by P. Dangelico
Images from yesterday flood my mind and I have to stop myself from going to her, from wrapping my arms around her from behind, and sinking my face in her neck. Nose to skin. Hips to hips.
I can’t get enough of her. Of the way she moves, the way she feels, the way she smells. There’s something about the scent of a woman that transcends physical attraction. A person can be your type, check all the right boxes, but if her scent is off, it won’t work. Riley even smells like mine.
“You’re the smartest motherfucker I know and the blindest.”
The thought of her leaving makes me uneasy. And since I won’t abide feeling that way anymore, I need to convince her to stay once we get back to the city. Whatever it takes. Even if I have to dream up ways to pay her.
I glance over and watch him staring blindly at the bottom of his glass like he’s waiting for someone to give him a break from the pain of missing Laine.
“You think you’ve hit a wall, but you’re only in a corner, brother,” he continues, “Life is sending you in another direction. All you have to do is open your eyes and feel your way out of there.”
Wise words for a man who seems to be stuck in his own personal hell. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that he may be onto something, though.
I’ve never planned ahead, never saw the need to. When you’re a kid with cancer, you learn very quickly to live day by day, to not set impossible goals. There’s so much misery, so much at stake with every doctor’s visit, with every test you take, that you dare not risk anymore disappointment.
In a way it’s a blessing and a curse. It forces you to live in the moment, to appreciate every single one. The downside is that you develop a blind spot for the future in fear that future may never come.
Maybe that’s why I fell so hard for Lainey. I was a scared, lonely kid, sick and isolated at an age where I was beginning to figure out who I was. Then a beautiful girl with an easy smile came along and she understood me, knew my pain, and suddenly I wasn’t alone anymore. Despite our circumstances, she gave me hope and without hope nothing else matters.
I would’ve done anything to take her away from Eli back then. He was the enemy standing in my way.
“Why don’t you take your own advice. You have a daughter who needs you.”
“If Laine––”
“Lainey would kick your ass if she saw you like this.”
He nods. “You’re right. I know…” The blank look on his face worries me. He slipped in and out of it all day like he’s hiding from me. “What about Riley?”
For a long list of reasons, I can’t talk about Riley with him. With anyone. And at the top of that list would be that I’m still trying to figure it out myself. Feelings too strong to be safe, a need so powerful it scares the living daylights out of me.
“What about her?”
“I see the way you look at her.”
“It’s just a distraction.”
The words leave a bad taste in my mouth. They’re wrong in every way.
“A distraction?” He shakes his head. “I know you better than anyone––” Catching himself, he pauses. Lainey knew me better than anyone. I love Eli but Lainey understood me in ways he never could or will.
If life has taught me nothing else, it’s that misery brings people together like nothing else can, and what Lainey and I experienced can’t be manufactured. The day we met irrevocably changed both of us.
“Don’t kid yourself. There’s more to it than that.”
“I’m a bad bet, and she knows it.”
Both painful and true. Riley could do so much better than me, someone who can guarantee her a future. Someone who won’t leave her a shell of a person, a bad copy of her former self. Like what’s left of Eli. Sparing her the heartache would be the noble thing to do.
Eli’s attention returns to the game. He swallows the last of his drink.
“Then convince her otherwise. Take it from me, buddy, you may not get another chance at happiness.”
The thing about me…I’ve never been noble.
Riley
With blood rushing in my ears, I back away from the open door to the family room and sneak out of the house. After the distraction remark, I wasn’t about to stick around to hear more––like my character being dragged through the mud.
Distraction? I’m a distraction? Great. Good. I’m glad I found out before I declared my undying love. It’s just that…he’s looked so genuinely happy lately that I thought…forget it, I don’t know what I was thinking.
Back at the boat, I climb aboard and sit on the deck. The darkness beyond is so thick it’s essentially a black curtain, the perfect backdrop to my mood. The night chill makes me wrap my arms around my knees and rest my chin there. Which hands me the night’s second unpleasant surprise––the sweater I’m wearing smells of him.
Damn, it hurts.
The pain in my chest is so severe it feels like I walked into a buzz saw. It’s not like I expected declarations of love––we’re totally wrong for each other; I get it––but I didn’t expect him to be so…cold…so flippant about us.
Which leads me to think that maybe I imagined it––the warmth, the affection. I thought he cared about me the way I do him. No, that’s wrong. I don’t care about him––I love him. I’m completely undeniably in love with him…and silly me, I was hoping he could love me back.
Behind me footsteps approach and I wipe my face and eyes. At least under the cover of night I’ll be spared the embarrassment.
“Hey,” he says quietly, so quietly it brings tears to my eyes again.
My mother was right. I don’t know why it surprises me, but it does. I guess I’m still the fool who believed her father was going to get better and a family of magic dragons lived under the city streets.
I should leave. Tomorrow morning I’ll book a bus ride home. Vern would tell me to run. Besides, Maisie’s home, where she belongs with Eli. Tommy’s gambling debt will be paid off next payday. My work is done here.
