When Did It All Start

I stare at the sticky, dimly lit surface of the wooden counter. The chaotic thrum of the downtown New York bar buzzes around me like an angry hive. It’s Monday, but the place is packed. People are laughing, shouting over the pulsing bass of the music, drowning in their joy. Meanwhile, I am sitting here desperately trying to drown the profound, suffocating disappointment that is eating away at my frayed nerves. I just want to numb the pain with whatever cheap alcohol the bartender slides my way.

When did it all start? Oh, yes… It was the damn moment I accepted his proposal and foolishly agreed to become his girlfriend four long years ago. If I had known this nightmare would be my reward, I would have walked away on day one.

Another empty drink on the counter bitterly burns my stomach, yet it dampens my nerves and finally makes my head foggy. I lift my empty glass, waving it in the air and gesturing wildly for the bartender to bring me another strong one.

Leaning heavily over the counter with my head resting on my folded arms, I close my eyes. I want nothing more than to block it out, but the darkness offers zero escape. Instead, I am entirely consumed by the visceral, haunting memory of Nolan’s ultimate betrayal. The sickening movie reels in my mind again, vividly retracing the exact steps of my shattered reality that led me to this miserable bar.

It was supposed to be a surprise. Nolan had been so busy with his demanding job as a successful manager that lately, we had absolutely no time together. I wanted to be the perfect, loving girlfriend. I made a grand plan to surprise him at his apartment. I went to the store, carefully selecting all the fresh ingredients to cook his absolute favorite home-cooked meal, hoping to treat him and maybe give him something else special. I practically skipped to his apartment, completely naive.

The first crack in my perfect, loyal world appeared the exact second I turned the spare key in his lock and pushed the door open. My heart violently stopped in my chest. There, discarded carelessly on the floor near the entrance, right next to his perfectly aligned dress shoes, was an unfamiliar pair of bright red heels.

Nolan is meticulously organized. Even when rushing, he never leaves his things tossed around like that. And I certainly do not own red stilettos. A cold, dreadful chill crawled up my spine. Every instinct in my body, every screaming alarm in my head begged me to get out of there, to drop my bags, close my eyes, and turn my back. But my stupid, undeniable stubbornness took over, forcing my legs to take on a life of their own.

My footsteps creeping down the hallway were so silent that not even I could hear them. All I could feel was my own frantic heartbeat, pounding violently against my ribs and threatening to climb directly into my throat. With every agonizing step I took toward the half-open bedroom door, the noises grew more audible, more distinct. The wet, heavy sound of a kiss. The sickening, hollow slam of hips forcefully crashing together. The husky, unmistakable moans echoing from deep in their throats.

I stood frozen right outside the door, my stomach twisting into a painful, nauseating knot as the exact dialogue rang out. It was my boyfriend’s voice, but it was thick with a dirty, unfiltered lust I had never, ever heard directed at me.

"You’re so hot, uhn, ride me, babe," Nolan groaned loudly.

My legs swayed under my own weight. I felt my conviction fail, and I actually started to turn away to spare myself. But then, a woman's breathless, cocky voice replied, echoing straight through my ears.

"No one makes you feel good as I do, right?"

My heart flatlined in that exact second. I recognized that voice instantly. Pushing the bedroom door wide open, my world completely shattered upon witnessing the horrifying truth.

I saw them. They were naked—completely, undeniably naked.

My boyfriend of four years, the man I had trusted implicitly and had never even had sex with, was lying flat on his back. And bouncing energetically on top of him was Chloe, my supposed absolute best friend. Her familiar red hair whipped around her bare shoulders as she vigorously rode his hard cock. I watched in absolute, paralyzing horror as his thick, erect penis slid completely in and out of her wet pussy. She took his entire length deep inside her snatch, grinding her wet hips against his pelvis while he gripped her waist and groaned in deep, masculine pleasure.

They noticed me immediately. Their faces contorted in extreme surprise, guilt, and panicked confusion. Chloe scrambled to pull back the bedsheet over her bare breasts, while Nolan awkwardly tripped over his own limbs, desperately trying to untangle himself from underneath her.

"Rose?" Nolan let out a panicked and pathetic gasp, his eyes wide with fear. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. The sheer shock paralyzed my vocal cords. I simply blinked a few times, taking in the disgusting scene with a chaotic mixture of surprise, horror, and sickening curiosity. I knew my eyes were glistening with hot tears because their naked bodies quickly became blurry in front of me. I parted my lips to speak, but no sound came out. I simply couldn't comprehend that after four years of dating and remaining virgins together, there he was, energetically fucking my best friend.

