Page 6 of The Getaway

Once the time runs out, I will freshen up, change into one of my new outfits, and remind myself that this is not the end.

I am a strong, independent, bad-ass woman, who will figure shit out.

With a mojito in hand of course.

* * *

Soft, acoustic music plays through the speakers of the bar and mixes with the laughter of all the adults coming out for the night. I marvel at the slowly growing crowd and colorful lights that fade from green to blue to purple and pink. The air is humid, warming my lungs with each inhale and soothing something deep in my chest.

The heat has never bothered me. If anything, when the temperature drops below seventy-five, I turn into a raging asshole because I can’t handle the cold.

And yet, I live in New York.

A band is setting up on the stage in the corner while more couples filter in and claim seats. The sight of all the happy groups makes me think of something for the first time since coming out, not just to the bar, but on this entire trip.

I had rearranged all the plans and excursions to a party of one, not thinking twice about the fact that I would actually be doing them all alone.

Standing at the entrance of the bar right now makes that fact hit me dead on.

I’m alone.

In more ways than one. But for now, I focus on what to do at this moment.

Do I sit at a small table? No, then I would be taking up space where other couples could sit together.

Do I order a drink and take it to sit by the pool that’s just outside of the bar area? That’s a tempting thought, but the sound of over exaggerated giggles draws my attention to the drunken bachelorette party that is lingering at the far side of the pool.

Sighing, I scan over the mostly full space and spot two empty stools at the bar. With a single nod to myself, I make up my mind. If it gets awkward, I can finish my drink quickly and go relax back at my bungalow with room service.

But at least this way I can say I went to a bar by myself.

After snapping a picture to send to Addison, I head over to the bar and try to figure out which seat to take. I’m not even halfway there when the decision is made for me.

Three drunken men stand next to one of the open stools, loudly talking and ogling any woman that their eyes land on. Even without being close to them, I can tell their sense of filter is long gone as they crack lewd jokes.

Not wanting to get close to them, I cut through a few tables and beeline toward the remaining stool.

As I approach, I sigh in relief seeing that to the left are two older women chatting animatedly to one another. They’re so caught up in their conversation and don’t even spare me a second glance.

However, it’s the man on the right that has me faltering.

There’s no hiding that he’s attractive, even with his head down, only showing his side profile. But it’s not just his jaw dropping good looks that makes me pause.

No, it’s the size of him that throws me off.

While I step up to the empty stool, I can’t help but focus on his presence. Even with him sitting down, he towers over me.

Granted, I’m not tall by any means. My siblings were the ones who got our dad’s height. Having stopped growing at five foot three, I’m my mother’s daughter through and through.

So almost everyone is taller than me.

But this man is different.

Add on the muscles that are beautifully highlighted by the simple gray T-shirt he has on; this man demands attention without even trying.

Desire catches me by surprise, coursing through me and settling low in my stomach.

It’s been months since I last had sex and even longer since I wanted to. Not because Paul wasn’t good in bed. Things in that department weren’t bad at all. We knew how to get each other off and left it at that.

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