The Wrong Right Man - Aurora Rose Reynolds Page 0,4
but I don’t.”
“Never?” I ask, my heart hurting at the idea of him not ever opening himself up to sharing his life with someone.
“I’m not saying I never want to settle down; I’m just saying I don’t want that right now. I’m happy with the way things are and just want to focus on my career.” He glances over at me with a look in his eyes I can’t decipher. “I’m surprised you still believe in the white picket fence after the shit Troy put you through.”
“He hurt me, but he didn’t kill my dream.” I start to chew my nail, but he grabs my wrist to stop me.
“Ever the dreamer.”
“Did you really think some guy cheating on me would change that?” I ask but know in my gut I have doubts about men and relationships that I didn’t have before.
“For a while I did, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it didn’t. Shit, I still remember when we were kids and all the stories you would make up.”
I smile at that. “Like when I use to pretend I was psychic and tell other kids their futures?”
“Yeah, and when you would talk for hours about the guy you’d marry, who’d want to adopt ten kids and you’d live in a huge-ass house.”
“I still want that.” I smile, turning to look out the window, then say softly, “Even if I never find the right guy, I want to adopt. I want to give a child or children a home where they know they’re safe and loved.”
“I know you do.” He presses his knuckle against my cheek where my dimple is, making my smile bigger.
________________
“Holy shit, bitch. Look at you!” Maggie, the owner of View—one of the most popular clubs in Seattle—shouts as soon as she spots me sitting on the edge of the stage where Jamie and his band are setting up for their show.
When I met Maggie, I wasn’t sure what to think of her. On first impression, she comes across as aggressive, with her loud personality and outward appearance. She looks like a rock chick, with her white almost silver hair shaved on the sides and longer on the top in an almost Mohawk, makeup that is always extreme, and outfits that make it look like she walked off the set of a ‘90s rock video.
“It’s just jeans.” I hop down to greet her with a hug, and when she lets me go, she grabs my biceps to examine me more closely.
“‘Just jeans my ass. You look hot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down or wearing makeup. I’m totally digging the whole vibe you’ve got going on.”
“Thanks.” I can’t help my smile. She’s not the first person who’s complimented me over the last few days, which seems a little odd, since I didn’t do anything to my appearance but change how I was dressing. Then again, it might not be about my clothing. Since Jamie gave me the jacket I’m wearing, I’ve felt like I got a little of my power back.
“Anyway, I was going to ask Jamie for your number, but since you’re here, I’ll just talk to you in person,” she says, getting a look in her eyes that puts me on guard. “Don’t freak out yet.” She takes a hold of my wrist and starts pulling me across the empty dance floor toward the bar. Once we reach it, she plants me on a stool then walks around to the back of the bar, grabbing a bottle of tequila from the top shelf then a salt shaker and a couple slices of lime.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask as she places a glass before me and pours out a shot.
“Not drunk but pliable.” She grins.
“This should be good,” I mutter, picking up the shot and shooting it back before shaking my head at the salt she holds out. But I do take a piece of lime and bite into it.
“Now.” She pours me another shot, and I raise a brow, wondering exactly what it is she has to tell me. I pray it has nothing to do with Jamie. She motions for me to take the second shot, so I shoot it back. “I have a friend I want you to meet.”
“No.” I cough, motioning for her to hand me the second piece of lime she’s holding.
“Hear me out.”
“Maggie.” I sigh, dropping my forehead to my hands resting on the top of the bar.