I guess with time this feeling will fade, but right now, it’s stuck on me, and I can’t shake it…and I’m starting to think everyone can tell.
“What color are you looking to wear?” Teagan asks, holding up a pink blouse in one hand, a yellow one in the other.
“Doesn’t really matter.” I rustle through the clothes on the rack, the metal of the hangers scraping by.
“O-kay.” Her tone is slightly frustrated, and I look over my shoulder to see she’s frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“What’s wrong? Gabby, ever since I’ve gotten here, you’ve been acting weird. You sure you’re okay?”
I force a laugh. “T, I’m fine!”
“No, you’re not fine. I can always tell because when something is wrong you always say you’re fine. If you were great, you’d tell me you’re great.” She takes a step toward me and I sigh, rubbing my elbow and looking away with a huff. “You know you can talk to me about anything, G. That’s what I’m here for.”
I meet her sincere eyes. “I know but…it’s really not a big deal. I’ll get over it.
“If it’s bothering you this much—to the point that I can see something is wrong with you—then yeah, it is a big deal.” Her brown eyes study my face. “You know what? Forget about the outfit for now. Let’s hit the food court, grab a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s or a Cinnabon.”
I smile as she grabs my hand and drags me out of the store. A Cinnabon does sound delicious right now. Then again, for the past several days, all I’ve wanted is carbs. Emotional eating. I always do it.
After we’ve ordered our Cinnabon, Teagan finds a two-top table and sits. I take the seat across from her and dig into my cinnamon roll, biting the edge and getting a good amount of the cream cheese icing with it. “So good,” I moan.
“Remember when we used to go to the mall and talk about everything while eating these?” She sighs and smiles, looking down at her cinnamon roll. “We’d sit at the table for, like, an hour straight. I miss those days.” She looks me over. “So tell me what’s going on.”
I take another bite, filling my mouth so I don’t have to speak right away. She waits, her expression screaming the words, I’ve got all day and you know it, so talk!
“Okay…you have to promise you won’t judge me about it.”
“Bitch, like I ever would.” She waves a hand. “Spill it.”
“Okay…” I sigh, placing my fork down. “Remember when I was telling you about the landscape architect?”
“Yeah…I remember. What about him?”
“Well, there was one night I went to a club with a neighbor and he was there. We were at the bar a while, he bought a drink for me, and we left together.”
Her eyes stretch as wide as saucers. “You left with him?”
“Not like that!” I hiss. “The neighbor I went with was doing coke and stuff with these other ladies, and I just wasn’t feeling it, so he offered to take me home.”
She looks relieved. “Oh. Okay.” She takes a bite of her roll. “Go on.”
“We smoked a joint on the way to my house, but when I got home, things got all weird. I went to the door, and he chased after me and said all these things about me and him. About me and Kyle, too.”
“Things like what?”
“Like how I deserved better than Kyle. How I wouldn’t regret doing something with him if something were to happen. Or how Kyle would never know about it.”
She’s wide-eyed again. “That’s one bold motherfucker.”
“But I got mean, T. I told him what me and Kyle had was our business and that if he didn’t like it, he could stop coming around.”
“Wow! Cold-hearted as fuck!” she exclaims.
I shake my head, picking my fork up and scraping it over the icing before bringing it to my mouth to lick it away. “It’s not cold-hearted when my marriage is none of his business—or anyone else’s outside of it, for that matter.”
“So…it’s bothering you because you said that to him, or because he actually listened?”
“It’s because he listened. I won’t lie, I enjoyed his company. He made things around the house less…boring. Not to mention he was nice to look at.” I blush, just thinking about his shirtless days. “But I shouldn’t care, right? I’m married, and he was just doing his job for the most part. He was high that night and not thinking clearly, so I turned him away before he did something he wasn’t supposed to.”
“You mean before you did something you weren’t supposed to.” I meet Teagan’s eyes. “Don’t kid yourself, Gabby. You wanted that man.”
“What?” The word comes out winded. I’m stunned by her accusation and my heart races.
Teagan gives me a matter-of-fact smile. “You wanted him. But you’re married, and you felt guilty for wanting him, so you hurt him to try and downplay your emotions.” She sips her drink. “Now I really want to see what this landscape architect looks like.”
“Teagan, this isn’t a joke, okay? I mean he was this close to kissing me that night!” I hold a hand up, showing her how close with my fingers. “If I hadn’t said what I did, he would have.”
She shrugs. Nothing more.
“You are not taking this seriously.”
“You know how I feel about Kyle. I honestly don’t give a shit about him, but you’re my friend, and I support you. It’s the only reason why I tolerate him.”
“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t be surprised that I ended up cheating on my husband?” I narrow my eyes at her.
“Not at all. He would deserve it. He treats you like shit sometimes, Gabby.”
I shake my head, dropping my fork to fold my arms. “That’s ridiculous. Cheating is never okay.”
