Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) (21 page)

It’s been six months and I haven’t managed to get her out of my
head.

I’m not mad anymore, but I am hurt. I couldn’t even bring myself to read the article when it was published. Even when curiosity tried to get the better of me, I avoided it at all costs.

I’d heard from Dylan, via Gwen, that Lace was doing just fine without me, which made me realize how not fine I’ve been doing.

We’re headed back to the states now, and all I think about, after all the shit she said about me, is her.

When we land, I head straight for my place. I don’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone for the next several weeks. I just want to be left the fuck alone. I step into my loft, and it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I drop my bags with a sigh and head over to the counter where Callie had left my mail, flipping through a few before tossing it back. I walk over to the fridge, freshly stocked, and grab a beer, twisting off the cap as I head upstairs to my room. I am going to take a long shower and then sleep for a fucking month.

I down my beer as I walk into the bathroom, setting the bottle on the sink with a loud clink and stripping down. I face away from the mirror and glimpse over my shoulder at the reflection of the tattoo on my upper back with the cursive L.

I shake my head and turn on the shower, stepping inside for a brisk rinse down.

A few minutes later, I jump out and head into my bedroom naked and dripping wet, ready to flop into bed. I walk over to my side table, turning on my iPod. Music helps me sleep. It always has. When I was a kid, I used to turn on the radio so I couldn’t hear my parents fighting downstairs. It would drown them out so I could fall asleep.

Since I’m not in the mood for anything upbeat, I choose something slow and melancholy. I turn to fall into bed. But there’s something on it. I pick it up and notice my name and title of the main article. It’s Lace’s article.

Callie must have left it here for me to find. I throw it on the floor and crawl into bed, sinking into its welcoming softness with a yawn. I shut my eyes and…they pop back open.

“Fuck it.”

I jump up and pick the magazine off the floor, sitting back on the edge of the bed. I breathe deep and swallow hard before skimming through it until I come across an amateur picture of us with the title, Metal & Lace.

Metal & Lace

One woman’s descent into the world of Sex, Drugs, and Gunnar Haze.

By

Lacey ‘Lace’ Cummings

I have a confession…I am an Anarchist. I’ve followed Anarchy Reigns faithfully for longer than I’d like to admit. But, in recent years, I’ve felt their music was lacking a passion they once possessed. This article was originally supposed to be a truthful review on Anarchy Reigns’ ability musically. However, this is not a story of their hard partying ways or Mr. Haze’s adequacy as a front man or creative mastermind. Though he proved me wrong.

This is the story of us.

When I met Gunnar, I’ll admit, my first impression of him was anything but good. I downright hated the sonofabitch. He was an arrogant, entitled Metal God with a taste for women and trouble. He was your typical privileged celebrity, everything handed to him on a silver platter. I also saw his undeniable raw appeal. But I had a job to do, to report the truth while keeping my distance, which is exactly what I intended to do. What ended up happening, I could have never predicted.

He showed me a world I would have never known without him. He showed me what it was like to live beyond consequences. What I mean by this is he taught me to open up to new experiences and let go of those things you can’t control. Riding a motorcycle, getting a tattoo, skinny-dipping in a hotel pool, and some other things not suitable for all audiences, all things I would’ve never experienced if it weren’t for Gunnar. I know it sounds cliché, but he set me free.

I skim through the article, realizing the further I get, what a huge fucking mistake I made. This isn’t about me or the band or our music. There’s nothing of what I read the night I left her apartment.

I find it difficult to read on, but I do it anyway because I know I deserve every bit of this. I ruined the one thing I ever truly wanted, the one person I ever truly wanted.

While I’d set out to report unbiasedly, I failed. I fell in love with a man I could never truly have. But I uncovered something much more profound, myself. For that, I will always be grateful to him and the brief time we shared.

What the fuck have I done?

“Do
you
want
to
come
out
with
me
tonight?”
Gwen asks,
knowing
what my answer would be. It’s the same answer every time. Why should the fact it’s New Year’s Eve be any different?

