Rush (The Beat and The Pulse #9) Page 2

  “I’ll flag a cab for you if you want,” I said. “Where are you going?”

  She shrugged. “A hotel, I guess.”

  “A hotel? Don’t you have any friends that would let you crash?” I racked my brain to think of the girls she used to hang with at school. Posh bitches who always turned their noses up at me. “Marigold, Margarine, Mag… Whatever her name was.”

  “Margaret,” she replied, her lips quirking. Good, a smile.

  “You still friends with her and those other girls?”

  She nodded. “I don’t want… They can’t know what’s happened.”

  I frowned. “Why not? They’re your friends, right? Friends are supposed to do shit like this.”

  “I can’t.”

  I scowled. Some friends she had if she couldn’t turn to them when things got rough.

  “I’m sorry,” Jade said, looking at me with her Bambi eyes. “This wasn’t how I imaged things going.”

  “Nobody expects to be cheated on,” I said with a shrug. “No sweat.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant…” She sighed, lowering her gaze. “I meant, this wasn’t how I imagined this going.”

  My breath caught. Jade had thought about me? I wasn’t sure what to make of that considering she’d chosen the douchewad Hunter Ballinger—rich, private schooled, posh lawyer-ish, fucker with a wandering cock—over me, Ryan Harper, public school delinquent who was only good with his fists. At least I’d been able to turn brawling into a valid career.

  “You’re different,” she added.

  I tilted my head to the side. “Different, how?”

  “Taller, musclier… You have a tattoo.”

  I smiled, looking her over. “You’re different, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve got boobs now. They were always so tiny.”

  Her mouth fell open, and I started laughing.

  “Asshole.” She was attempting to be outraged, but I could see the hint of a smile underneath it all.

  “What hotel are you going to?” I asked. “I’ll get you a cab, and I’ll ride with you if you like.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “You’re probably busy…”

  I had to go back to training, but I couldn’t just pile her into the back of a cab and never see her again. Running into her today of all days had to mean something.

  “I’ll just text my coach and tell him something came up. I’ll just have to make up for the lost time tomorrow.”

  “Coach?” she asked.

  “I train down there at Pulse Fitness,” I explained, pointing down the side street. “I’m about to break into the AUFC.”

  “What’s that?”

  I chuckled and shook my head. She’d never really been into sports. I remembered she’d gone to all of her snotty boyfriend’s softball games, but that was her limit.

  “It’s the Australian Ultimate Fighting Championship,” I said. “Mixed Martial Arts.”

  “Wait… Isn’t it supposed to be brutal?”

  “It can be,” I said with a shrug.

  Turning, I glanced down the street and spied a yellow taxi approaching at a snail’s pace. The road was clogged, but this stretch of Victoria Street always was.

  “There’s a taxi coming,” I said. “Want it?”

  “Sure.”

  Stepping between the parked cars, I held my hand up, signaling to the driver. When the traffic moved forward, he double-parked to let us hop in. The boot popped open, and I grasped the handle of Jade’s suitcase, hauling it inside as she got into the back of the taxi.

  “Where to?” the driver asked as I opened the other passenger side door.

  “Mercure on Little Bourke,” Jade replied as I slid in beside her.

  The car pulled out into the traffic, and I glanced at her. She’d sunk against the window, her gaze fixed on something outside.

  “The Mercure, huh?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

  “It has the best rating out of all the hotels in a two-block radius to where I work,” she replied. “It’s three stars, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I closed my mouth and sat awkwardly, glancing at the meter as it clicked over dollar amounts while we sat at the traffic lights at Hoddle Street.

  “So you actually earn money in MMA?” Jade asked, turning to look at me.

  “Yeah, a bit. I’ve had a few minor fights, nothing big, though. And I’ve been lucky enough to get a grant to help with my training. Once I break out into the league, there’s the chance to make really good money. Not just from winning but endorsements and corporate sponsorships.”