Ignoring his pathetic pleas, I simply let go of my bags. The heavy groceries crashed onto the hardwood floor, spilling everywhere. I turned on my heel and fled the apartment without uttering a single word. The heavy slam of his front door is still vibrating in my skull as I sit here now in this dimly lit bar, transitioning back to the miserable present reality.

I open my bloodshot eyes, realizing that my heavily requested strong drink still hasn't arrived. I lift my heavy head, scanning the bar for the bartender, but my blurred vision suddenly catches onto a deeply imposing figure moving steadily through the crowded room. My eyes follow him as if pulled by an undeniable magnetic force.

My expression of drunken confusion rapidly shifts to absolute shock because a familiar man is walking directly toward me. I rub my eyes furiously, hoping it is just a mirage conjured by the massive amount of alcohol swimming in my system.

It is not an illusion. It is Desmond Sterling—my boss, and my father's best friend.

He stops right in front of me, his expression stern and serious. His massive arms are firmly crossed over his broad chest. His crisp, white button-down shirt fits so snugly against his slightly tanned skin that it clearly outlines every thick cord of muscle, including his rigid eight-pack. He radiates masculine power, completely out of place in this dive bar.

"Heyyy, have you put on weight?" I ask in a heavily slurred, uncoordinated voice.

"Rosalie." His deep, gravelly voice sounds firm, laced with a very distinct edge of anger.

In my heavily intoxicated state, I stupidly decide to stand up. I clumsily stumble off the tall wooden barstool, my legs immediately giving out beneath me. I lurch forward, nearly crashing face-first to the dirty floor, but I am immediately caught by Desmond's rock-hard, muscular chest. It feels exactly like hitting a solid wall of warm granite. My breasts press firmly against his flat belly, and I can feel the unbelievable rigidness of his body.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Sterling?" I ask, my words entirely slurring together as I tilt my head back to look at his striking, angular face.

Desmond’s firm but unexpectedly gentle hands grip my bare shoulders tightly, keeping me completely upright as he slightly pulls our bodies apart. His intense, green eyes bore directly into my brown ones. "I should be asking you this. What are you doing here?"

I forcefully break free from his iron hold, heavily leaning my weight against the wooden counter just to keep from falling over again. I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Well, I came to celebrate that I'm single!" I proclaim loudly, wildly throwing my arms up. The absolute fury bubbles out of my mouth like venom. "That bastard Nolan was sleeping with Chloe! Can you believe that?"

Desmond doesn't speak right away, but his stern, authoritative gaze noticeably softens at my raw revelation. The rigid tension in his square jaw relaxes, replaced by something resembling pity.

"It’s not enough that he's cheating on me," I continue, my voice cracking with a messy mixture of sadness and fury. "Did it really need to be with my absolute best friend?"

I blink up at him, noticing his softened expression. "Why are you looking at me like that, Mr. Sterling?"

He lets out a low rumble of a sigh. He reaches out, his large, warm hand gently ruffling my messy dark hair in an awkward but tender caress. "Mr. Sterling? Why are you acting so formal, Rosalie? We are not currently at work."

"Oh... right," I mumble, offering him a lopsided, drunken smile. "Right."

"You’re drunk, Rose," he states, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "I'm taking you home."

"No! I don't want to leave...!" I adamantly refuse, a sudden wave of panic spiking in my chest. The thought of going back to my empty apartment terrifies me. I lurch forward again, tightly grabbing his firm, narrow waist. I desperately bury my face into his warm, broad chest, clutching the crisp fabric of his shirt. "I don't want to be alone, Desmond."

He freezes for a fraction of a second before his massive arms securely wrap around my small, trembling body. His embrace is so incredibly warm, so deeply comforting, that it forces a fresh wave of hot tears to the corners of my eyes. His caring, grounded touch gently strokes down my arms, and suddenly, an unexpected jolt of heat shoots through my veins. It instantly awakens deeply buried, undeniable feelings within my body—feelings I have spent years burying and ignoring. He is solid, safe, and intensely masculine, and I just want to squeeze him tighter and brush my body against his.

"Come on, Rose," Desmond murmurs softly, his large hand sliding through my hair again to pull it away from my bare shoulders. "We can go watch those cheesy movies you like. It’s better than booze for healing a broken heart."

