CHAPTER SEVEN

The bass thumped in time with my pulse as I made my way back to the dance floor. The crowd was thick, bodies swaying in unison to the heavy beat. I let the music consume me, drowning out the chaos in my mind. It felt like it was the only way to escape the storm of emotions swirling inside me. The betrayal, the anger, the humiliation.

For a moment, I wasn’t the woman whose husband had left her without a word. I wasn’t the woman clutching divorce papers with her name already signed by the man she thought she knew. I was just another body on the dance floor, losing herself in the rhythm, free of everything.

I danced harder, faster, my body moving as if to exorcise every ounce of frustration. The heat from the crowd wrapped around me, and soon, sweat began to bead on my forehead, my skin damp from the effort. I could feel the alcohol making my movements loose and unrestrained. It was like I was on autopilot, aware of my surroundings but detached, floating somewhere between reality and oblivion.

After what felt like hours, I needed a break. My hair clung to my neck from the sweat, and my head spun, but not enough to stop. I stumbled off the dance floor and rushed toward the ladies’ room to freshen up. I splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath, trying to center myself. I looked in the mirror. The makeup I had applied so carefully earlier was smudged, and my eyes were bloodshot. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to restore some sense of normalcy, but I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.

"Get it together," I whispered to my reflection, wiping at the mascara streaks on my cheeks.

On my way out of the restroom, still lost in a fog of alcohol and exhaustion, I stumbled. My foot caught on something, probably on the wet, slippery floor, and before I knew it, I was headed for the floor.  I braced myself for the inevitable crash to the ground, but just as I was about to, a firm grip caught me.

The hand that grabbed me was firm, and before I could even catch my breath, it lifted me back onto my feet with ease.

"Whoa, easy there. You, okay?" a deep, smooth, calming voice snapped me back to reality.

I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat. The bluest eyes I had ever seen were staring back at me, framed by dark, tousled hair and a ruggedly handsome face that seemed almost too perfect. For a moment, I forgot how to speak.

"I... uh... yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for catching me. That could have gone bad real fast." I managed to stammer, still stunned by both the fall and the man standing before me.

"Glad I was here to save the day," he replied with a playful smile and a deep and rich voice. "Can I buy you a drink?"

I hesitated for a second. After everything I’d been through tonight, maybe the last thing I needed was more alcohol. But then again, I wasn’t ready to go back to the reality waiting for me at home. I wasn’t ready to deal with the wreckage of my life. So, I nodded.

"Sure. A drink sounds good."

We made our way to the bar, and as we sat down, the dim light of the bar counter illuminated his face. Now that I could see him more clearly, I realized how good-looking he was. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly confident. A small part of me wondered who this man was and why he seemed to have appeared out of nowhere just when I needed a distraction the most.

"I’m Jake, by the way," he said, extending his hand toward me. His grip was firm but warm, and I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks as I shook his hand.

"Racheal," I replied, my voice a little steadier now.

"So, Racheal, what will you have?" he asked, turning to the bartender.

"Whiskey. Neat," I said without hesitation.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ooh, whiskey. Rough night, I presume?"

"You have no idea," I muttered, taking the drink from the bartender and knocking it back in one swift gulp.

Jake didn’t push for details, which I appreciated. "Fair enough," he said, then downed his tequila shot with impressive ease. "How about we just have a drink and dance instead? No talking, just having a good time."

I looked at him for a moment, considering his offer. His smile was infectious, and something about his carefree attitude made it seem like exactly what I needed right now. No questions, no explanations, just fun.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Let’s dance."

Jake grabbed my hand and led me back to the dance floor, where the music was still pounding. His touch was warm, and I could feel the strength in his grip. As we moved into the throng of people, I quickly realized that Jake was a much better dancer than I had anticipated. He moved with a kind of easy confidence, his body in sync with the music, and before long, I found myself losing track of time again.

We danced for what felt like hours, the alcohol coursing through my veins making everything feel a little hazy, but I didn’t care.

But then, everything started to blur. The lights seemed too bright, the music too loud, and the room began to spin. I reached out to steady myself, grabbing onto Jake’s arm, but everything went dark.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the smell of bacon sizzling nearby. My head pounded, and my mouth was dry as sandpaper. I groaned, forcing my eyes open, only to find myself in an unfamiliar room again.

Panic surged through me as I quickly sat up, taking in my surroundings. I was in a large, well-furnished bedroom. A plush bed, dark curtains, and a clean, minimalistic design. This wasn’t my penthouse. The sunlight streaming through the window made my headache worse, and I squinted, trying to remember what had happened.

Bits and pieces of the night before came back to me the dancing, the drinking, Jake.

Oh, God. Where was I?

The bedroom door creaked open, and Jake appeared, carrying a tray with two plates of bacon, eggs, and toast. He was  shirtless, his jeans slung low on his hips, and his hair was tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he said with a smile. "I made breakfast."

I blinked at him, my brain struggling to process what was happening. "What... where am I?"

"You’re at my place," Jake said, setting the tray down on the edge of the bed. "You, uh, had a bit too much to drink last night, so I brought you here. You passed out, and I didn’t think it was safe for you to go home in that condition."

I exhaled in relief. At least it seemed like nothing bad had happened. But still, I felt embarrassed. "I’m sorry about... all of this," I said, gesturing vaguely to the bed, my makeup-smudged face.

"Hey, don’t worry about it," Jake said, sitting down next to me. "We all have those nights. And besides, you needed to blow off some steam. It happens."

I nodded, still feeling a little groggy. I picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on it, not quite knowing what to say next. The reality of the last 24 hours began to creep back in. the divorce papers, Jack, everything.

And now, here I was, eating bacon with a man I had just met, trying to piece together my life one step at a time.