Page 32 of Picture Perfect Love

After several more unanswered calls, I sank down onto my couch and raked my hands over my face. It all felt so hopeless. I jumped when the phone dinged, but it was only an email from yet another new club opening up. I was usually sent things like that, but it seemed to be happening more than ever. These invitations were a temptation begging me to go out and give myself some form of relief from the torture of waiting to hear from her.

Finally, I shot up and hopped into the shower, dressing in one of my nicest Armani suits. An hour later I was being driven to some new spot called Pacifico on the edge of the city—an upscale club in the middle of a newly gentrified neighborhood. It felt like the kind of night where I didn’t care who or what I was supporting. I just needed to get out of my own head for a little bit. I knew Abby would never go to a place like that, and maybe that was exactly what I needed. I had a whole life before her, after all. Even if it had grown old and tired.

I relished in the familiar comfort of the strobing lights and blaring speakers. Hot girls grinded around on the dance floor under disco balls and twinkling lights. People cheered, shouted, and sang around the clinking of their cocktail glasses.

“Joshua Meadows,” said a man approaching me at the bar. “I was hoping I might see you here. I’m Georgio Bronson, the owner here.”

I begrudgingly shook his hand and waved down the bartender. He intercepted and told the guy to give me whatever I wanted, on the house.

“Consider that my safety net,” he winked.

“For what?” I puzzled.

“You getting belligerently drunk and making a scene,” he laughed, patting my shoulder. “A place like mine thrives on that sort of thing. The press will eat it up, and attendance will double by tomorrow night. Drink up and enjoy. Wreak your classic Joshua Meadows havoc.”

He was smart enough to disappear into the crowd before I could clock him across the face. I guessed it wasn’t really his fault. I had dug my own grave, sculpted my own bad reputation. The club scene had apparently missed me, and I was starting to realize I had missed it too.

Finally, a martini was delivered into my hand. I tossed it back and ordered another, along with a bottle of champagne. I was celebrating, I decided. Celebrating my freedom from the very thing I had never really wanted—some girlfriend to drag me down.

“I’m back,” I hissed in between bitter sips of my drink, to no one in particular. The warm buzz was already seeping in.

“Welcome back,” a girl quipped from my side.

I looked over to see some brunette standing there, grinning at me. She was petite with curves, her eyes sparking with a tempting mischievousness.

My face wrinkled up. “What?”

“Nevermind,” she laughed, taking a sip of her own drink. “Just trying to join your welcome wagon.”

“I believe this is called falling off the wagon,” I quipped, taking a random shot that was passed down to me. “Not that I’ve been totally sober. Just practicing moderation.”

“Moderation is for boring people,” she rolled her eyes. “Life is too short to be boring.”

“That’s what I keep saying!” I shouted back over the music, feeling validated by being around a kindred spirit for the first time in a while.

She smiled and turned to shake my hand. “I’m Cassie.”

“Joshua,” I nodded. “I’ve got a bottle on ice coming my way. Care to join me?”

“I’d love to.”

We had more drinks at a VIP table in the corner before making our way out onto the dance floor. I lost myself in the adrenaline of sweaty bodies and pulsing music, loud enough to make your ears ring. It felt like I was getting swept up in a pulse or a tide of something beyond my control, and it felt good. I wanted more of it.

As the dancing went on, Cassie kept moving in closer to me. Soon our bodies were all wrapped up with barely any space between us. It was nice, I thought, to have someone who actually wanted to be near me after a week of being shunned by Abby.

I tried not to think of her name… or her face, or body… and how they were so different from the lady next to me at that moment. I thought maybe with another drink or two, I could pretend Cassie was her. No one could ever replace her, but she had left me with no choice. And for all I knew she could have been out there somewhere with Christopher right at that very moment, making up for all the lost time they seemed to think I stole away from them.

My heart ached for how much I missed her, but if I went hard enough, I hoped she would keep slipping away until I could forget.

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