“Is it that ridiculous? Because you damn sure aren’t denying it. All you do is defend him whenever he does treat you like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. If your landscaper could see that your own husband doesn’t deserve you, then what does that prove?”
I swallow thickly to get rid of the dryness in my throat. I hate that she has a point.
“Kyle has been good to me.”
“Yeah…lately. And that’s only because everything is still so fresh and new for the two of you right now, but as soon as you do something he isn’t happy about, he’ll be back to treating you like shit and saying whatever he wants to you. And you know why? Because you allow it to happen. He has no respect for you—”
“Kyle does respect me, Teagan. He’s done so much for me and my family. How can you say that?”
She shakes her head and holds her hands up. She doesn’t want to get into the argument. We’ve had it before, and it didn’t turn out so pretty. Luckily, we forgave each other within a couple days. We never hold grudges with one another.
“Letting my landscaper kiss me would have been wrong, that’s why I turned him away.”
“And now you miss him. Go figure.” She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t miss him,” I spit out.
“He’s gotten a hold of you somehow, otherwise you wouldn’t be so upset right now.” She’s doing that cocky smirk again. I sit back in my chair, but not before grabbing my lemonade and taking a hard sip.
“I’m supposed to be happily married, appreciating my life, and enjoying my husband,” I mutter.
“Yeah, you are supposed to be,” she agrees. “But is any of that happening?” Her question is blunt. A punch right in the gut. I focus on my best friend, watching as her brown eyes shimmer with the truth that I so badly want to ignore.
I look away before I let her truth shroud my mind, then push out of my chair, closing the container of my Cinnabon and putting it in the bag.
“Let’s finish shopping,” I mutter, and she rises too, but doesn’t say anything else about Marcel or Kyle. But with that smug smile she’s wearing as we walk to the next store, I’m certain she’s still thinking about it.
TWENTY SEVEN
Gabby
Two days later, I’m walking with Teagan inside the airpo
rt so she can catch her flight back home.
“God, I’m going to miss you,” I sigh over her shoulder, hugging her tight. “I’m so glad you came. I really needed this time with you.”
“I’ll miss you too, G. So much.”
I pull away and look her over. “Remember, I’m thinking about doing our housewarming next month on Cinco de Mayo weekend, so make sure you take those days off and come back. It’ll be fun.”
“Oh, trust me, I will. Like I told you, margarita is my middle name.”
I laugh and give her another hug.
“Let me get out of here before I miss my flight. Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m here to talk about whatever you need. No judgments from me!”
“I know, and I will.” I give an appreciative smile.
She turns, hiking the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. “Okay—gotta go! Love you!”
“Love you, too!” I watch her go, rising on the escalator. She waves once more and then she’s out of sight, I sigh and leave the airport, walking back to my car.
I check my phone when I’m inside, escaping the humid air, and there’s a missed call and voicemail. My heart jumps to my throat when I see who both notifications are from.
“Marcel?” I whisper.
I’m so confused. The yard is done, and I paid it in full—with Kyle’s help, of course. Luckily, he loved the patio, saying it was a good investment for the house and would increase its resale value if we ever had to sell it.
I lift the phone, pressing the receiver to my ear to listen to the voicemail.
“Hey, Mrs. Moore. I have your finalized contract on hand. I’ve had a busy few days, but since I have a moment free, I figured I’d let you know. I give this to all of my clients who may need it for tax purposes or things of that nature. Let me know when you’re free, and I can bring it by, or if you’d prefer, I can mail it to you. If you can, just give me a call back. Let me know.”
I don’t even think about the option of having him mail it, though it would make things less complicated. I need to see Marcel and I hate that growing, aching need. I call back right away. He answers.
“Marcel? Hi, this is Gabby. Just returning your call.” My voice is formal, and I’m relieved because right now it really wants to waver. But I won’t sound weak for him.
“Hey, Mrs. Moore. Glad you returned my call. Should I go ahead and mail the information to you? Figured it would be less of a hassle to deliver it myself since I’m already in the area.”
“You can bring it by, Marcel. It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I’ll be home all night so it’s no rush.”
“Okay. I’ll swing by shortly.”
“Sounds good.”
I hang up and place my phone on the passenger seat, but on my way home, I figure this is the chance to really give him a solid apology.
I make a pit stop at the grocery store, picking up everything I need to make tacos, and even grab some Jell-O packs. I even stop by the liquor store to grab a bottle of tequila.
This is all so unnecessary, but I refuse to give myself the chance to think about what I’m doing. Instead, I get home, lugging the groceries into the kitchen. After I take Callie out back to potty and get some air, I feed her, wash my hands, and go straight to making dinner.
Around six, the doorbell rings. The food is done and set on the countertop of the island, covered with aluminum foil. The Jell-O shots are in the freezer. I’ve even had time to shower and give Callie a short walk on the beach.