“No. I’m just going to stay in,” I respond, stabbing my chopsticks around in a Chinese takeout container, fishing for a shrimp at the bottom.

In the months since Gunnar, I’ve spent most of my time working or watching TV in my PJs. I know it’s starting to get pathetic, but I just can’t bring myself to move on.

My mother arranged a few blind dates for me, an investment banker, an attorney, and a young politician with aspirations of the Presidency, but they were all so damn dull and I would usually find a reason to leave early. They were the ideal matches for her visions of my future. I was never able to picture my life the way she did because it wasn’t the path I envisioned taking.

By the last date, I’d had enough. I told her not to set me up again. She’s eased up since the encounter at the Labor Day party. But honestly, I just think she’s relieved Gunnar is gone.

She grabs both my biceps and turns me toward her, shaking me vigorously, nearly knocking the carton out of my hand.

“You have got to get outta this mood, Lace,” she orders, the gleam in her eyes almost desperate, hopeless. “It’s not healthy.”

“I just don’t feel like going out tonight.” I pull myself from her grasp, sinking back into the sofa. “Maybe another time.”

She doesn’t get it. She may never get it. I found the one, and he left me. You seldom come back from that.

“If you don’t start getting better, I may have to call your mom,” she threatens in an attempt to shock me out of my slump. “And I really don’t want to have to do that.”

“Just have a good time. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“No. No, I won’t accept that answer.” She springs to her feet and sets her hands on her hips to let me know just how serious she is. “I love you, Lacey. And I only want the best for you. Now you get your fucking ass off that damn couch or so help me.”

“Alright, alright.” I smile faintly at her.

“I laid out that cute little silver number you’ve had your eyes on, on your bed. I will not only let you wear it tonight, I will let you keep it if you come out with me.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. You have an hour to get your shit together.” She smirks at me and I jump off my ass and hug her tight.

“Thanks for being my friend.”

“Thanks for letting me.”

She giggles and then holds me at arm’s length. “Now go get your stinky butt in the shower. I’ll pour the champagne.”

An hour later, we’re in a cab headed downtown.

Gwen looks stunning in her gold sequin mini-dress, her thick mahogany hair in a big bun atop her head, makeup flawless.

“So, what’s with the silver and gold?” I ask.

“It’s a silver and gold party. Like the New Year’s song.”

“Right, clever.”

I don’t know what it is about high-society and their color coordinated parties.

My dress is a smidge tighter and shorter than I thought it would be, but I love it anyway. I went with a bold red lip and neutral eyes, making my mouth the centerpiece. My hair loose and flowing.

We arrive at our destination, a twenty-story turn of the century building, most likely an old factory renovated into hip lofts. We ride the service elevator to the top floor, opening up into the spacious living room. It’s exactly as I expected, hardwood floors, big arched windows, and white plaster walls to keep that industrial air.

After hanging our coats, we mingle about the party, the atmosphere buzzing with the anticipation of a new year, wiping the slate clean. We drink champagne, eat an assortment of dainties, and dance our butts off. It feels good to laugh and socialize. It’s the first time I’ve felt normal in months…and tipsy. My head swims from expensive bubbly.

A few hours pass in blur and before I know it, it’s fifteen minutes to midnight. Gwen and I have been talking with the host of this little soiree, a famous fashion designer using her for a new spring campaign. She’s going on about her inspiration for this year’s collection when someone comes up behind Gwen and pulls her into a hug.

It’s Dylan!

I’m not sure if he’s real or if I’m far more drunk than I had originally thought.
Isn’t he in Europe with Gunnar?

Once he’s finished with Gwen, he turns toward me with a slowly fading grin, replaced with an expression of pity.

“Is Gunnar with you?” I search the faces about us, but don’t spot him.

They both look at me, apprehension written all over the faces.

“No,” Dylan says, confirming what I already knew, “we haven’t seen him since we got back.”