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  Bitter Sweet Love

  R.C. Stephens

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2013 by RC Stephens.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any forms or by any means.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband, Amir and our three children, Emily, Benjamin and Chloe.

  To family.

  Present

  January 2013

  Have you ever been at such a low point in your life when you saw the light to the other side? I thought it was something that people experienced when they were old and gray and had lived a life full of hopes, dreams, accomplishments, and family. I never thought that the angel would come for me at twenty-five. It’s my birthday.

  It’s also the day I die.

  She’s here. I can see the light around her and feel the warmth of her presence, amber liquid pouring too quickly over my head. The heat flows between my legs. What’s happening? So much blood leaves my body. I can’t feel pain. I see only light and crimson. This is my end, but I’m not ready. I have so many things left unfinished, so many mistakes to correct. This is all my fault. The baby will die and I did this.

  He will never forgive me. I need to see him one more time. I need to tell him the truth. He needs to understand what happened. I thought life would be different. I thought I had more time. If only I had more time.

  My life can’t end like this.

  Chapter 1

  The Backroom

  Five Months Earlier

  “Yes, yes! Oh, that feels good. You’re so fucking hot.”

  Having sex in the backroom of Mickey’s bar is always fun and exciting. My body comes alive as my blood roars and my heart pounds, making me feel wanted and cherished, for a moment. The backroom is really Mickey’s office. From up against the wall, I see the black shelves that hold restaurant supplies. One wall has a desk and chair. If Mickey only knew how many times I’ve gotten laid on that desk, he’d be sick. The third wall is completely empty. Lucky for me the guy I brought back here tonight is tall and strong.

  He picks me up, and I instantly wrap my long, thin legs around his waist. He pushes my blond curls to the side and feathers kisses along my neck, sending delightful shivers to my core. He pins me up to the wall. Fucking my brains out, he’s scuffing my back, but who the hell cares?

  I’m in pure ecstasy when I hear my best friend, Anna, holler from the front of the bar. “Lexi, Mickey just called! He’ll be here in ten minutes. Get your ass out of the backroom and start working. You’re going to get your butt fired and mine, too, for defending you!”

  Darn it, I don’t want this feeling to end.

  Anna’s a Spanish beauty with glowing skin, straight dark brown hair that hits just above her behind, and her eyes are the most perfect shade of emerald. She’s petite and has the best body ever. We met in undergrad in a first year political science class and hit it off right away. She’s a waitress, and I tend bar. She’s been a little annoyed with the amount of time I’ve been spending in the backroom. It means she has to work harder waitressing and making the drinks. I feel bad about it, but I’ve been down on life lately and sex is the only thing that makes me feel good. When a guy has himself buried in me, I feel cherished, a feeling that I used to have and now crave. The meaningless sex works because I am happy in the moment, but I don’t fear my heart getting shredded to pieces.

  “Give me a minute, Anna. I need one minute.”

  “Fine, Bandita, I won’t say I told you so.”

  That’s all I need. One more minute to climax, which I do.

  “That was amazing.”

  And this time, I’m not lying. The guy was really good.

  “You’re amazing. I’ll call you later,” he says with a huge, sated smile splayed across his face. He’s pulling up his jeans over his muscular legs, looking proud of himself. And he damn well should be. He zips up his pants and runs his hands through his slick brown hair.

  As he turns the knob to open the door, I mutter, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  I really don’t want him calling me later. I don’t even plan on giving him my phone number. He reaches over to give me a kiss, and I accidentally turn my head so he kisses my cheek. He probably doesn’t understand how I can turn so cold after what we just did.

  “See ya,” he says, his earlier proud smile falling, replaced with a look of confusion. He should be thankful I’m only after a good fuck and be on his way.

  After the guy walks out the door, I straighten out the jean skirt and slutty tank top that Mickey makes us wear and leave the backroom for the bar. I feel bad because the place is now packed, and Anna is behind the bar mixing a martini and pouring three shots of rum like a mad woman.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you for that long. There was barely anyone here when I went back there.”

  Anna’s got this knowing look on her face. “No worries. So who was that guy? He’s pretty hot.”

  I give her a happy nod. “Yeah, I know, right? He’s in engineering, really smart and handsome.”

  Anna’s brow scrunches up. “So why are you fucking him in the backroom at Mickey’s?”

  She knows the answer, so I don’t even know why she’s bringing it up. “Why not? The relationship isn’t going anywhere. We’ve been out a couple of times and he’s good in bed. He’s a keeper, for now.”

  “I hear you, Bandita, but you know my two night rule. I don’t know how you can spend months with a guy then dump him like that.”

  I’m quickly preparing all the drink orders behind the bar. I’m trying to work fast because we have some pissed off customers who’ve been waiting while I was having my backroom tryst. Anna is leaning on the bar, waiting for the orders to be ready. It’s nice that we get to work together like this because sometimes it’s the only chance we have to talk. Unless Mickey’s around and then we keep the girl talk to a minimum.

