
“Likewise. So Bob tells me you’re my new PR king?” I sat and opened the menu.
“Well, talk about pressure,” he laughed, waving the waiter over. “I can only hope I live up to that label.”
“The duck confit, please,” I told the waiter, handing him my menu. Danny ordered the same and we dove right into business. “So, I’m a little taken aback by all this ‘celebrity’ mumbo-jumbo. Bob said something about you throwing me into the limelight?”
“Ah, so he filled you in.”
“Briefly, yeah. Said this was your and Neda’s area of expertise and that you guys would have to elaborate.”
“And how do you feel about it?”
“I don’t like it. Being in the spotlight, I mean. It’s not at all what I pictured when I decided to sign on with Bob. I’m a writer, not an actor.”
“What I’m proposing we do with your image is a bit unconventional, I admit. Neda will be involved, though, and from what I understand, you feel good about the direction she’s taken your career so far.”
There was that word again—image. Writers didn’t have images. They were supposed to craft their stories in the shadows, curled up in a reclusive hole somewhere. Then they sent their work out into the world, for people to interpret as they pleased. Breath of life brought to art. Live, create, release. Job done. The end. So what the hell did images have to do with writers, and why did I have to have one?
Danny continued. “But I don’t doubt my approach will work to your benefit and make your boss—who is also my boss—very happy. It’s a win-win situation.”
“So I’ve been told,” I mumbled, taking a sip of water. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this Danny guy quite yet. He seemed easy going and friendly enough, but his cool indifference about turning me into a dancing bear and his ‘how does it make you feel’ approach wasn’t making me feel warm and fuzzy. Underneath the surface, there was still a pitch.
And I hadn’t taken the bait yet.
“So level with me,” I crossed my arms in front of me on the table and deadpanned him, “what are we talking here?”
He leaned forward, folding his hands. “You said you’re a writer, not an actor. How are the two really different? Think about it. You’re writing about fictional characters. You might not be portraying them physically, but you’re still painting their canvas visually. It’s the same thing when it comes to the public eye. You’re the image behind the characters you create, and your readers only see the image you choose to present. You shake hands at signings, you do interviews and talk about your inspirations and whatnot, and you encourage people to buy your work. In essence, that’s a salesman’s job. And how is being a salesman any different than playing actor?”
