And Then There Was Her (And Then There Was, 1)
And Then There Was Her
And Then There Was, 1
Jenika Snow
AND THEN THERE WAS HER (And Then There Was, 1)
By Jenika Snow
www.JenikaSnow.com
Jenika_Snow@Yahoo.com
Copyright © January 2021 by Jenika Snow
First E-book Publication: January 2021
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Models: Forest & Nana Malone
Cover Designer: Lori Jackson
Image Provided By: Wander Book Club
Editor: Kayla Robichaux
Proof Editor: Lea Ann Schafer
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
Contents
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
About the Author
My job had taken me into the city.
I’d taken myself into a bar afterward.
I’d only gone there for a drink, but then I saw her, sitting on that stage, singing her heart out, her words sad and sorrowful, her voice beautiful and calling to me.
I wanted to know more about her right then and there.
And after that night, I took her back to my hotel. We’d both become lost in pleasure, and then she left, no goodbye, no last name or phone number given to me so I could find her again.
Now, three months later, after trying to figure out where she was, all but being a stalker, I was still nowhere close to finding out who Adele was. But that would change, because I was headed back to the city for work. My plan was simple.
Scour the city, go to every bar, and find her—because leaving without making her mine was not an option.
1
Oliver
I remembered the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin. The memory of how she felt under me, her voice coming from her parted lips as she moaned in pleasure, was a constant loop in my mind.
A year later and I still couldn’t stop thinking about Adele.
And that’s all I knew of her.
Her first name.
Who occasionally sang sad songs at Roscoe’s Bar on 59th in Downtown Brownstone.
She had this beautiful sorrow to her that broke my heart and had me falling for her all in the same breath.
Every night I went to bed, she was the last thing on my mind as I grabbed my cock and stroked myself, as I thought about all the times I wanted to find her, to demand she was mine.
And every time I woke up, she was the first thing I thought about, pictured. This was far beyond infatuation, obsession.
I’d come to the realization that I’d fallen in love with Adele that night I met her. It was instant and consuming from the moment I saw her in that crowded bar, sitting on that little bar stool onstage as she sang her heart out.
I talked her into having a drink with me. And as we sat across from each other, it was like we were the only two people there, as if a hundred bodies didn’t surround us.
I’d known what she meant to me from that very first moment I saw her, from the very second I had her back to my hotel room. I knew it without a doubt as I slowly took her clothes off, stripped her for me. I’d looked into her deep brown eyes, and seen my whole life right before me.
She just didn’t know any of that.
And I hadn’t been able to tell her, because she left in the morning before I’d even gotten up. I wondered if she’d been nothing more than this fantastical dream, if she’d even been real. Maybe I just fantasized about the woman of my dreams?
And I sure as hell tried to find her, had gone back to that bar, pleaded, was desperate as fuck for a morsel of information on her. And I’d come up against a wall, rock solid, unmoving.
To this day, I still didn’t know any more about her than I had that night. No amount of searching, calling bars to see if anyone by her name was singing, got me any closer to her.
God, who was she? Where was she?
Before her, there hadn’t been any female companionship in my life for a fucking year, not an inkling or feeling or emotion to be with anyone. I was content focusing on work. My arousal was left to me jerking off at night as I stared at my ceiling. It got the job done, but it was one hell of an empty orgasm.
God, I wanted Adele. She was the only female—ever—to make me feel anything.
The sound of hammers and saws, of men shouting right outside the work trailer, couldn’t drown out my thoughts, even though I desperately wanted them to. Adele had been a constantly on my mind since the first time I saw her. I felt like I was losing my damn mind.
But I was being sent back to the city for work in the next couple days, a short forty-five-minute drive. And although I loathed work travel, even a short one like this, I was practically salivating to go on this particular trip.
I’d taken off a week after my business was done in the city, because I was going to find her. I didn’t care if I had to turn over every damn bar in the city. I’d find Adele.
I’d make her mine.
2
Adele
I leaned against the counter, my hand braced under my chin as I listened to the woman onstage singing the blues. Her voice was slightly husky, this deep tone that went straight into your body and tugged at your heart. I was drowning in her notes, in the way the emotion was laced in the words that spilled fluidly from her lips.
“Yo, Adele.”
I blinked a few times and looked over at Bishop, Lyrics bartender and the owner of this establishment. Maybe people thought it was weird the owner tended the bar, but Bishop was a hands-on guy when it came to this place, and I had a feeling that’s why it was as successful as it was.
