Page 19 of My Favorite Sin

“Yes. I’ll get him for you.”

There’s a muffled sound of someone passing the phone, then Ben speaks into the receiver. “Hello?”

“Ben, hi, it’s Ally.”

“Ally? Oh… shit.” Silence lingers from his end of the phone and I know this can’t be anything good. “Ally, I’m so sorry. I forgot all about tonight.”

The prickling in my skin amplifies, stinging deep, so deep that I feel it in the core of my stomach. “Um, that’s… okay.”

I don’t know why I tell Ben the situation is okay. Nothing about the way I’m feeling is okay, but I’m so desperate for people to like me that I’m willing to give him another chance, as pathetic as that sounds.

“No, really, I am sorry. The thing is…” He sighs, then curses under his breath. “Look, I’m back with my ex. It happened a couple of days ago. Tonight slipped my mind.”

I’m surprised I don’t burst into tears. Ben’s reason is perhaps worse than being tricked like I have been in the past. What he’s saying is I’m so unmemorable he forgot all about me.

Of course he forgot about me. It makes sense. I’m the quiet girl no one notices. This is my life.

Instead of those tears I expected, the emotions implode into numbness. A dark void inside me.

“I understand,” I tell Ben. “I’m… pleased for you.”

“Ah… thanks?”

I hang up the phone and stare into the distance, rocking slowly on the porch swing and hating myself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DAN

The Scarlet Mirage—Felix’s speakeasy, hidden beneath the streets of Manhattan. Every time I enter this place, it’s like being transported back to the 1920s.

Art Deco paintings line the mahogany walls. The dim chandelier casts a faint glow on the venue, leaving the perimeter in shadows. A wooden bar stretches across one side of the speakeasy with all kinds of alcohol shelved on the wall behind. Along the back wall of the venue is a row of booths, each one concealed with velvet curtains, allowing God knows what to happen inside.

Illegal gambling.

Sex.

None of it would surprise me.

That’s the appeal of this place: it’s not legal at all. The Scarlet Mirage brings people back to the seduction of the Prohibition era. Entry is by invitation only, and it’s a risk for any patron to walk through the doors. Dad would lose his shit if he found out about this place.

Tonight, it’s busy down here, as Saturdays always are. The air is heavy with a mixture of cigar smoke and liquor.Everyone has their eyes set on the stage where a strip tease feather dance is unfolding. The audience applauds as the dancer unclips her bra, hiding her breasts behind the feathers.

While I can admit she’s putting on a good show, I seem to be the only audience member disinterested in seeing what’s hidden behind the feathers. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Ally and she’s all I can think about. We’ve formed a habit of speaking on the phone every night, but it’s not the same as being with her in person. Last night was the first time she didn’t answer my call. I assume it’s because I called late, after my poker game, and she’d gone to sleep early due to a long week at work.

While the dancer shimmies out of her thong, I pull out the deck of cards Ally bought me for my seventeenth birthday—the cards I used to carry with me everywhere until she left for Paris. I’ve stored them in my bedside drawer for the last year, ignoring the deck until earlier this evening because the memory of these cards was too painful. As I sit in this armchair, bored by the entertainment, my fingers fall into a familiar pattern, shuffling the cards for relaxation like I used to.

The deck is exquisite, each card black and embossed with the neon artwork of skulls. My shuffling stops when I see the Queen of Hearts, and a tightness forms in my chest. I trace my thumb over the card I once gave to Ally, reading her handwriting from when she returned it to me before Paris.You’ll always be my person.

Those words… My jaw clenches, angered over how she willingly threw us away. I’m still caught up on how she left for Paris without saying goodbye and how we haven’t discussed it yet. How badly she fucked me up. If she thinks I’ll let her get away with her little Paris stunt and life will carry on as if we never happened, she’s wrong.

Ally is mine. She’s always been mine and she always will be.

What we had was the most meaningful connection I’ve ever experienced. Deeper than just lust. We were everything to each other on an emotional level. We were each other’s safe place.

Feelings like that don’t just disappear, I don’t care what she claims.

Our physical need for each other… Fuck. I never even got to indulge in her body. The day will come when this good girl persona snaps and I have Ally bouncing up and down on my cock.

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