“Hey,” I echo back. But it’s weak and falls flat. He’ll know something is wrong. I can’t even pretend right now.
“What are you doing out here? I thought you were going to join us.”
“My stomach is on the fritz. Go on without me.”
“Are you in pain? Can I get you anything?” There’s tension in his voice at the smallest sign of illness. Now I get it. It all makes sense now.
“It’s a stomach ache, Jordan. I’ll recover.” I can’t even look at him. If I turn around, he’ll see I’m lying.
“Then why won’t you look at me?” I hear him climb onto the boat, stopping right behind me. “Is something wrong?”
His powers of observation are really inconvenient at times. “Nope. Everything’s fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Well, I am.”
“Riley…”
“I said I’m fine. Go back to your friend.”
He stands there silently for what feels like a short eternity. Then to add insult to injury he says, “Is this a female issue?”
I shit you not. I am barely holding it together and he wants to know if I’m on the rag. He needs to stop, or it’s going to get ugly.
“Am I supposed to guess why you’re suddenly in a bad mood?” he continues without a clue.
Have you ever been so mad you want to cry? So mad you’re positive the blood in your veins is turning into nuclear toxic sludge? Yeah, we’re at that part of the story. The part where I want to hurt him the way he hurt me. But I can’t do it. Something stops me. I don’t have it in me––that gene that allows a person to hurt the one they love. Because I do love him. It sucks but I do––I love him desperately.
“Riley?”
I won’t hurt him, but right now I’d settle for screaming into a pillow.
“You know what you know about females, Jordan? Zilch, zippo, not a damn thing––”
“Uhh, okay.”
“You sound confused so let me clear it up for
you. You don’t know squat. If I had to write a book about what you know about females, it wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s printed on––”
“Riley––”
“––The audiobook would be white noise! Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzz!” Anger, white hot anger bubbles to the surface. There’s no stopping me now.
“Fine. You’ve made your point.”
“Good. Now get off My Laine,” I tell him, livid, the feeling running roughshod over me.
“Riley...”
“No.” Standing, I turn to face him, see the look of complete bewilderment on his beautiful face, and march below deck with a look of anger and resentment on mine. Into the back bedroom, I slam the door shut.
Ignoring my wishes, he follows naturally. The selfish jerk. Walking into the bedroom, he closes the door behind him and leans back against it.
“What’s going on?” His voice is forceful this time and it’s enough to drive me over the edge. What’s the point in keeping it to myself. I’m leaving tomorrow anyway.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” The room is so small there’s nowhere to go, no escape. All I can do is sit on the bed legs crossed.
“Leaving?” He makes a face somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “Why?”
“You don’t need a babysitter anymore, and it’s time I get back to my business. Frankie and Fat Jesus need me. Tommy too.”
“Fat Jesus?” he echoes, thoroughly confused. “You’re my personal assistant. That’s what I hired you for.”
“I can’t be your personal assistant.”
“I’m sensing a lot of misplaced anger––”
Misplaced? It’s like he knows exactly what to say to piss me off. “I heard you.”
His brow wrinkles quizzically. “Okay.”
“No, I heard you talking to Eli about me.”
His body stiffens, his expression guilty. His chin tips down and he runs both hands through his hair, almost as if he’s searching for an answer. Or an excuse.
“What did you hear?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m catching a bus back to New York tomorrow.” I can’t look at him or I’ll cry.
His naked feet come into view. He sits on the bed next to me, his muscular thigh covered in navy deck shorts touching mine. I can feel his body heat, smell the expensive body wash he uses.
“What did you hear, Riley?” he repeats in a low voice.
“That I’m a distraction for you. I heard enough to know it’s time to get back to reality.”
He exhales and brushes my hair off my shoulder, so sweet and tender I almost want to kill him. It’s not fair that the first time in my life I fall in love it’s with someone I can’t have.
“I didn’t mean it.”
“Spare me.”
“I can’t talk about us with Eli.”
“Then who can you talk about us with?” He has no answer to that. “Just go Jordan.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not losing you over a misunderstanding.”
Tears of frustration start all over again. Why does love have to be so painful?
“I understood you perfectly. I was laboring under the false impression that you’re a nice guy, so thanks for the heads-up.”
He blows out a sharp breath, steeling himself. “I feel guilty. That’s why I can’t talk about us.” A heavy pause. “I spent years trying to take Laine away from him and…and for the first time in decades I have something good… something real all to myself, and Lainey’s gone.”
His eyes close and his shoulders fall. He’s embarrassed. I know him by now. I know what shame looks like on his face.
The fight leaves me drained. “Why couldn’t you just tell me that instead of hurting my feelings?”
Picking me up, he places me on his lap, holds me tight, kisses my lips, my eyes, getting as close as he possibly can.
“I’m sorry. Don’t leave. I’m begging you, Riley. I can’t leave Maisie with Eli alone just yet. And I can’t chase you back home. Please stay.”
I squeeze him tighter––my complicated, emotional man.