“Here is table six’s order.” He gave me a wink and set the last drink he’d just made on my tray.
I looked down at the drink order.
Two Bloody Mary’s, a Long Island iced tea, and a whiskey sour. This order was going to the table off to the side, a bachelorette party, where the girls were already good and drunk, a little too loud, and clearly not in the right establishment. The way they were dressed, the way they were drinking was more fit for a club, not a smoky, darkened bar in the basement of an older building almost on the outskirts of the city.
I’d been working at Lyrics, a small jazz bar, for the past year. Of course, my passion wasn’t serving people drinks, but I loved the atmosphere and the people who worked here. I was a singer at heart, so I was right in my element, and well, I lived in a city that was expensive as hell, and I had to pay my bills.
So waitressing was what I did to make rent.
But this was my scene, my people, and being able to work at Lyrics made my heart sing.
So when I wasn’t working at the bar, I did open mic at some of the other local establishments. I loved Lyrics but had never felt comforta
ble singing here during their open stage nights. But that would change come Sunday, when I signed up for their open mic night. In this city, everyone and their mom were talented singers. I was just another person who sat up on those stages and told a story in melody. I didn’t see myself as anything special, anything different.
But then I’d seen him three months ago. I don’t know what it was about Oliver, but the way he talked about my singing, the genuine awe that came from him made me feel like I wasn’t just another body who hoped to make their break.
I took the tray and gave the girls their drinks. They were good and buzzed, so when I set down their order, they were overly excited, ecstatic that I just saved the night for them.
I made my rounds, checking on my tables, refilling orders, and all the while I kept glancing at the stage, at the next singer belting out a slow, desperate song about love and loss.
He played an acoustic guitar, his longer hair tied up in a messy man bun, his beard thick. His mouth was close to the microphone, his eyes closed. His jeans were faded and worn, his boots old and scuffed. He wore a distressed leather jacket, a dingy-looking white shirt underneath. He had that “starving artist” appearance going for him, but I knew Broderick was anything but starving.
Being a trust fund baby, Broderick broke the family mold of his CEO father and supermodel mother. He made his own way, worked as a barista—much to his parents’ disapproval—and in his spare time, he sang at Lyrics. He was a regular, a favorite among patrons and the staff.
He gave me hope that no matter your upbringing, the life you might have been meant to lead, if you had a passion, you went for it.
And that’s why I found myself doing open mic, why I didn’t give up on my dream and desire. I didn’t want to be some big rock star. I didn’t want to be a celebrity.
I just wanted to sing and make people feel from it.
“I’m heading out,” I said to Bishop as I set my tray on the bar. “Cheryl is taking over.” Bishop nodded and gave me another smile before serving the next customer who stepped up to the bar.
“Have a good night, Adele.”
I smiled at him and took off my apron before stashing it under the bar top and grabbing my purse.
I headed out of Lyrics, the city bustling. It was ten at night, late for other parts of the country, but for the city, it was just waking up. I ended up securing a small ten-minute spot at Tate’s Boon, a new bar that just opened a couple months ago.
To say I was terrified of sitting onstage with a full house was the understatement of the century. This would be the biggest crowd I’d ever sung for.
I didn’t bother heading home to change. I didn’t have time anyway. The bar was a good fifteen-minute walk, and I was due onstage in thirty minutes. I wanted time to stay calm, to just… breathe.
Fifteen minutes later I found myself approaching the bar. There was a line outside, wrapping around the side of the building, and a bouncer standing in front of the door, letting in a couple people at a time. The bar was always packed on the weekends, and not just because it was a brand-new establishment, but because they had some incredible shows every weekend.
They hosted no-name artists, local bands, and I even heard they had one or two singers who actually made it big.
After getting the all-clear from the bouncer, allowed entrance, and told where to go, and after weaving my way through the already congested crowd, I found where I was supposed to be backstage.
The nerves started really climbing then, but I found a semi-quiet corner, leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and tried to breathe. And the first thing, the first person I thought about was Oliver. Instantly I felt calm, relaxed. I pictured him, the smile he’d give me that night, the way he made me feel. I felt the stress leave, and when I opened my eyes, I knew I had this. I could do this.
I regretted leaving him sleeping in that massive hotel room bed those three months ago. I hated I let my fear take control, my anxiety claiming me over the strong emotions I felt so profoundly for a virtual stranger. I knew I fucked up as I walked out the door. But what I felt for him was so foreign. I’d never felt that way about anyone before in my life.
