Page 17 of Ghost
Shaking my head at myself, I knew better. That was a stupid fucking idea. Maybe a wine bar would be better. Something totally the opposite of what Travis represented.
That was a wiser plan.
Chapter Six
Melissa
December 14, 2024, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
Saturday nights were always the best nights out if you were looking for a fun time that might last until the morning. My friends and I often went out together, but no one was available tonight. So here I was, alone. I chose an upscale bar tonight. Somewhere I felt safe to be at alone.
I was determined to rid myself of the memory of the man who haunted my dreams, both sleeping and awake. A man who, even if I knew how to find him, even if he lived in Oklahoma City, hell, even if he lived in Oklahoma, was someone I could never be with.
Sitting in the bar in my little black dress, my dark hair pulled up off my neck, I sipped at my wine. I wasn’t much of a drinker unless it was wine. I had developed a taste for red wine not long after I turned twenty-one. My best friend Haizley and I discovered this bar one night while we were out. It was our favorite. She was a rum and coke girl. She always said it was because of her simple Midwest upbringing.
I missed Haizley.
She had asked me to move to Nebraska with her when we graduated. I had asked her to stay here with me. We both walked away.
We were still close. We talked often on the phone. Sometimes on FaceTime so we didn’t forget what the other one looked like. It had only been two years since she went home, but sometimes it felt like a decade.
We’d had a lot in common when we met freshman year. Neither of us had any family left. I didn’t tell her mine was still alive, they just didn’t want me. I led her to believe that, like hers, mine had died off, leaving me alone.
It was easier than the truth. Haizley and I each had our secrets. Neither of us pressed the other to reveal things we weren’t comfortable with. It was why our friendship worked.
I did tell her about Travis. But still kept my secret about my distaste of motorcycles and what they represented to myself. She didn’t understand it and that was ok. We tried not to shrink each other.
“Hello.”
I was pulled back to the present by the deep voice at my ear. Turning to put a face to the sultry voice, I wasn’t disappointed by the man sitting on the stool next to me.
He was tall, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Older, maybe pushing forty. His expensive suit fit him well, though it wasn’t tailor-made. If I had to guess, I would say he was a businessman. Maybe finance. Or an architect.
“Hello,” I responded, my voice quiet and shy.
I wasn’t shy.
My innocence had been taken a long time ago. I played the part well, though. Had perfected it during my childhood, so my brother would never learn the truth. He believed I was just a smart kid, always stuck in a book.
That was true until college.
When he walked away, I no longer needed to pretend to be something I wasn’t. I could be myself.
During my studies, I learned that it was ok to embrace who you were. I didn’t have to live my life for someone else. Especially when that person no longer wanted to be a part of my life.
“You here alone?” the man asked. His voice was smooth like silk, whereas Travis’ was rough, raspy. Travis had smelled a bit like tobacco, and I knew years of smoking had altered his voice. Not to mention he was just rough in general. His hands were calloused from hard work. Though I never asked him what he did. We never got that far.
I looked at the hands of the man next to me. His nails were manicured. His long, thin fingers didn’t show any imperfections. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any strength in them.
Travis had strong hands. He held me suspended off the ground while he fucked me. Would this man be able to hold me up? I was average size. Five feet six inches tall, about a hundred and fifty-five pounds. I had curves.
I wasn’t sure this man had what it took to make me forget the man I could never have. But I was willing to find out.
“Not anymore,” I cooed, as I turned my body to face his. Crossing one leg over the other, my dress rode up my thigh, and the man quickly dropped his eyes. I was a psychologist. I had studied body language extensively. I knew how to make a man want me and let him know I wanted him.
His gaze made a long, slow journey up my body until he once again focused on my eyes. The smile that spread across his smooth face told me he understood exactly what my body was telling him.
Travis didn’t have a smooth-shaven face. His beard was rough against my lips. I missed out on feeling it scrape against my inner thighs. Once I saw the motorcycle, all thoughts of continuing what we had done in the bathroom of the bar were gone.