“Okay.”
A beat later. “Who’s Fat Jesus?”
As they say, all good things come to an end. So does our stay in Chatam. We passed the two week marker when Maisie’s castle was completed. Eli being Eli, he painted the exterior to look like and honest-to-goodness medieval turret.
For the first time, I’m both excited and scared to face what comes next. This was a perfect little bubble for me to indulge my fantasy of happy-ever-after, but New York is a different animal.
“I made this for you.” Eli holds out a package roughly larger than a book. I’m so shocked by the gesture I don’t reach for it right away, which leaves him hanging.
“Oh, you didn’t have to––” Finally coming back to my senses.
“I know. I wanted to.”
I open the wrapping paper carefully and find a portrait, an illustration of me as a cartoon action figure reminiscent of a Marvel super hero. Except I have a baton in one hand and a baby who looks a lot like Maisie tucked under the other arm.
A wide smile splits my face and tears fill my eyes. “You did this?” He’s not only a talented writer but an amazing artist.
“I’m playing around with the idea of adding her to my books.”
“Eli…” The words desert me. I’m so touched, so honored. Three months ago I didn’t know either of them and now… now they mean the world to me.
Standing next to Eli, Jordan kisses Maisie on the cheek and hands her back to Eli. Putting his sunglasses on, he heads for the driver’s seat of the Audi with what I suspect are too many emotions for him to handle.
“Come back any time you want,” Eli says. “Maisie would love to see you…me too.”
The inevitable tears come when it’s time for me to say goodbye to Maisie. She shattered my world and gave me something else to consider.
“Rie. Pick up.”
Holding her close, I whisper in her ear, “I love you very, very much. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Love,” she repeats.
Turning in my seat, I find Eli holding Maisie still standing in front of the house as we drive away, the wind kicking up the black robe he’s wearing.
I wipe the tears away as quickly as I can, but they’re soon replaced by more. Jordan stops at the bottom of the gravel driveway and leans over, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me. “Ready to go home?”
I nod, then whisper near his lips, “What home?”
His easy gaze drifts over my face. “Our home.”
17
Chapter Seventeen
Riley
“Hear that?” Jordan says to me the minute we push open the front door.
I step inside and listen but I can’t hear anything. “No.”
“That’s the sound of an empty apartment,” he tells me with a clever smile. Jordan stalks toward me with a hungry expression, and I laugh.
“How has your dick not fallen off yet?” I back away from him while he advanced.
“Baby, I’m just getting started.”
Taking my face in his hands, he kisses me and I kiss him back. We move together, peeling clothes off along the way. A sweater in the foyer, two pairs of sneakers in the hall, jeans in the living room, underwear on the couch.
“We just had sex on the island in your kitchen,” I mumble, exhausted from all the activity. “And the couch. And the floor of the hallway.”
“Mmm.”
“We just desecrated the entire apartment. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Want to do it again?”
Turning onto my stomach, I run my finger down his naked back and he shivers. “Jordan…”
“Mmm.”
“I need to get my business up and running again.”
“It’s going to be winter soon. Wait until spring.”
“People need me. They depend on me for work.”
He faces me, a thoughtful look on his face. “Like Fat Jesus?”
>
“And Frankie––he has PTSD and can’t hold a steady job…and Tommy.”
“The guy with the attitude?” he says running his hand over my shoulder.
I’m surprised that he remembers Tommy from that day at the job site. Thing is, I don’t know whether it’s a blessing or a problem. My gut tells me to tell him everything––about the debt, why I took this job in the first place––but my heart tells me to keep quiet, to not risk it.
“He’s a friend.”
He pauses, a wary look on his face. “I don’t trust the guy.”
Well, that seals it. It’s definitely a problem. Discussing Tommy with him isn’t going to happen. It’s dead on arrival.
“You don’t have to Jordan, he’s my friend and I’m keeping him.”
He gets quiet again in the same way he would before Cape Cod. “Work for me until spring then I’ll help you get your business up again. Can you do that for me?”
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But then he leans closer and places a string of kisses down my shoulder and arm and I forget why I shouldn’t.
“Doing what?” I ask and turn onto my back.
He crawls between my legs and whispers in my ears. “I’ll figure something out.”
“We’re going to the Met ballet tomorrow night,” my mans tells me when he walks into the bedroom. Another late night at work, fixing something in the code––don’t ask me what.
“Ballet?” I’m immediately nervous. I mean, ballet? I’m so out of my comfort zone here that I’m starting to sweat just thinking about it.
“Go to Bergdorf Goodman tomorrow morning and get something to wear. A suit or a dress, shoes, a coat to go over it. Nothing flashy.”
I just got my marching orders. He seems intent on making me go. “Why?”
He throws his jacket on the plush velvet lounge chair in his suite, unbuttons his dress shirt and peels it off, leaving him with only his pants hanging low on his hips. I’m momentarily distracted. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck.
“Charity show thrown by one of my first investors. He’ll expect me to be there as a courtesy.”
