Some nights, p.1
Some Nights, page 1
SOME NIGHTS
A ONE NIGHT STAND TURNS INTO EVERYTHING SHE NEVER KNEW SHE NEEDED
J. L. LORA
SOME NIGHTS
Copyright © 2018 by Janny L. Lora.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact J.L. Lora at:
P. O. Box 47022 | Windsor Mill, MD 21244
http://www.JLLora.com
Book and Cover design by J. L. LORA
Copyediting by Nina S. Gooden
Proofreading by Katie Testa
ISBN: 978-0-9994469-8-0 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-0-9994469-9-7 (Trade Paperback)
First Edition: September 2018
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
PART I: DARK & STORMY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
PART II: Between the Sheets
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
PART III: Mother Fucker
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
PART IV: Whiskey Sage
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Excerpt of Some Mornings
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by J. L. LORA
To Audrey and Lynn, Thank you for being fairy godmothers to this story. I am in awe of you and grateful for your friendships every day of my life.
PART I: DARK & STORMY
2 ounces dark rum
3 ounces ginger beer
½ ounce freshly squeezed lime juice
Ice
* * *
Fill a tall glass with ice. Add the dark rum, ginger beer and squeeze the lime juice. Stir until all the ingredients are combined. You can add a lime wheel to garnish.
1
Saona
* * *
“A fucking second honeymoon. That was Mom’s bright idea after I told her David’s been cheating on me with a skank near Hunts Point." I gasp for air I don’t find. The walls are not closing in on me. The walls are not closing in on me. The walls are not…
"Saona, you have to breathe." My sister’s no longer pleading, she’s demanding, but I’m too far gone. I either rant or die.
"She's a fucking skank-bag stripper, Sierra. And I found them. I went there, to that murder-death-kill motel, and she opened the door with her tits half out. He was sitting on the bed with his pants undone and cheap lipstick was smeared on his dumb mouth. The asshole had the nerve to say, ‘It's not what you're thinking, Saona.’ Not what I’m thinking my ass. Then, I had the bright idea to call our mother and she says all marriages go through tough times and maybe a second honeymoon would help. On a fucking boat. Why did I flipping call her?”
I'm gasping again and tapping on the nightstand next to my hotel bed, trying to hone in on what the emergency room doctor told me a month ago about spacing my breaths and tethering to objects and smells. All I do is wheeze.
"Drop the phone on the nightstand, put it on speaker and lay your hands flat on your thighs. Breathe with me. Come on. One. Two. Three."
We go through the exercise several times until the air begins to flow freely into my lungs. Thank God she remembers the instructions.
"You're okay," Sierra coos in the voice she uses on my niece and nephew. The voice I hadn't known she had in her until she became a mom. It's soft and gooey and reassuring and the opposite of everything we grew up with.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out.
"For what? For being human? It's about fucking time. I never heard you cuss this much your entire life. You hold shit inside all the time but swearing is good for the soul."
I cough out a laugh and my chest loosens a little more. "Only you would think that. This is so ghetto. You know how much I hate being a mess."
"You're handling shit. It’s good you're not here right now. You need space."
“But I'm back tomorrow." The trip to Baltimore was a godsend. And to think of how much I bitched about having to be away from my home? What a joke.
"Yeah, but a lot can change in one night."
"Who even are you? Since when do you see silver linings?" I sit back against the pillows on the bed, stretching my legs out and my arms up. The breaths are flowing freer now.
"Not going to lie, my inner self wants to grab a knife and stab David, but I want to be there for you, like you were there for me when Edwin was fucking that bitch near Van Cortland. I hate that you know what being cheated on feels like."
Flashes of anger threaten my newly-found breath. My brother-in-law cheated on my sister while she was pregnant with their first child. But he had supposedly gotten himself together.
"Are you going to tell me to stay with David?"
"No, but I won't tell you to leave him. This decision is only yours. Mom can't be involved because she'll push you to be the good Catholic wife and stay."
Like she did with you. "How did you do it? How did you stay with him?”
I've asked my sister a million times and never gotten an answer.
"When you're on the other side of this, whatever you decide to do, you and I will have a long conversation over some Brugal and coke— Oh, hell to the no.” Sierra’s tone shifts to murderous and she’s no longer talking to me. “What the fuck is this bitch-ass doing here? After what you did to my sister, you can't come fucking chill at my house."
Heat shoots up my neck and spreads over my face. David is at my sister’s place.
"Come on, Sisi. He feels really bad and he needs his family," my supposedly reformed-cheater brother in-law pleads.
"He can go find that two-dollar ho he dropped his pants for. She can be his new family."
"There's no need for that." David's voice is low, but I hear him clearly.