Did I believe in love at first sight? I never had… not until I’d seen, spoken to, been with Oliver.
And that scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
I’d be lying if I said every time I went onstage, no matter what bar, what venue, I always hoped I’d see him out in the crowd, that he’d find me, that we’d find each other again.
I hoped like hell that would be my reality.
It was wishful thinking though. The city was huge, and when I’d been with him, he’d taken me back to a hotel room, leading me to believe he wasn’t a city resident, probably just passing through. Our paths would probably never cross again. And I couldn’t even explain how that made me feel, the sheer desperation I felt that I would never see him again.
Before I knew it, they were calling me up onstage. I exhaled slowly and headed out of the back room. I’d done this many times, sung my heart out, but never had I felt so nervous before. I knew it was because I’d be performing a song I’d written myself. One about the night with Oliver, the passion and emotions, the connection and yearning.
Of course, nobody knew that but me. No one would ever know that. It was the only song I’d ever written, inspiration striking me after my night with him. He was my muse, I’d come to realize, as the words spilled from me after being with him.
I stepped onto the stage and kept my focus on the floor, not wanting to see how full the club was, not wanting to let my nerves take over even more. But when I sat on the bench behind the piano, when I ran my fingers over the ivory, I did look up then. The lights were aimed at me, thankfully blinding me to the point I really couldn’t make out exactly how many people were here tonight. Was Oliver out there? Was he watching me, waiting until I was done to talk to me, to reconnect?
Or maybe my hopeful fantasies were just that… in my head. Maybe what I felt had only been one-sided. Maybe he’d seen me as a one-night stand and nothing more.
I closed my eyes and pushed those thoughts out of my head. They’d been a constant for three months. And now wasn’t the time or place for them.
I focused on the here and now, smoothed my fingers along the piano keys, and played my heart out. I hoped wherever Oliver was, he could hear my bleeding heart and know I wished we were still tangled in the sheets together.
3
Oliver
I finished up my work in the city and had the rest of the week to do what I desperately wanted to do.
And that was to find Adele.
I’d gotten to the conclusion that, come hell or high water, I’d find her during this week. There was no other option.
I left my things in the hotel room that would be home for the next seven days and immediately started my search. It was Saturday night, and I’d already been to three clubs so far. None of them had brought me any closer to her.
I was at the fourth establishment, my ass on a bar stool as I nursed a beer. I pulled up my phone and looked at the list I’d jotted down of bars and clubs in the city. First, I was staying within a ten-mile radius of where I’d first seen her. I’d go to every bar, every club in that area. I didn’t know if I’d find out anything about her, but I had nothing else to lose at this point.
After that, I’d extend my search, asking local businesses and not just keeping to the nightlife establishments. I was fucking desperate.
I brought my bottle up and finished off the now lukewarm beer.
“Another one?” the bartender asked as he dried his hands on a rag and promptly tossed it over his shoulder so the material hung there, ready to be used again.
I shook my head and pulled out my wallet from my back pocket, fishing out a five and setting it on the counter. “I’m good, man. Thanks.” He nodded and took the five. “Keep the change.” He gave me a grateful smile and tipped his head in my direction.
“Good luck with
your search. I hope you find who you’re looking for.”
“Thanks, man,” I said and got off the stool, weaving my way past people and exiting the bar.
The next stop was a little hole-in-the-wall club that was more of a punk rock establishment than a place I’d see Adele at. But I was covering all ground.
Although we’d only shared that one night, I felt like I knew her pretty damn well. I felt like our souls connected. Hell, I never believed in soul mates or fate or anything like that… not until Adele.
And once she’d come into my life, there was nothing else that mattered. Adele was it. My beginning, my end… my everything.
I knew her voice, her energy. I learned what her favorite drink was, where she’d always wanted to go on vacation. Norway, of all places, to head up north and stay in one of those little igloos where you could see the Northern Lights. I told myself once I found her, once she was mine, I’d make her dream our reality.
I took a moment and just closed my eyes, feeling the breeze along my skin, smelling the city scents surrounding me. Car exhaust, cooking hot dogs from street-corner vendors, roasted chestnuts, the various aromas from the restaurants.
I opened my eyes, bright lights, flashing neon signs all surrounding me. They were all part of what made up the city. I wasn’t a fool; I knew my fantasy of finding Adele might not come to fruition, that I may never find her again. It was like a needle in a haystack. I wasn’t insane or naive. But I knew I had to do everything in my power to find her. Because if I didn’t try my hardest, it was a disservice to us, to what we could have.