  “Wow, it’s a whole thing,” she murmured. “You turned inciting brawls at house parties into a career.”

  Memories of crashing rich kids’ parties when I was seventeen started to flood back. A group of us would go, try to feel up as many private school girls as we could, then pick fights with their snotty nosed boyfriends. All out brawls would start somewhere around then, and the neighbors would call the cops to break it up. I’d legged it over many a backyard fence in my time.

  I snorted. “It’s not quite like that. Pro fighting is more about discipline and the code than anything. It’s not brawling.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What about you?” I asked, changing the subject as the traffic started moving again. “What did you end up becoming?”

  “A workaholic,” she replied wryly.

  “Still intense, huh?”

  She shook her head, her curls bobbing around her face. “Dedicated, more like it. I love what I do…” There was a pause, and I sensed a but coming. “I wonder if that’s why he…”

  “Hunter didn’t cheat on you because you were working too much,” I said sharply. “He cheated because he’s a douche. If he had a problem, he should’ve been a man and talked to you about it. Plain and simple.”

  Jade stared at me, looking as if she was about to burst into tears, but nothing came. That was strength, right there. To be so hurt and still able to keep it together.

  “I work in publishing,” she said after a moment. “I’m head of marketing.”

  “A highflier, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She turned away, her gaze locked on the city outside her window.

  When the taxi finally arrived at the hotel, she slipped the driver a twenty and change while I retrieved her bag from the boot. Wheeling it inside, I waited with her as she organized a room for the week.

  “You good?” I asked as the girl behind the desk began typing on her computer.

  Jade nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

  I glanced at the exit. “So I’ll see you, then?” I asked the question, more out of politeness than anything. The odds of seeing her again were slim to nonexistent. Maybe that was for the best.

  “Sure.” There was a moment of hesitation, and old feelings began to rush to the surface.

  Bad timing, dude, I thought to myself. The story of your pathetic life.

  Stepping around her, I began to walk away and shoved my hands into my pockets. Wrapping my hand around my phone, I realized I’d forgotten to text Ash.

  “Ryan?”

  I turned at the sound of Jade’s voice and stared at her across the hotel foyer.

  “Why did we ever stop talking?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  A sad smile pulled at her lips, and she turned as the girl behind the desk handed her a room key. Backing away, I ducked out of the doors and wandered down Swanston Street, leaving Jade and the Mercure behind.

  I knew the answer to her question, but telling her the truth wouldn’t change anything. She was hurting after catching her dick of a fiancé ramming his cock into another woman in her bed. Her life had been turned completely upside down, and hashing out the past would do more harm than good.

  So I did the same thing I did back then.

  I walked away.

  3
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  Jade

  In the space of a day, my entire life had changed.

  I currently sat in the middle of the bed in my hotel room, surrounded by a mess of sheets, a room service tray in front of me, and Pretty Woman playing on the television hanging on the wall.

  I rolled my eyes as Julia Roberts’s character pawed Richard Gere’s poor lonely, sexy businessman character’s crotch while he stared at her like she was a lump of clay.

  “Oh, just let her suck your cock, Richard Gere!” I shouted at the television. “Let her suck it. You obviously need it.”

  Sinking back into the pillows, I wiped my damp eyes with the back of my hand. No one was coming to sweep me off my feet and climb a fire escape with a bunch of red roses to proclaim their love. Especially not a rich fucker like Richard Gere.

  Real life wasn’t a fairy tale. No one handed you shit. You had to work for every scrap you could unless you came preloaded with a trust fund, and wasn’t that just the luck of the lottery. No one could control which vagina they erupted out of after nine months of swimming in gunk, could they?

