Page 31 of Love is Blind

I mean in the last twelve hours I’ve made some seriously awful decisions. The first was trusting a man I had just met. For fuck’s sake, he blatantly told me he had gone to the bathroom to get high and instead of running in the opposite direction, I let him take me to bed. I don’t know if that makes me desperate or just plain stupid—probably both.

Ladies, at what age do we stop going for the bad boy? When do we realize we’re beating a dead horse, that the outcome is always the same? I’m twenty-eight and blind or not, if I have a choice between a stable accountant or the rebel without a cause, nine out of ten times I go with the latter. Even now as I crawl across the dirty floor feeling around for my clothes with a sheet tucked around my body, I’m almost certain I would do it all over again.

It’s that damn spark.

Okay, maybe it’s the dick too.

But I’d keep my cane next to me and my phone handy too. I’d also ask him if he’s taken—you know, to avoid the whole angry woman pounding on the door thing. And I most definitely wouldn’t allow myself to get attached.

Not to the man or the magical penis between his legs.

But, yeah, I’d do it again. I’d choose Ghost.

My hand closes around something hard and rubbery.

Ah! My rainboot.

Now, if I can just find its mate and maybe my clothes I can be on my way—although, I’m not really sure how I’m going to make that happen. I don’t know where my phone is and at the rate I’m going it’ll probably be dead when I find it. Not to mention, I have no idea where Ghost put my cane.

You know, thinking about it now—maybe it wasn’t the dick. I lost my marbles before I even copped a feel. There was just something about him, something I couldn’t quite place that drew me to him in ways I can’t explain. I want to say it was the mystery of him, but I think it was the broken pieces of him—they just fit so well with mine.

Anyway, if I wasn’t so enthralled, I would’ve insisted he put the cane in my jacket pocket. At least then I’d know where it is, but I can’t find my jacket either so there goes that.

Tucking the boot under my arm, I lean back on my haunches. If I were the crying type now would be the time to cue the water works, but I’ll save my tears for when I have to deal with my cousin. Maybe then she’ll take pity on me and nix the whole I told you so speech.

The door creaks open and I lift my head, tightening the sheet around me.

Please don’t let it be the wife.

“Birdie?” a female voice calls.

Shit.

I have no idea how to play this. The quick wit I usually rely on isn’t going to do me any favors that’s for sure. With one hand, I hold the sheet to my body and with the other I drag my fingers through my hair. Following the sound of the woman’s voice, I turn my head and face the disgruntled wife.

“Look. I swear I didn’t know he was married. Hell, I didn’t even know his real name.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I smack my lips together.

Well if that doesn’t dig the hole deeper.

“I’m blind if that helps any,” I blurt. “It doesn’t help me, seeing as I have no idea where I am, or where my clothes are, and my cane is missing—actually, it’s not missing. I’m sure your husband knows where it is. But, yeah, I’m blind so you got me there.” She doesn’t respond so I nod. Maybe it’s not a consolation prize to know your husband bedded a blind chick. “I’m going to shut up now.”

The door closes and I hear the soles of her shoes pad softly across the floor. I’ll let her get one swing in, but after that, I’m fighting back. Her husband pissed on his vows, not me.

“Honey, I’m not Ghost’s wife and neither is the woman that came in here earlier.”

Well that’s a relief, at least I’m not a homewrecker.

She goes on to introduce herself as Holly and tells me she’s married to the president of the motorcycle club, that she and her husband are tight with Ghost.

“He’s family,” she says.

That’s all fine and dandy, but at the current moment, Ghost isn’t my favorite person and I couldn’t give a fuck less about his family which probably makes me an awful person because this Holly chick seems nice enough.

Swallowing hard, I smile weakly. It’s the best I can muster before I ask, “Is he planning on coming back anytime soon?”

When she doesn’t respond right away, I take that as my answer. My eyes start to sting, and I quickly turn my head. Like I said, I’m not the crying type. I didn’t shed a tear when I lost my vision, and that’s a life-changing thing. If I didn’t cry over that, I have no business crying over a man who left me like I’m yesterday’s news. Spark or not. A woman has to hang on to her pride. Sometimes it’s the only thing holding her together.

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