"Shiiiiit." What follows is my sister's entire cussing repertoire. An extensive portfolio with curated entries, from the classics like “asshole” and “motherfucker” to innovative, new-age dirt like “fuck bucket” and “stunted dick.”
"I'm hanging up, Sisi. Love you."
"Me too. Call me if you need anything."
I'm going to take a hot shower, have a drink and try to get some sleep. But I take one step and my chest begins to contract. Oh no. I take another step. I need to keep in motion. But, oh shit. My chest is shrinking, and the familiar pressure builds until I'm no longer comfortable and the walls start moving in on me. All I can think is, “Breathe.” But I can't. I can't even count to three.
I tug at my shirt, searching for air I don't seem to get. I'm panicking and alone. I stumble to the door. I grab my purse off the table nearby and in less than a minute I'm in the stairwell heading down.
The too-white walls make everything lighter and I concentrate on counting my way down six floors. By the time I reach the lobby, my breathing is semi-normal again. There are a few people in the adjoining bar but there’s enough room for me not to feel crowded. I can sit and have a drink, calm my nerves and then head back up to bed.
2
Saona
* * *
I don't ever sit at the bar. It attracts attention and conversation. I'm in the mood for neither, but as the waitress heads my way, my husband’s words echo in my ears.
A man needs his wife to be a lady. He gets his dick sucked somewhere else.
He wouldn’t approve of me sitting at a bar, which is why I do it. I take the first step and the next, passing the waitress and heading for the empty side of the bar. I choose the corner-end stool, so I can look outside to the street. I lift myself onto the high seat and stare down the other end of the swanky bar with the low mood lighting and the accent brick wall. The bartender, built like a running back, places drinks in front of three women. They're all smiles and the middle one, with skunky, bleached, almost-white hair with black-as-sin streaks, pushes her breast on top of the bar.
His mouth tilts all the way in an overt smile. Yeah, men are all fucking horny, sniffing dogs after the first pair of cheap tits.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he turns to my side of the bar, ensnaring me in a gaze that threatens to cut right through me. "I'll be right with you."
I nod and take him all in. His white T-shirt and black jeans that wrap around his body are not out of the ordinary. They’re pretty much a bartender staple. His begging-for-attention arm muscles are not. Those guns are probably the biggest reason he works at the swanky bar. I can’t take my eyes off them or that chiseled jaw, or those fuck-me-hard eyes.
The trio on the other end of the bar are practically drooling. He turns around to add something to the register and they openly ogle his ass. And to be truthful, because I'm not blind or a hypocrite, it’s an ogle-worthy ass. It's nice and round, with strong column thighs.
Thighs like that are one of the reasons I watch baseball. What’s not to love about guys with muscular thighs and broad shoulders? He turns my way and begins to stalk toward me. His gait is sleek and measured, like a jungle cat in his habitat. His body moves in a symmetry that causes heat to pool between my legs.
"Hello." He smiles. It's the same one he used for the three vultures who are openly staring our way. "What can I get you to drink?"
Yeah, this one’s a dirty dog too.
"What would you recommend?"
"What's your usual damage?" His smile widens and it irks me. His little game won’t work with me.
"If I wanted the usual, I would have asked for it."
Oh shit. Oh God. Did I sound like as much of a bitch as I think I did? His eyes take a sharp, cold glint. The smile he pushes on his lips is tight and his lips part. His hand braces on the bar. He's going to blast me and I deserve it. I shouldn’t be taking my day out on this man.
My hand shoots out to cover one of his. "I'm sorry. There's no excuse for that. I'm not usually rude. I'm a little on edge tonight."
Take your hand off him.
His gaze snaps to my hand covering his and he flips his palm. I snatch my hand back and my fingers slide over his, tripping over the rough bumps.
"I shouldn’t be touching you. Oh my God. Sorry for that too. I'm just messing up on all counts."
His eyes take a warmer tone, like I’m a cat video he can’t stop watching. " Are you having a bad day?”
"My life is just…it doesn’t matter. Just please know I'm not a raging bitch. Can we start over?"
His smile widens and oh God, it screws my insides. "We can start over."
"Please recommend something. What do you think I should be drinking?"
His eyes travel down my face and back up to my eyes. My skin tingles under his scrutiny and I struggle not to grab the menu and cover myself. It's not right. I’m a married...
"How about a glass of rosé? We have a great one that was featured in Baltimore Magazine last month."
"Champagne? Because I look high maintenance?" Somewhere, David is co-signing. His boring wife with her boring drink.
But insanely hot bartender shakes his head and leans closer. "Don’t sleep on champagne. It has a sharp bite. It looks sweet and innocent but will take you for a ride.” He pauses and leans in. “It’s also hard to recover from."