  No, I had to fight my way to the top, and I still came off second best. A man didn’t want a strong woman who could provide for herself. Well, at least, guys like Hunter didn’t. While he’d been handed everything, I’d had to apply for every scholarship I could find and work at fast-food joints four nights a week after school. I had to wait tables and serve drunken fuckers through three years of Uni, scan groceries at the local supermarket for the Sunday penalty rates…everything but sit on my ass and wait for the proverbial silver spoon to come along and spank me.

  At the thought of my now ex-fiancé, a new wave of ugly crying overcame me, and I sobbed into the linen napkin that had come with my room service. After all that sacrifice, I’d had everything I’d ever wanted, but it all turned out to be a sham. Worthless piece of shit…

  Picking up my phone, I stared at the blank screen. I used to think zero notifications was a good thing. It meant my inbox was free of work, and I could have a few precious moments to myself. Now it just amplified my broken heart. I had a whole weekend ahead of me jam-packed with ugly crying and French fries. At the thought, I wished for a work crisis to dive into so I didn’t have to keep envisioning Hunter fucking another woman.

  Asshole.

  Then my phone buzzed, and a text message appeared, making my heart leap into my throat. Not because the sound had startled me but more because of who’d sent it.

  Margaret: Brunch at the Langham tomorrow. Don’t be late. x

  It was if she knew my life had burst into flames sent from hell and was waiting to rub it in. Ugh. Instead of Pretty Woman, I should’ve watched Mean Girls in preparation.

  Tossing my phone aside, I put the room service tray outside my door, glad no one was in the hall to witness my disheveled state. Putting up the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, I locked myself in, flopped into bed, and buried under the covers.

  There were so many things wrong with this picture I wasn’t sure where to start. I was wallowing in a fancy hotel room on a Friday night‬. I was dreading facing my uppity friends. I was afraid of their judgment when they found out my engagement was off. ‬‬‬‬‬

  Fiddling with the ring on my finger, I tried to pick out the moment where I’d gone wrong. I was fixated on the ‘how long’ and ‘how many’ before I’d caught him in the act. The list went on.

  I tossed and turned, my legs tangling in the mess of sheets. The pillow wasn’t familiar, and the mattress was softer than I liked. No matter how I lay, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Things didn’t smell right. The quilt didn’t smell like Hunter’s cologne, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Picturing his slimy cock from that afternoon, I felt like throwing up the hamburger and fries I’d inhaled while watching Pretty Woman. A hooker and a rich businessman. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best movie to watch because I wasn’t Julia Roberts. Not by a long shot. The bitch in Hunter’s bed was.

  Staring at the dark ceiling, I pictured my chance meeting with Ryan. Of all days to bump into him, it had to be today. The worst day of my life, but that was just like him. Ready to rush to my rescue at a moment’s notice. He’d punched his best friend in the face once for touching me up at a party back in high school.

  Oh God, he’d seen me wandering around Victoria Street like a psychopath. I covered my face with my hands as if it would erase the entire encounter.

  My mum always said everything looked better after a good night’s sleep, but right now, it was only making things worse. Except, one thing played on my mind more than the one that should have.

  Ryan Harper.

  All grown up. Responsible. Elite sportsman. Handsome.

  Ryan Harper…

  I stared up at the facade of the Langham hotel and made a face. There were worse things I could be doing on my first day as a bitter, man-hating spinster. Scratch that. This was the worst.

  I was almost out of concealer, the bags under my eyes I’d woken with betraying the sleepless and tear-filled night I’d endured. No one ever turned up to brunch with the women I was about to meet looking anything less than put together, so I’d slapped on every cream and potion I had to disguise my broken heart.

  Dressed in the finest outfit I’d stuffed into my bag the day before, I opened the door to the restaurant. Spotting them across the room, I bypassed the hostess and went to join my ‘friends.’

  Margaret Anastas was the perfect, blonde kingpin of our little group and relished any and all attention lavished on her. She was a marketing and PR guru, who worked with a slew of fashion bloggers and authors. To a degree, we were in competition with one another but only on our own personal playing field. Genre fiction and coffee table books were two different realms in the publishing world, but it didn’t stop us from competing on the number of sales and retailer rankings.

