by Holly Jaymes
Angela turned on a video of Gabe, and while I poked fun at it with her, my heart ached in my chest as I watched him. He was so young and confident. There was a surly edge to him now that I wasn’t sure was just because of me or a side-effect of living in the world. I was pretty sure I wasn’t as soft and naïve as I’d been back then either.
“It’s too bad you two didn’t work out.” Angela picked up the bottle of wine and poured more into her glass. “You guys made a great couple.”
I shrugged. “We were young,” I repeated my parents’ assessment. “And long-distance is hard. Especially for a man like Gabe.”
Angela quirked a brow. “Why can’t men control themselves? They act like they’re so controlled but they’re slaves to their dicks. How hard is it to not stick your dick in a woman that isn’t your girlfriend or wife?”
I shook my head. “That’s a question no one has been able to answer.”
“There was that rumor that he cheated on Jackie with Diana in high school, remember? Jackie was on vacation in France, I think.”
God, I’d forgotten that. “I guess I should have seen it coming.”
“Still. I liked Gabe. And he seemed different around you.”
“That’s all water under the bridge.” I poured myself another glass of wine. I wondered how much wine I’d need to totally and completely rid my memory of him.
“Are there any sparks there? Now that you’re both older, would you get back with him?”
I shook my head. Sure, I might have wanted to kiss him. Hell, my body wanted to get intimately re-acquainted with his. But that wouldn’t happen and we’d certainly never have a relationship. In fact, the urge to kiss him might simply have been because it had been a long time since I’d been with a man. Steve seemed interested in me, I wondered if perhaps I should indulge with him instead. Except of course he didn’t rev my engine like Gabe did. What the hell was wrong with Cupid that he’d make me attracted to a man who’d hurt me?
“Older or not, he did cheat.”
“Right.” Angela nodded. “All those bathing beauties in Florida.”
Speaking of which. A video of Gabe popped up from his early days in Florida. It was the local TV network from our area that was following Gabe’s story as a local boy done good. They’d gone to Florida to chronicle his move and new big TV gig. That included following him into clubs where women were falling all over him. At first, he seemed to try and keep his distance, but after a few drinks, things changed. He looked like he was enjoying the attention.
Another clip showed a young woman exiting from Gabe’s condo in the morning doing the walk of shame. When asked about it, Gabe acted like he didn’t know what the interviewer was talking about, but I was sure that was for me so I wouldn’t think he did anything wrong. But for what other reason would a beautiful woman be leaving his condo early in the morning than she’d stayed the night? He had no sisters so he couldn’t claim it was a relative.
The pain that broke my heart was as fierce today as it was back then. It was followed by rage that coursed through my veins for him ruining what had been a perfect love.
“Did he ever explain that to you?” Angela asked, nodding to the computer screen where the infamous interview played out.
“It was pretty obvious what happened.”
She gulped down the rest of her wine. “We should TP his house. Do you know where he’s living?”
I laughed, so happy to have a friend who understood. I nodded behind me. “He’s next door.”
“No!” She laughed.
“Diana is over there with him now.”
She frowned. “Seriously?” I nodded my head. “You two should have your own reality soap opera show.”
“I suspect when this episode of Budget Rehab airs, that’s exactly what it will be.”
She snorted. “I’ll need more wine if we're going to TP his house.”
“I’ll get another bottle.” Of course, I had no intention of TPing his house. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still impacted my life.
“Hey, did you hear Dean was back in town?” Angela asked when I brought out a second bottle of wine.
“No. What’s he doing?”
“He’s got a big law job in D.C. Maybe you should hunt him down. See if the ole sparks fly there again.”
“I think I’d like to move forward in my love life. But I wouldn’t mind seeing him.” Dean and I had dated on and off through high school. In the end, we figured out we were best as friends and had stayed close for a couple of years until he headed west for a job after law school. He’d been especially supportive after the fiasco with Gabe. He seemed to understand because his own romance imploded in a similar way, except he’d found his girlfriend with another man when he went back to the apartment to pick up law homework he’d forgotten.
Dean and I spent so much time together then, I think some people thought we were dating again. The truth was, I mostly cried on his shoulder and then he would take me to a comedy show or something that would get my mind off my heartbreak.
“He looks good.” Angela waggled her brows. “Not in Gabe’s rugged bad boy way. He’s the suave expensive suit guy. Like a young George Clooney in Ocean’s Eleven.”
“Maybe you should date him,” I quipped.
“I would if he asked.” Her brows pulled together in concern. “That would be okay, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t be breaking the best friend code by dating your high school ex, would I?”
I laughed. “You have my blessing.”
She grinned. “Good, because as much as I love you, I’m not sure I’d be able to resist him if he begged me to get naked with him. It’s been a long time since I’ve been naked with a man.”
I clinked my glass to hers. “To getting naked with a man.”
“Here, here.”
As long as it isn’t Gabe, I thought.
Angela stayed a few more hours and then called an Uber to take her home. As it turned out, she’d Ubered it over too. “I love Uber. It’s my designated driver.”