  I turn around and place all of the drinks on Anna’s tray. “You know I only dump them when they get attached. I don’t do attachment.”

  Anna throws back her head, laughing. “Phew, I thought you were ready to settle down. I would be lost without you, my friend.”

  I wink. “Come on, Anna. I’m only twenty-four years old. I have plenty of time to get soft, if I ever will.” I scoot her away with my hand. If she doesn’t get those drinks to the table soon, our tips tonight will be crap.

  Anna walks away from the bar, holding her drink tray with one hand. She’s wearing a pair of tight skinny jeans and the same boob-bearing Mickey’s tank top that I’ve got on. She turns around, her long dark hair flying across her lightly tanned shoulder. “One day, someone is going to knock your socks off, then you’re going to fall hard.” She grins at me and walks away.

  She’s probably right, and I’m not going to lie. That thought has crossed my mind, and it terrifies the living daylights out of me. But you would never get me to admit that out loud.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not the falling type. I’ve fallen too much in my life already, and I’ve learned how to stay on track. It works for me.”

  I hope that Anna has heard my last words. I will never fall for anyone again. The problem is she got too far away and didn’t hear a thing I said. I feel the need to repeat myself so I do. When Anna walks back up to the bar, I tell her straight up. “You know I’m not the falling type so get any ideas of that ever happening out of your head.”

  She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe a word. I don’t know if I believe me.

  “‘Kay,‘kay,
fine. But you realize that screwing guys in the backroom of a bar is just messed up?”

  The truth is I don’t even know what’s gotten into her tonight. She screws a different guy every two nights. With irritation scratching my throat, I say, “Whatever. So I don’t like to show guys where I live. It’s my private space, and I like to keep it that way.” Anna waves me off, then walks over to the tables to serve more drinks. She obviously senses my sensitivity to the issue and knows it’s better to be silent sometimes.

  Mickey’s is right next to the University of Toronto, where I go to school. A lot of students hang out here in the evenings and start their alcohol-infused nights by picking up their girl or guy of choice. It’s not your typical fancy bar that you’d find downtown. It’s more on the rustic side, made completely out of wood. There are a lot of pool tables at the back, beer signs lit with neon lights hang everywhere, and a ton of tables are scattered around where patrons order some of Mickey’s famous dishes, like a bacon double cheeseburger or curly fries. There’s also a stage, and about once a week Mickey brings in different talent to play live music, mostly rock. Mickey’s is popular, jam-packed every night. Which is good because I need to pay off my student loans.

  Anna is a sister to me in every sense of the word. We’ve spent the last seven years attached at the hip. We both wanted to apply for law school, so we were in a lot of the same classes. We got to talking and realized we had a lot in common. I had told Anna about my difficult relationship with my mother, and being my roomie, she quickly saw the scars on my back from the physical abuse my mom dished out during her drunken rages.

  Of course having an alcoholic mom isn’t something I advertise. It’s not often I think about those awful days, but when I do, I’m filled with the will to survive in the best way I can. What I do at Mickey’s helps me push my memories to the backroom of my mind.Dylan is harder to stop thinking about. We had been neighbors since birth. Our mothers were pregnant at the same time and bonded instantly. We were put into pre-school and grade school together and were good friends. Once my parents divorced, our parents no longer hung around each other. I became quiet and withdrawn at school. Being one of the most popular boys, Dylan had a lot of friends, and girlfriends. We lived very different lives. I need to bury his memory with the rest of my bad ones.

  Back home it was hard to tell my story. University was different; a weight had been lifted. Anna got it because she’d had a difficult childhood, too. She was adopted by a couple, but when she was four years old, they’d divorced. Her father had no interest in her from day one and her mother was mentally ill. She spent most of her life in and out of foster care while her adoptive mother was in and out of mental institutions. With histories like ours, we instantly bonded. I had her back; she had mine. We were also both virgins in undergrad, which was a little odd at the age of eighteen. So we came up with relationship rules. We’d both been burned too many times.

  I had told Anna how my father had cheated on my mother with his secretary and how messed up things had become with Dylan. His betrayal hurt the most because he was the only constant in my life. He gave me the love and support I never got from my parents, or anyone for that matter. That’s why losing him hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced. My chest constricts at the thought. Anna’s never experienced love. She simply doesn’t trust men.

  Our rules were simple from the beginning. Don’t get attached — just have fun. This led me to create a few more rules. Don’t bring a guy back to my apartment; don’t let a guy tell you he likes you. If he does, he’s out the door. Anna set up her rules differently. She likes to have men come back to our apartment. I’m seriously scared she’s going to end up with an STD one day, but she always assures me she’s protected. Our life is school, partying, hooking up with hot guys, and working at Mickey’s.

  Why am I even thinking about any of this? I look over to Anna, who’s standing beside me behind the bar. She has a bit of an annoyed look on her face like she’s been talking and I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

  “So are you coming to that frat party with me after work or what?” she asks with her hands planted on her hips.

  “I don’t know. Which one?” I ask, finally focusing on her.

