House Of Obsidian: Flawed Love Part 3

She turns to me. "Honey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that girl looks nothing like you."

"It does so!" I protest.

"Ah, no, no it doesn't."

"Yes. Look at my eyes."

"It's hard to see your eyes; they're covered by ma.s.sive gla.s.ses. What were you thinking? Those things are awful."

"They were stylish."

"Maybe for a gorilla."

I snort. "But still, look at my face. It's me."

"No, you're chubbier there."

"I was not chubby!"

She laughs. "Not ma.s.sively so, but you're really slender now. There you have more booty and curves."

"Okay, but still."

"Your hair is blond."

"Yes, and . . ."

"It's short and blond. It's now long, brown and completely different."

"I know," I protest. "But Rainer could be wearing an orange wig and gla.s.ses and I'd still recognize him."

"Truly, would you?" she says with raised brows.

"Yes, I would. I'd know those eyes anywhere."

She reaches over, taking my hand. "I hate to say this, I really do, but do you think maybe you paid more attention to those things because you loved him?"

Her words. .h.i.t me like a slap to the face. "You mean because he didn't love me, that he didn't pay that much attention?"

She smiles sadly.

She has a point.

"He still stared at me. h.e.l.l, he f.u.c.ked me, for G.o.d's sake."

"Yes, and I get that, but take it from me, you look one hundred percent different now. I wouldn't recognize you if the old you walked in."

"Okay, but-"

"Look, you don't know what's happened in his life in the last ten or more years. Anything could have gone down, and for all you know he had amnesia and doesn't remember anything."

I raise my brows. "Seriously?"

She shrugs. "You never know."

"So what do you think I should do?"

"Maybe go back . . . try again. Talk to him. Tell him who you are."

"I don't . . . I just don't know that I can take it if he doesn't remember . . ."

She purses her lips. "Then just go and hang out at the bar one night, talk to him, see how you feel after it. Make the choice if you want to tell him after you speak with him . . ."

"So I just pretend he's a stranger?"

She shrugs. "It can't hurt; just see how it feels, see how he is with you. There's no rule that says you need to jump in and bring up the past. You've gone ten years without him, honey," says, standing and patting my shoulder. "What's another few days?"

She's right.

Maybe slowly is the best way to go about it.

There's a solid chance I'm going to vomit.

I'm at the bar again, it's a Sat.u.r.day night, and for the last week I've thought about nothing but Rainer and how I'm going to play this out. I decided I'd go in alone, and see if I could make conversation with him. Maybe he'll give me some indication that he remembers-h.e.l.l, maybe I can ask him about his past and he'll mention my name . . .

Anything to let me know he wants to remember Emalie.

Tonight I just put on a basic dress. It's pretty, but not s.e.xy. I'm so full of nerves that getting ready was a mad rush. I left my hair down from work at the coffee shop this morning, and just ran a brush through it. I left my makeup as it was.

My stomach twists as I scan the bar, wondering if I've made the wrong choice. G.o.d, what if he's not even here?

"Can I get you a drink?"

I look over to the beautiful blonde standing at the bar, watching me with raised brows. It's not crazy in here tonight, like it was the other night, which mightn't be a great thing. The ma.s.s of people could have been a great distraction. Instead, I find myself nervously biting my nails and wondering when Rainer is going to walk in.

"Sure," I answer the girl tapping her fingers impatiently at me. "Tequila, straight."

She raises her brows, but gets me the shot. I take it, hissing as the liquid burns my throat. It has to ease my nerves. The flood of warmth that washes through my body does calm it down a little, but not nearly enough.

"Another," I say, when she goes past.

She doesn't protest, and slides another shot to me. I swallow it down painfully and then pull out my phone. It's been vibrating in my pocket for the last half an hour. It's probably Mimi. I read her messages, loving how the warmth is starting to travel through my veins.

M a Is he there?

M a Where r u?

M a Are you s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him?

I roll my eyes and, a little tipsy, I respond.

E a Not here yet. Drinking.

"You need another drink there, darlin'?"

The smooth, husky, s.e.xy voice makes my entire body freeze. Holy s.h.i.t. It's him. It's him, and he's talking to me.

I can't seem to make my head lift. It's as if not looking at him will be easier.

"Hey?"

I clench my eyes and then take a deep breath, lifting my head. I meet the most gorgeous black eyes I've ever seen. They're not really brown anymore; it's almost as if they've darkened over the years to represent how his life has gone. I study those eyes, waiting, willing him to remember. He has to see me in here . . . right?

"You want another drink?" he asks, studying my face.

No recognition.

None at all.

I guess my eyes are more green than blue now . . . G.o.d, who am I kidding? He doesn't remember me. No pathetic excuse in the world will change that.

"Sure," I manage in a tight voice.

He keeps staring at me. Right. He wants to know what I'm drinking.

"Tequila."

His brows go up. G.o.d, his face, it's so much more beautiful than I ever remembered. Gone is the cheekiness he used to carry around. Now he's broodier, more rugged, and definitely more deadly.

"What's a little girl like you, doin' drinkin' tequila?"

I snort. "Little?"

His eyes drag down my body. "There ain't much of you, sweetheart."

I hate that word. If he'd said it in a meaningful way, I might like it. But he didn't.

"Doesn't mean I can't handle a drink," I mutter at my hands.

"You alone?"

"No. I have Bill and John beside me."

I glance at him, and he's smirking. "I like a girl with sa.s.s."

I know.

"Are you going to pour me that tequila, handsome, or do I need to find someone else to serve me?"

He arches a brow. "A lot of s.p.u.n.k for someone so small."

"There we go with the small again."

I'm deflated, my voice is bitter, and I don't care. He's having a conversation with me, talking to me as if I'm any old person, and he literally has no idea who I am. I didn't think it would hurt so d.a.m.ned much, but it does. I need to numb the pain. Quickly.

He doesn't argue further and gets me a tequila shot. I take it and then slide the gla.s.s back at him, nodding again.

"Have you got anyone to take you home?" he asks, pouring another one.

"Does it really matter to you?"

He frowns. "I don't like girls in my bar putting themselves in danger."

"I'm fine," I a.s.sure him, tossing the shot back.

My head is spinning nicely now, thank G.o.d. It feels so much less painful like this.

"You got a man?"

I stare at him. "A man?"

He grins, and I forgot how beautiful those dimples were. "You know? Someone you're f.u.c.kin'?"

I huff. "No. I wish."

"So you're here nursing a broken heart then?"

I cross my arms. "Nope."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I had this friend when I was younger, and I came into town to see him, and he can't even f.u.c.king remember me."

"What a c.u.n.t."

I blink at him.

"Yeah," I manage. "That."

"He'd be a fool to forget a face like yours."

I want to reach over and beat him. Hard. Fast. Right to the core.

"Yeah, well . . ."

"I gotta keep serving. Stay where I can see you, yeah?"