  With her was blonde Belinda and chestnut Heather, both rabid social climbers with rich boyfriends. Neither of them worked. Instead, they spent their days perusing the designer stores on Collins Street, nibbled at fancy food they never digested because they wanted to keep their figures, and fawned over Margaret’s every word like she was the reincarnation of some long-lost messiah. The goddess of passive aggression or something just as shallow.

  When we were together, we looked like a still from an episode of Sex and The City—the two blondes, the brunette, and the ginger—except without the undying friendship part.

  “You’re late, Jade,” Margaret said as I sat down.

  “Brunch has always been at eleven,” I said. Glancing at my phone, I saw it was ten fifty-nine.

  “Ten thirty,” Heather said reaching for a pink macaroon from the spread in the center of the table.

  I narrowed my eyes, knowing better than to argue. I’d always been the last to arrive, and now I knew why. Likely, for Margaret’s own amusement and her misdemeanor scorecard, I was deliberately told the wrong time.

  Setting my bag underneath the table, I held my tongue and promptly poured myself a cup of tea. Then I loaded my plate with an assortment of cupcakes, macaroons, and sandwiches, all of which I intended to eat and fucking enjoy.

  Margaret watched my every move, her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised.

  “How are you, hon?” she asked, leaning toward me, her voice all hush hush.

  “Fine…” I said carefully, dumping a sugar cube into my tea. My skin was going to hate me tomorrow.

  “I’m sorry about you and Hunter,” she went on as if I hadn’t replied. It didn’t escape my notice when her lips quirked…and not in a good way.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my throat tightening. Hadn’t I put enough concealer on my baggy eyes this morning? Or like vultures, could they smell the opportunity for a shred of juicy gossip radiating around me?

  “He changed his relationship status to single,” Margaret replied with a smirk. “The Internet is great for those little tidbits, don’t you think?”

 
; My mouth fell open. It had only been a day. Hunter wanted to cut ties that quickly? Was he waiting for an excuse to cut off our engagement? I was beginning to think he felt lucky I’d caught him because that way, he didn’t have to have the ‘difficult conversation’ with me. Coward.

  I felt sick, the colorful array of cakes and fluffy white sandwiches I’d piled onto my plate turning my stomach.

  “I’m so sorry, hon,” Belinda said gently. “He could’ve at least waited until the end of the week or something.”

  “Yeah, that’s cold,” Heather added.

  “You were together for so long,” Margaret declared, reaching for her cup and saucer. “To do that to you…” She shook her head, her blonde locks shimmering like spun gold.

  I glanced up at her and scowled. “To do what to me?”

  “Well, I assume he must’ve cheated,” she blurted a little too quickly. “He was always like that.”

  She knew. She fucking knew Hunter had cheated. Which meant…

  “Excuse me,” I declared, rising to my feet. “I just have to powder my nose.”

  Practically fleeing across the restaurant, I hid around the corner, half a dozen steps between them, me, and the bathroom. Leaning my back against the wall, I listened to the hushed conversation that had begun the second I was out of view.

  My skin popped and fizzed as nausea rose. Deep breaths, Jade, I thought to myself. Deep breaths.

  “Did you know he was sleeping with someone behind her back?” Heather asked.

  “Please, Hunter was fucking bimbos all over town while Jade was chained to her desk. She worked so much she never even had a clue.” Margaret snorted. “She couldn’t keep him faithful in high school, so what did she expect.”

  “It wasn’t the first time?” Belinda sounded shocked.

  “Let’s just say…revolving door.”

  Heather gasped. “Oh, my God.”

  “I wonder if she ever got itchy.”

  “Margaret!”

  They burst into fits of giggles, and it was all I could do not to go back out there and flip the table over. Imagining the impossible stains Margaret’s white Dior would suffer, I smirked to myself.