liked him. She'd wanted him, wanted to be his, to have him fold her into his chest with those beautiful arms, to hear his heart beating close, to feel his lips on hers, on her neck, on her everything.
Hope. That was it. She had let herself hope, for the first time in maybe ever. She'd hoped for something with him, and now here she was feeling her hope shatter into a thousand, thousand shards while he was out playing with some other woman, just like he'd apparently always done.
She should have known. She had known. She should have known better.
A pair of tears squeezed out from beneath her still closed eyelids. Ruth sat up and wiped them away, hard.
There was no way she was going to sit here and feel sorry for herself. Derek was an asshole. A womanizing asshole. She should never have believed he would or could change, especially change for her. This was her fault, really, for indulging in fantasy. That sort of thing was best kept for her novel.
And she had work to do. Ruth launched herself from the bed, leaving the covers rumpled, Rufus eying her with one of his yellow eyes from his perch on a pillow. She grabbed her bag, stuffing her notebook and pens and laptop inside, along with a book of angsty love poetry to read if she got bored – appropriate, she thought, for a romance writer who was far smarter than she'd acted in the past twenty-four hours.
Ruth paused just as she was about to take her phone and slip it into the bag, too. Her hand hovered over the phone on the nightstand for a moment, then with a small shake of the head she decided to leave it. There was no one in the world that she wanted to talk to at the moment, only her novel characters. They never did her wrong.
Stalking from the bedroom, she slung a coat around her and snatched her keys from the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. Then, at the last minute, she dashed back into the bedroom to tuck the phone into her coat pocket before heading out, somehow soothed by its weight there. Checking to make sure it would lock behind her, she slammed the front door, the apartment reverberating into silence in her wake.
* * *
“ Hey,” Derek said, practically shouting through the din of the bar's opening band as he returned to the table he was sharing with his friends, toting a round of drinks. He saw Sandra, Ridger's girlfriend hanging up Derek's cell phone. “Who was that?”
She shrugged, shoulders brushing her purple A-line fringe, the perfect amount of grease clinging to the hair to complement her grungy look, the angular style complementing her short, lusciously plus-sized stature. “Don't know. Some chick, I think. She hung up.”
Derek groaned, practically throwing the drinks on the table and snatching his phone, praying it hadn't been Ruth. The phone's screen blinked to life – shit. Shit . It had been her. The one person in all the world who needed not to hear a woman's voice answer his phone.
He slammed his hand onto the table in frustration, making Sandra scowl and Ridger jump. “Why the hell did you answer my phone?”
She pursed her magenta-painted lips. “I was bored. This band is playing way long. It's got to be our turn by now.”
“ Damn it, Sandra. That was a really fucked up thing to do.”
“ Sorry,” she said, voice flat and insincere, her eyes burning into the opening band's lead singer.
“ What's up, man?” asked Ridger, leaning forward to slide one of the beers towards him, leaving a trail of condensation across the table. “It's just a chick. What's the big deal?”
Derek felt his neck redden in – what? Embarrassment? He didn't know what name to put on the unfamiliar feeling.
Ridger squinted at Derek's hesitation. “Dude. Dude . Don't tell me that there's a girl out there that you actually like . I mean, that you like for more
Hope. That was it. She had let herself hope, for the first time in maybe ever. She'd hoped for something with him, and now here she was feeling her hope shatter into a thousand, thousand shards while he was out playing with some other woman, just like he'd apparently always done.
She should have known. She had known. She should have known better.
A pair of tears squeezed out from beneath her still closed eyelids. Ruth sat up and wiped them away, hard.
There was no way she was going to sit here and feel sorry for herself. Derek was an asshole. A womanizing asshole. She should never have believed he would or could change, especially change for her. This was her fault, really, for indulging in fantasy. That sort of thing was best kept for her novel.
And she had work to do. Ruth launched herself from the bed, leaving the covers rumpled, Rufus eying her with one of his yellow eyes from his perch on a pillow. She grabbed her bag, stuffing her notebook and pens and laptop inside, along with a book of angsty love poetry to read if she got bored – appropriate, she thought, for a romance writer who was far smarter than she'd acted in the past twenty-four hours.
Ruth paused just as she was about to take her phone and slip it into the bag, too. Her hand hovered over the phone on the nightstand for a moment, then with a small shake of the head she decided to leave it. There was no one in the world that she wanted to talk to at the moment, only her novel characters. They never did her wrong.
Stalking from the bedroom, she slung a coat around her and snatched her keys from the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. Then, at the last minute, she dashed back into the bedroom to tuck the phone into her coat pocket before heading out, somehow soothed by its weight there. Checking to make sure it would lock behind her, she slammed the front door, the apartment reverberating into silence in her wake.
* * *
“ Hey,” Derek said, practically shouting through the din of the bar's opening band as he returned to the table he was sharing with his friends, toting a round of drinks. He saw Sandra, Ridger's girlfriend hanging up Derek's cell phone. “Who was that?”
She shrugged, shoulders brushing her purple A-line fringe, the perfect amount of grease clinging to the hair to complement her grungy look, the angular style complementing her short, lusciously plus-sized stature. “Don't know. Some chick, I think. She hung up.”
Derek groaned, practically throwing the drinks on the table and snatching his phone, praying it hadn't been Ruth. The phone's screen blinked to life – shit. Shit . It had been her. The one person in all the world who needed not to hear a woman's voice answer his phone.
He slammed his hand onto the table in frustration, making Sandra scowl and Ridger jump. “Why the hell did you answer my phone?”
She pursed her magenta-painted lips. “I was bored. This band is playing way long. It's got to be our turn by now.”
“ Damn it, Sandra. That was a really fucked up thing to do.”
“ Sorry,” she said, voice flat and insincere, her eyes burning into the opening band's lead singer.
“ What's up, man?” asked Ridger, leaning forward to slide one of the beers towards him, leaving a trail of condensation across the table. “It's just a chick. What's the big deal?”
Derek felt his neck redden in – what? Embarrassment? He didn't know what name to put on the unfamiliar feeling.
Ridger squinted at Derek's hesitation. “Dude. Dude . Don't tell me that there's a girl out there that you actually like . I mean, that you like for more
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