A wave of heat sweeps through my body and I'm flushing everywhere, picturing that smiling mouth disappearing between my legs.
Just stop.
"I'll...I'll have the rosé." Great, now I stutter.
"I'll bring you a glass. I'm Jax, by the way, so just yell for me across the room."
Jax? Like from Sons of Anarchy? It fits. I’d bet he’d look so good in a motorcycle jacket or parading around naked.
He turns back around and heads my way. He's smiling and mouth-watering and oh dear God. I pinch myself just in time for him to put the flute in front of me. His fingers don't move from the delicate stem of the glass. They're three times as wide. He slides them down to the base and pushes the cup my way.
A shiver runs down my arm and I can't look at him. He’d see everything I’m thinking. "Thank you. You can add it to my tab. Room six-twenty."
"Okay. Let me know if you like it."
I nod but my gaze is still on his hands. He doesn't move away. He lingers, and I know he's looking at me but I can't figure out why. I glance up, and yes, I was right. He's there like he's waiting for me and I probably should get the hell out of here now. I haven't looked at a man like this in the past six years.
"You want anything else?" His voice is soft and I could swear it’s suggestive. My first inclination is to ask, like your dick? Thank God my good sense kicks in and I don’t say it. But, I'm horrified. That’s so not me. I'm also wet, like I haven't been in forever. What the hell is wrong with me?
I need to get a grip. Anyway, I'm so not his type and he's just being a good bartender. Being nice to the bitchy lady, so she can give him a fat tip.
"I'm fine for now, thank you." Yes, keep it quick, PG, PC, out of the gutter.
"Okay," he says but is still staring. "Yell out if you need me."
He walks away and I’m left to stare at the rosé, not his perfect backside.
My phone vibrates with a message from Sierra. You up? Just sent David’s ass home.
Sisi, U didn't have to. I don't want you to have problems with Edwin because of me.
She replies in less than a minute. Fuck that, it's my house. Edwin can go too, if he doesn't like it.
My sister never shed her bad-bitch attitude. She has always done what she wanted, not caring what our mom or the family said. She never took shit from men and everything in relationships was on her terms. Until she got pregnant and had to get married. That's when everything and everyone found their way inside her head. They convinced her she had to be a mother first and a wife second, even if your husband was a cheating asshole who was banging some chick in the park while you were on pregnancy bedrest.
It forced her into early labor. I held her hand through twenty hours of pain and heartbreak tears, suppressing the urge to kill my brother-in-law who had “the right” to be there.
David had sworn that day it would never be us. He'd never cheat and just tell me if he wanted to go his own way. He’d had tears in his eyes as he promised. I guess it was hard to keep hoochies on the side while having to pay rent and support a household. He needed the boring wife with the three-figure salary who took care of the bills, so he could spend his money on strippers and skanks and screw them in sleazy motels.
"You don't like it?"
I look up to find Jax there. I power through the wave of steam that engulfs my face. "I do."
He shakes his head slowly. "You're not a good liar. You haven't even tasted it."
I laugh a little. "It's just…champagne is my usual. I'm not feeling the usual tonight."
He leans on the counter. "I get that. Sometimes—"
"Hey, Jax, can we get another?" Skunky yells from the other side of the bar.
He shoots me an apologetic smile. "I'll refill her and bring you something else."
My screen is flashing. Ten more digits added over David's name. Please call me back. He's texted me fifty-eight times in a row now. The preview of the last one cuts off at I love…and my mind fills in the blank with the word skanks.
I ignore it like I did the thirty missed calls and check out Sisi’s newest one.
Sorry, one of the kids woke up. Do you want me to call you?
I shake my head like she can see me. No, I'm at the hotel bar. Came to have a drink.
Ohhhhh, you should pick up the bartender. A wonky-eyed-with-tongue-out face emoji follows her reply. But my body doesn't get it's a joke. It conjures visions of Jax's big hands cupping my ass and pulling me up to meet his hips. A pang of craving assaults my belly.
My gaze flashes across the bar to where Jax is refilling Skunky's drink. If she pushes her boobs closer to him, she will tip over the bar counter and fall at his feet. He's keeping a safe distance. Now that he's been here and given me a real smile, I think he's faking the one he's shooting her way. Pleasure courses through me. I’m so petty. Back to my phone.
I want you to be okay, Manita. The Spanish word for little sister brings tears to my eyes.
I sniff them away and make light of it. I'll be okay. Maybe I will pick up the bartender after all.
Her reply is swift. Whatever you do, name it after me.
I chuckle.
"Seems like the night is looking up." Jax is right in front of me again.
