he says, bringing a tumbler half-full of honeyed whiskey to his lips.
I watch his movements, aware something must’ve happened over the past couple of days to warrant this change in his attitude. “You’re not a fool, and it was good advice. Whatever happened with Sam and his ex is in the past. I can’t let it hold us back.”
Hart drops the glass back to the bar with a dull thud. “The past has a way of creepin’ in, upsetting the balance of things.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confusion trumping the nervous excitement I’ve felt since leaving the apartment.
“Nothin’. Listen, how about you and I head out of here? I could do with some fresh air.”
“I’d love to, really, but I want to wait around a bit, see if I can meet up with Sam.”
Hart pushes himself off the bar, getting to his feet. I’m half tempted to throw out my arms and walk behind him, the way you do with babies when they’re taking their first steps. But despite the fact he appears to have met the better end of a bottle, he remains miraculously upright. “C’mon, darlin’, this ain’t the place for you. Let’s step outside for a bit.”
“If I didn’t know any better,” I say, trying to read Hart’s serious expression, “I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”
“It’s just not a good night is all,” he says, offering me a hand.
I’m on the verge of accepting it when Jason’s boisterous laugh erupts from the back of the room. I ignore Hart and stand, leaning so I can see through a gap in the dance floor. I spot Roxy leaning on one leg against the wall, her beautiful brown hair falling in a sheet down her back. Her graceful neck is exposed as she throws back her head and laughs heartily. I lift my hand to wave, but she pushes off the wall and turns away from me, looking down at someone seated in front of her. She places a hand on his shoulder and trails her fingers toward his neck, the move seductive and sexy. I can’t help but feel a little smug. Obviously the perfume’s working its magic.
I step away from Hart. I want to say hello to Roxy, but he places an arthritic hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, darlin’, you don’t need to be here for this.”
“What? Why?” I ask, confused by his persistence. As I look across the room at Roxy and the victim of the Havana Vanille, a hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I watch as she leans over the person in the chair. I can see the black thong she’s wearing peeking over the top of her jeans as she leans down further, her head moving to the side so she can whisper in his ear. Sam’s face comes into view. I watch, disbelieving, as he listens patiently to whatever propositions Roxy’s murmuring to him. He’s not smiling, and his hands remain in his lap, but there’s an unmistakable look on his face, a look that’s stuck between the past and the present. I know that look. It’s the same one that crosses my face whenever Tim resurfaces, confusing me.
I feel trapped; the soles of my shoes remain stubbornly stuck to the floor, refusing to move me from this spot. A sickening realization washes over me. Sam is Roxy’s ex. I watch as she sways her hips back and forth, touching Sam on the shoulder, then on his face. He looks up to her and says something I can’t make out. She brushes the hair back from his forehead, her hands lingering on him. I gasp for air, not realizing I’ve been holding my breath. I can’t stop watching them. This must be why he’s been so coy about his past. Roxy was telling the truth. Her ex, Sam, is still in love with her.
Confusion, disappointment, jealousy and anger are moving through me all at once. I can’t believe I fell for his act. I fought against every instinct I have and put my faith in him because he told me I could trust him. He told me he was crazy about me, but I’m the one who’s been crazy. I wanted so desperately to believe he would be honest with me. What a fool I am.
My feet finally working, I take a step back and grab the bar to steady myself as Hart brings his hands up to hold on to my shoulders. I