Free Fall Into Love (Simone: Part One Naughty Nookie Series) by Serena Akeroyd Page A

have to seek atonement, Mona ̶ you did nothing wrong.  You
divorced him, because he was a pig.  You don’t have to wear a
chastity belt for the rest of your life as punishment!  You
read the papers. Hell, divorce is always on the rise!  Stop
feeling guilty for taking the bull by the balls and deciding to
emancipate yourself from that jerk-off.”
    Her mention of atonement does make me
uncomfortable.  My background is orthodox; my grandfather was
a pastor and my father holds stringent views on religion.  I
escaped without being indoctrinated.  I also escaped having to
marry one of the boys from our church, but royally fucked up, when
only a few years after my fugue, I married the bastard
extraordinaire, as Edwina likes to call him. 
    Divorce was a big no no in my house and
maybe I didn’t flee fast enough from my parents’ religious
beliefs.  Maybe some small part of me feels worthless for
getting divorced. 
    Okay, a large part. 
    Even knowing that I did everything I could
to make my marriage successful, it wasn’t good enough. 
    I wasn’t good enough. 
    In the pitch black with strobe lights
flashing around the room, people with black light paints coating
various parts of flesh dancing as though tonight’s their last, and
music blaring from the speakers at a volume that has to cause the
DJ some kind of ear damage, I ask myself if that’s why I’ve not
been laid in four years.
    Even though I feel like I’ve been actively
seeking a relationship, have I had some invisible sign on me? Hands
off unless you want to draw back a nub?
    The thought holds merit. 
    While it sickens me to
think that I’ve wasted more time on my ex, it’s quite a relief to
think that my lack of suitors doesn’t stem from unfortunate
comparisons to the Cinderellas sitting opposite me.  I’m not
an ugly stepsister.  I’m more like Sleeping Beauty.  But
I didn’t need Prince Charming to wake me up.  I can manage
that by myself!
    I come back to the surface with a bang, when
Marina clicks her fingers directly in front of my face. “What?” I
snap, and draw back. 
    The action was an unfortunate move on my
part.  Before I can do more than glare at her, my spine fails
to touch the non-existent backrest of the bar stool and I fall
backwards. 
    Those two seconds as my spine hangs
suspended in mid-air before crashing downwards seem to last an
eternity.  The discordant beat of the music matches that of my
pulse.  The odd angle of my body has my stomach twisting and
churning, and the pineapple and vodka concoction Marina forced me
to order is sloshing unpleasantly around my gut. 
    The stasis abruptly
disappears and real time footage restarts.  As the floor
crashes toward me, my entire body tensing with the expectancy of
pain, I’m too shocked even to shout out. 
    And then, rather than have brittle bone
crash into unyielding tile, my shoulders are grabbed; the balls of
the joints cupped with strong hands, and I’m slowly brought back
into my original position. 
    Cheeks flushed, blood rushing to my head, I
don’t know whether to be mortified or intensely grateful to my
savior. 
    With dazed eyes, I see the aghast looks on
my friends’ faces.  Even in the darkness, their faces are
white and taut with horror at my almost-accident.  Hell, I’m
feeling taut myself. My finances would in no way stretch to my
taking off a few days with a back injury!
    Swallowing so that my stomach returns to its
usual place I slowly turn and, as loud as I’m able, say, “Thank you
so much.”
    If it was more choked than
usual, then surely that can be forgiven. Not only had I been an
inch away from a nasty injury, the guy standing before me is hotter
than hell. 
    Sure, he’s not pretty boy
handsome.  He wouldn’t grace the poster of the latest movies
or famous magazines.  In the flashing strobe lights,
and to me , he
looks like sex on a stick. 
    All dark hair and brooding
looks; eyes rimmed with dark lashes and thick slashes for