His innocent promise, meant to gently soothe me, strikes the absolute wrong chord. I don't just have a broken heart. My raw vulnerability rapidly shifts into an explosive, uncontrollable drunken rage.

I violently push myself away from him, my hands clenching into tight fists. "I am not heartbroken, Desmond! I'm furious!" I scream at the absolute top of my lungs.

The surrounding patrons at the bar immediately turn their heads, their shocked stares burning into my back, but I don't care. I want the whole damn world to know what happened to me.

"He was screwing my best friend but never had sex with me! Four years of nothing, and he fucks her!" I shriek, my voice echoing loudly over the pulsing bar music. "He's a bastard! I hate him! I'm going to kill him! I'm going to poison that fucking pie turd!"

"Rosalie..." Desmond says, momentarily speechless as he looks around, clearly noticing that my hysterical tone is drawing massive amounts of unwanted attention.

He sighs deeply at my spectacular public outburst. Reaching into his tailored pants, he pulls out his leather wallet and casually tosses a few crisp hundred-dollar bills onto the sticky bar counter to generously cover my tab. He flashes the stunned bartender an apologetic smile. "You can keep the change."

Before I can launch into another screaming tirade about my violent plans for Nolan, Desmond firmly wraps a highly supportive arm around my small, fragile frame. He easily supports my staggering weight with just one arm, practically dragging me away from the bar. He hauls me outside into the cool, crisp night air while I continue to aggressively scream violent curses at the heavens, damning Nolan's miserable existence.

My throat is completely raw from yelling by the time Desmond finally comes to a halt. I blink, trying to clear my spinning, drunken vision, and realize we are standing on the dark curb directly in front of his prized, sleek black sports car. He usually calls it his baby. Even under the dim, shadowy glow of the streetlights, the expensive vehicle gleams like a dangerous beast.

"Can I drive it?" I ask, pointing a shaky finger at the gleaming hood while flashing him a ridiculously giant, goofy smile.

"Are you kidding?" Desmond asks smoothly, firmly crossing his massive arms over his chest again.

His casual stance draws my eyes directly to his torso. I lean back against the passenger side door, my heavy eyelids fluttering as my drunken, uninhibited eyes helplessly devour his towering, deeply muscular physique. The crisp night air does absolutely nothing to cool the sudden, intense heat aggressively flushing my skin. I scan the incredibly broad width of his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle in his neck, and the trim, hard lines of his waist. I internally acknowledge the undeniable truth: this man is a walking sin.

What is wrong with me? He is my boss. He is my father's best friend. He is older, powerful, and strictly, absolutely off-limits. I shouldn't be looking at him this way.

Yet, despite fully knowing how incredibly wrong it is, the hours he spends in the gym are entirely evident, and I catch myself instinctively moistening my dry lips with my tongue, my gaze lingering hungrily on his perfect body.

Catching my blatant, hungry stare, a cocky, deeply attractive smile lightly touches Desmond's full lips, transforming his usually stern face. He doesn't say a word. He just smoothly reaches past me, opening the heavy car door, and ushers me into the luxurious interior. "Let's go, Rosalie."

Obeying without a single complaint, I sink into the plush, expensive leather seat, my head spinning from the alcohol and his proximity. Before I can even reach for the safety belt, Desmond steps closer. He leans his large, imposing body directly over mine to pull the strap across my chest.

He is so incredibly close. His massive frame blocks out the streetlights, plunging me into his intimate shadow. As he reaches directly across my lap to grab the metal buckle, his face comes mere inches from mine. My eyes helplessly drop to stare directly at his full lips.

His subtle, intensely masculine cologne entirely invades my heightened senses—a rich blend of cedar and pure male dominance. My breath hitches. The sheer proximity of his large, hard body instantly lights a sudden, fierce flame deep in my lower belly. A sharp, undeniable sexual arousal flares between my thighs, making my core clench with an intense burning need.

Panicking at the overwhelming physical sensation, I quickly press my knees tightly together. I forcefully look away, turning my head toward the window, desperately trying to hide the sudden rise and fall of my chest and the rush of physical arousal flushing my cheeks.

I try to pretend I am completely unaffected by his towering presence.

But I fail spectacularly.

In the quiet, tense confines of the luxury car, I immediately hear it. His low, deeply knowing chuckle vibrates warmly against my ears, sending a fresh, undeniable shiver of electricity straight down my spine.

"Okay, let’s go home, girl..."