  She knows I’m waiting for her to respond, but I think she wants my complete attention, and I’m still wiping the bar. “Beta Phi, why?” She cocks her head to the side.

  I’m a little shocked she has energy for a party like that after such a busy night at work. “Because their parties are insane, and I don’t think I’m up to it. I’ve been feeling a little tired. I must be getting my period.”

  Anna drapes her hand over my shoulder. “All the more reason to come out now and get laid before red arrives.”

  I look at her wide-eyed. “You do realize I was just getting laid in the backroom, right?”

  She’s not fazed at all and waves her hand at me. “Whatever. Let’s go get laid. It’s a Thursday night.”

  I inhale a deep breath. I’m miffed, but she knows I’ll give in to her. “Och, fine. Are we heading out right after the shift? Because I don’t feel like going home and changing.”

  Anna looks under the bar where her purse is stored and with a wicked smirk on her face, she says, “Sure. I have a dress in my purse.”

  I’m about to prepare a rum and Coke, but I stop when I realize what she’s said. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  She laughs hysterically. “I don’t kid about fashion, Bandita. I have a dress and a hot red thong waiting for me.”

  I shake my head at her. “Wow, you never cease to amaze me.” The truth is I’m not interested enough in fashion to put much effort into what I wear.

  Anna smiles. “I know.”

  “I’m going in jeans and a tank top.”

  “Whatever, you look beautiful in anything.” She smiles sweetly.

  I roll my eyes and go back to the kitchen to stack the bar with more glasses. It’s a busy night and we’re starting to run low. When I come back, I see Anna standing on the other side of the bar, checking her cell phone.

  I’ve been away from home for seven years, yet sometimes my mind won’t let me forget my horrible childhood. For some reason, tonight I can’t stop thinking about it. I remember picking up Mom from the local bar and having to put her in the car while she was having a temper tantrum. I could barely drive, and she was yelling and smacking my head. The bartender insisted I come and get her because she was making a scene.

  I’m jolted out of my thoughts when I hear Anna say, “Earth to Lexi! Can you take their order or do I have to do it myself?”

  “No, Anna, I’m doing it. Geez!”

  I stand back up and leave the unstacked glasses on the bar. “Hey, can I get you guys a drink?” I ask, leaning over the bar to display my cleavage and flashing a smile.

  I notice one of the guys checking me out. He looks down at my cleavage then back up at my face and says, “How about first you give me your number, then I’ll tell you what I like to drink?”

  Is this guy for real? I never hand out my number at the bar. It’s my bartender rule 101. Yes, I take my dates to the backroom for a little fun. But they’re men I’m dating. Besides, the backroom is a public space so it’s sexy and uninhibited. I only do it when Mickey isn’t around and there’s a lock on the door, so no one can walk in.

  I’m silent, but he’s persistent. “So will you give me your number? I usually don’t do this, but you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  I smile at him because I don’t want to lose out on tips. “You don’t sound very original there, buddy, and I don’t give my number out at the bar. So, what can I get you to drink?” His earlier cocky smile is gone. With a look of defeat, he mumbles, “I’ll take a Corona. I just gave you a compliment. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  I pass him his Corona. He leaves me a twenty and tells me to keep the change. Fifteen dollar tip! Not a bad way to end the evening.

  Anna’s gone to the backroom to change,
and I head into the bathroom, add some water to tame down my curls, then flip my hair over and shake it out a bit. I run my fingers through it, trying to control my unruly blond locks and slick on some pink lip gloss.

  In the foggy mirror, I see Anna walk into the bathroom. I turn my head around quickly. “Holy shit. That is one sexy dress.”

  Anna nods. “I know. I plan on getting lucky tonight,” she says, running her hands along her curves and smoothing out her dress.

  I burst into laughter. “Like that’s new.”

  She purses her lips at me. “Fine. You got me.”

  I love her attitude.

  We both leave the bathroom. The waitress who’s replacing us gives us a one up, scowling. Our shift ends late, but on this clear night, the stars shine bright and the weather is still warm. We walk down the street, giggling and having fun. The frat party is just around the corner. I hear the music pounding, and as we walk toward the house, I notice some kegs of beer lined up on the front lawn. We walk in, and the party’s already started. Everyone is wasted.

  For a long time I didn’t drink because the memory of my mom lying in bed drunk and her wretched screams were burnt into my soul. I drank a bit in high school. But when everything went to hell on prom night, I decided it wasn’t for me. Then one night in undergrad, Anna forced me to get drunk. I liked feeling lightheaded and airy. All my inhibitions were lost for a night and I could care less what the people around me thought. I soon learned that I wasn’t a monster like Mom, just an extra giddy, happy girl who danced really sexily, or so I’ve been told.

  I head over to the kitchen, which is outdated with its brown cabinets and beige countertop. It’s dirty and grungy, but what can I expect from a bunch of men living together? A short guy with dark skin and dark brown eyes is lining up shots of tequila. He notices Anna and me walk in and gives us a nod. “Hey girls, would you like one?”