I gave her a hug on the porch, nonchalantly looking in front of Gabe’s house to see if Diana’s car was still there. It was. I shook my head as I realized there was a part of me that wanted Gabe to be different now. To be the man that I’d thought he was before he left for fame, fortune and infidelity.
Maybe he was changed. Maybe that was why he didn’t kiss me earlier. If he was with Diana now, then he shouldn’t be kissing me. Which he didn’t. He stopped himself. Perhaps he had matured. I should have been happy about that, but the sadness was still there. He was able to control his libido when tempted for Diana, but not for me.
“Listen, if you ever need any help on the house, give me a call,” Angela said as she made her way to the car.
I nodded. “I’m told that sometimes friends and family are asked to come help as a way to save money.”
“Call Dean too.” She winked at me.
I laughed and reminded myself of all the good I did have. My home was wonderful and, on its way to being perfect. I had good friends. I had a family that while living a distance from me, was only a call away. I didn’t need a man to make my life work. I definitely didn’t need a man like Gabe.
Book 1: Chapter 6 Gabe—Bad News
Gabe
I wondered if it was wishful thinking or delusion that had me walking into Samantha’s house the next morning, thinking I’d forgotten that I’d almost kissed her or that I was still painfully attracted to her.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I’d been able to get to that point. Not only had I almost kissed her the night before, but the sizzle of it stayed with me all night. I woke in the middle of the night having a dream of her riding my dick. I hadn’t had a wet dream since I was a teenager, but there I was, about to cum in my sleep.
Fortunately, I recited house measurements and got my hormones back under control, that was, until I fell asleep again, and this time I dreamt she was sucking me off in front of her fireplace.
<
br /> Fuck! I took a cold shower and tried again. This time I was able to sleep, and when I woke, I worked to convince myself that we hadn’t nearly kissed. It was a figment of the disturbing dreams I was having.
But I was jolted back to reality when I entered the kitchen and saw her standing near the window wearing jeans and a tank top, looking too sexy for a construction job. I knew then that I was in trouble. I was doomed to the next eight weeks of a semi-hard-on and aching desire to touch her.
But why? It made no sense that I’d yearn for a woman who demolished my heart. After what she did to me, why did I still want her? What the fuck was wrong with me?
It’s just lust, I told myself. I’d wanted her starting in the middle school when she’d filled out. I remembered the first time I’d touched her. She’d been walking and tripped on my backpack. I reached out to stop her from falling in a puddle. In doing so, I ended up tugging her to me, her body tight against mine. Every lustful neuron in my body fired. I had wet dreams about her for weeks after that. That was just lust, right?
It wasn’t until we were out of high school for a few years that the time was right for us to get together, but that was lust too. At least initially. That was until I fell in love with her. I fell hard. Almost from the first moment when I’d helped her break into her house. At the time, I’d been excited about my feelings. I’d never felt so much, so intensely in my life. Surely it was real and would last. What I’d learned was that the more intense the feelings, the greater the heartache.
With a snarl to match the annoyance in my gut, I walked into the kitchen.
“Oh hey, Gabe.” Megan sat at the table alongside Steve with a bunch of papers and a binder that Megan had told me held Samantha’s plans for the house. “We’re set to film in here today.”
“It’s not demo day for the kitchen.” I’d need more coffee if I was going to get through this. Or booze. No, not booze. It was dangerous to operate renovation tools while hammered, no pun intended.
“No, but we’ll film the plans for it and we need to go over budget issues,” Steve said with an apologetic look to Samantha.
I scoffed. The truth was, while my show wasn’t scripted, there were things that were manipulated or planned. Telling a homeowner they weren’t going to get their top of the line kitchen-grade oven because we needed the money to fix or replace something else was always exciting TV, according to my producer. In this case, Samantha was going to lose a lot of her design budget, which the book on the table suggested would be an equally disappointing blow. I wondered how she’d take it. Would she understand? Or would she blame me? Would she think I was doing it to get back at her for smashing my heart four years ago?
“Where’s the crew?” I asked.
“They’ll be in shortly. Do you want to go over it first?” Steve asked.
Megan winced and Samantha’s eyes narrowed as if she knew something was up.
I shook my head. I’d do this the way my producer would want it. I wouldn’t give Samantha any special treatment just because I once loved her enough to plan my life around her. Nope, she’d get the bad news in front of a camera like everyone else.
“Let me know when the crew is here. I want to check on Joe.” At least I’d see if the electrical situation was as expensive as Joe had originally suggested. I headed out, relieved to be away from Samantha. Being around her was messing me up.
Unfortunately, according to Joe, the electrical issue was just as expensive as I’d originally thought. I always hated telling homeowners that they were going to have to give up something because of an unexpected expense. I felt like they thought I ripped them off, especially since the most costly unexpected expenses were usually unseen, like electric systems. I especially hated telling Samantha, not because of our history, but because I knew it would impact our ability to complete the house’s renovation esthetically. I was disappointed too because the house was fucking awesome and deserved to be restored to her full glory.
