Unraveled (Undone) Read Free Page A

make Layla shudder, but for the most part, they act pretty normal. Tonight all bets are off, I’ll be unable to escape what they are. The air practically pulses with it. Proof positive by the fact that I’ve walked in to Layla kneeling on the floor, saying nothing.
    Not that I want to be dominated, because I do not . I’ve asked Layla enough questions to understand the basics and it’s not for me. I can’t stand the thought of someone trying to control me. But I can’t deny I find I’m fascinated despite myself. In moments of introspection, I’ve determined it’s the dedication and focus dominant men seem to possess that intrigues me.
    I’ve never had a man pay attention to me the way Michael and Leo pay attention to their women. Unlike Layla, who clearly has a knack for picking perfect men, I have the exact opposite problem.
    I have terrible taste in men.
    I can’t even deny it.
    I’m always attracted to the wrong sort. Emotional, temperamental rocker boys are like crack to me. I mean, I’m hardly the first girl to be attracted to musicians. Intensely creative types that lose themselves in their poetry and guitars.
    I’m also that type. I’m a graphic artist by day, and singer by night.
    They are my people.
    Unfortunately, men like that tend to have Peter Pan complexes.
    Which, I actually don’t mind. Even at the ripe old age of thirty, I’m not in a hurry to be a grown up. Sure, I have a job, my own apartment, and I pay my bills, but that’s as far as it goes. As far as I want it to go. I have no interest in a conventional, traditional life. I don’t want a husband, kids and a mortgage.
    I grew up like that—in Pleasantville—with parents that love each other. My mom and dad have a good, solid traditional marriage and they raised my brother and sister and me to have family values. My siblings toe the party line; walk the straight and narrow, living within a five-mile radius of my parents’ house, in the small Indiana town where I grew up. They raise their kids, go to church on Sunday, PTA meetings, and potluck dinners at the neighbors. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that life at all. It’s the American dream.
    It’s just not my dream.
    I don’t want to be ordinary.
    I want to live my life on the fringe. I want to stay up all night drinking bad coffee and talking about philosophy. I want to roll out of bed at eleven. Follow my impulses. Live without schedules and restrictions. So the fact that I attract men that aren’t interested in grown-up life is nobody’s fault but my own.
    Michael hands me a martini glass, pulling me from my rambling thoughts. “Layla made lemon drops for you girls.”
    “Thanks, Laylay,” I say, calling her by her college nickname. We were paired up as roommates our freshmen year, and despite our differences, we have been best friends ever since. She’s the best friend I could ever ask for. She understands me and I understand her. We’d walk through fire for each other. Unfortunately for her, she was forced to travel a dark road, and I stayed by her side the whole time, even when she infuriated me.
    Layla glances at Michael and he nods. She shifts her attention to me and says, “You’re welcome.”
    I grin down at her. “What’d you do?”
    She pouts, her thick, heavily mascaraed eyes batting at Michael. “Absolutely nothing.”
    “I’m totally unreasonable, aren’t I?” Michael strokes her hair affectionately.
    “Totally,” Layla says.
    And I experience a stab of envy at the love on Michael’s face as he looks down at her.
    Jillian pours a glass for herself. “Layla makes the best drinks.”
    The doorbell rings and I frown. “Who’s that?”
    Michael goes to the door and Leo says, “Chad.”
    Oh no. Layla conveniently forgot to tell me she invited, Chad Fellows. I’d suspect a set up except it’s pretty clear we’re not each other’s type, despite the fact that over the past couple months he has become my unofficial date when