I headed back to the kitchen where the filming crew was finishing up lighting and sound.
The producer made suggestions of where and how we should talk. Finally, annoyed by all the pomp and circumstance, I simply dove in.
“Sam, I need to talk to you.”
She’d known something was up, but neither Megan or Steve had told her. It was better that she hear the bad news from me. She already hated me. But on a renovation, I needed someone on my team to connect with the homeowner. While I wouldn’t let it be Steve, I thought perhaps that could be Megan.
“Okay.” She sat at the table with a cup of coffee. “Want some coffee?”
I shook my head and sat down across from her. I looked her in her deep blue eyes and for a moment, I was back at the fireplace last night, a millimeter away from kissing her. I should have taken that kiss, damn the consequences. At least now it would be out of my system and not twisting me up in knots. I gave my head a shake. Keep your head in the game, Gabe. “You need a complete overhaul of the electrical system.”
She stared at me for a moment before asking. “Is that code for I need to give something up to afford it?”
“It’s not code. It is a fact. It’s also a fact that you’ll need to give something up.”
She sat back and had that same look most families had when I gave them the news; “you lied to me” or “why didn’t you budget for unexpected expenses?” The truth was, we usually did try to budget for issues. The problem was, it was hard to know how many issues would arise and what they’d cost. There was no way to know some of the expenses until the renovation started.
“How much?”
All of a sudden, I wished I had the coffee just to give my hands something to do. “About fifteen grand.” She gaped. “It will eat a lot of the design budget.”
She shook her head. “No. You said we could restore this house to its former glory. What you’re saying now is that I’ll have great wiring but all the dated décor will stay.” Then her eyes widened. “What about the fireplaces?”
I winced. “We’ll be able to do one, maybe two, or none if you’d like to use that money on design.”
She looked away and I suspected she was trying to keep her cool because we were on camera.
When she turned back, her eyes were angry like I’d betrayed her or something. “What are you putting in? Gold and diamond wires? Why do I need them anyway? The home inspector said they’d been done when I bought the house.”
I worked to keep my voice calm. I’d done this before with countless families over the four seasons I’d done the show. “The previous job was a long time ago and not done well. Plus, with new HVAC, water heater and appliances, you need a system that can manage the load. The fuses need to go, but also you need new wiring.”
“My heating and air are working fine.”
“No. You have a duel system that is about five years past its use-by date that is barely working and the upstairs heat isn’t working at all, which you wouldn’t know because it’s summer. But you’ll be cold this winter even if you get the fireplaces opened.”
She stood and began to pace. “I knew this wouldn’t work.”
I watched her, wondering what she meant. I grew concerned that our past was about to explode for all my viewers to see. Maybe the editing team would cut it. No, they wouldn’t. If it came out that Samantha was my ex, that the show was part of what broke us up, that would be a ratings goldmine.
She whirled on me. “It wasn’t bad enough that you left but now you taunt me with dreams of fixing my house and then rip it out. Just like you did my heart.”
I heard gasps from my crew and closed my eyes. I worked to stay calm. Finally, I stood and turned to the crew. “Turn off the camera.”
There was a hesitation so I barreled toward the cameraman.
“Gabe,” the producer warned.
“Turn off the fucking camera now!”
The light went off but we still had an audience. I strode to Samantha and took her arm, guiding her to the other side of the
kitchen and into the pantry, shutting the door. The only light in the room came from under the door.
I tugged the string to turn on the overhead light bulb but nothing happened. “See, new wiring is needed.” I looked down at the seam of light under the door to see if there were shadows of my staff lurking to overhear our conversation.
“You lied to me.”
So I could talk low just in case someone was eavesdropping, but have her still hear me, I moved toward her. She stepped back, hitting the shelves that normally would have been loaded with food.
“No, I didn’t. You should also know that no one knows about our past. I’d like to keep it that way.”
She scoffed. “There’s a surprise. Don’t want your people to know you’re a cheater.”
“What?” I remembered she’d accused me of it before. That had been the beginning of the end. Or actually, it was the end. “Do you want the country to watch you have a hissy fit on TV? Because that’s what it will look like.”
She huffed out a breath. “Maybe it’s time for people to know the real you.”
“I don’t know what that means, but if you think my network is going to let an unhappy homeowner make me look bad on the show it spends millions on, think again. They’ll like the drama, but in the end, you’ll be the one coming out looking bad. Personally, I’d rather just keep it between us.”
She turned her head to the side, and I felt bad about this conversation. It didn’t feel right to tell her that the network would edit whatever happened to make her look bad. Of course, I wasn’t sure how I’d look bad. I wasn’t the one that messed things up for us four years ago.
Getting us back on track, I said, “Listen. The electric issue is a blow. I get that. I know you have big plans for this place. But, the electrical system isn’t the area to skimp on. The electric and other systems will do more to increase the value of this home than baroque wallpaper. The wallpaper and other stuff, that can come later.”