With a pounding heart, I walk to the door, checking one of the sidelight windows before unlocking it and pulling it open.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Marcel is standing on the other side of the door. He’s wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugs his upper body, showing off strong biceps and a firm chest. His hair is all over the place, like he’s been running his fingers through it anxiously on the way here. Anxious is sexy on him.
He starts to say something, holding up a white envelope in hand, but when he lowers his gaze, he pauses.
“Uh…hey.” He’s gawking. As if he realizes, he snaps out of it and looks me in the eyes. “You look…” He starts to speak but doesn’t finish. “You goin’ somewhere?”
I look down at my gray sundress that stops mid-thigh. I saw no point in wearing a bra since I was staying home, plus the dress gives my breasts enough support, but it’s windy today. As the warm, beachy breeze brushes over my skin, I see my nipples growing taut.
I bring one arm up to cover them. “No. Not going anywhere. Took Callie for a walk.” Ugh. I bet I look really fucking desperate right now. Why did I choose this dress of all dresses?
“Oh, okay. Well here is the contract,” he says, clearing his throat afterwards. He hands me the envelope.
“Thanks. Hope this saved you some postage,” I laugh.
“It did. Good thing you were home. Didn’t wanna have to do all that lickin’ and diggin’ around for a stamp.”
I shift on my feet, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip before glancing over my shoulder. I need him to come inside so we can chat the right way, but I don’t want to force it.
Luckily, he breaks the ice. “What smells so good?”
“Oh.” I smile way too hard. “I made tacos.”
“Really?” He quirks a brow.
“Yeah. With lime Jell-O shots.”
“Interesting.”
“Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No, but was on my way to the store to pick somethin’ up before headin’ back to the office.”
“You have a lot of work to do, I assume?”
“I do. Big job that requires a lot of attention.”
“Well, do you want tacos? I can pack some up for you and you can take them back to your office, that way you don’t have to stop? I made a lot so I could have leftovers.” I really did make a lot. I like planning my lunches ahead of time. Not only that, but Marcel is a big guy. I’m sure he’d eat an entire plate of tacos.
He thinks on it, looking past me, at my kitchen area. You can see the kitchen clearly from the door. “Sure that’s a good idea?”
“It’ll be fine. I have plenty. Let me find a container for you.” I turn and walk away before letting him get another word in. “You can come in.”
I get to the kitchen and it takes a while for me to hear the door shut. He’s hesitant, which is understandable, but hearing it calls for a sigh of relief.
I take a container down from the cabinet and place several tacos inside it, soft and crunchy ones. I hear a small yelp and it’s my cue that Callie is awake.
“Hey there,” Marcel says, laughter in his voice as she trots down the stairs. I look over and Callie is running to him. She’s on her hind legs, her forepaws clinging to his pants leg. He picks her up and rubs her head and chin. “This lady treatin’ you well?” he asks, and I laugh, shaking my head.
“She’s a good dog.”
“I know she is.” He’s responding to me, but still looking at Callie as she licks at his chin. “I hope you’re doin’ what I told you to do,” he croons to her, stroking her back. “Givin’ her and her husband hell?”
Callie does a tiny bark, and Marcel chuckles. If I thought he was hot before, seeing him with a puppy is a game changer. I can’t even imagine what he’d be like with a baby? Wait—why am I even thinking about him with a baby! I force myself to stop thinking about it, shaking my head and closing the lid of the container.
He places Callie down and she rushes to the kitchen, sniffing around, hoping to find food on the floor. She’s too late. I’ve already swept.
Marcel follows after her, stopping on the other side of the island counter, opposite of me. “Haven’t had the chance to ask how you like your backyard.”
“Isn’t that standard protocol for most?” My question is drizzled with sarcasm. “To follow up, make sure the client likes it?”
“Usually…but, well, you can see how prot
ocol doesn’t work when it comes to you.”
I scoff. “Oh, really? And why doesn’t it?”
His brows draw together, lips going into a flat line. He already knows that I know the answer to my own question.
I go to the fridge, taking out the Jell-O shots. “Want to take any of these with you?”
“Where’s your husband?” he asks quickly, ignoring my question.
“Work, like always.”
“So, you invite men into your home at night when he’s away?” He’s smirking, walking around the counter and picking up one of the tacos from the platter. He bites into it, chews, and nods. “Damn. This is good. Really good.”
“Being half Colombian has its perks. You should try my street tacos. My mom taught me how to make them with corn tortillas. You’ll never want to go back to the American version after eating them. They’re so good.”
“If they’re even remotely as good as these, I’m sure they’re amazin’.” He picks up another and bites into it.
“Why don’t you sit? Eat with me?” I insist.
He looks me over before looking back at the dining table by the double doors.
“Not there,” I say. I point to the doors. “Outside. We have new patio furniture. Just had the table delivered over the weekend.”
He finishes chewing his second taco, then says, “Fine. But I’m only stayin’ to have a few more tacos.”
But a few more tacos turns into five more for him and three for me. He downs three Jell-O shots as well, and I’ve had two so far. I pick up my third one and pop it into my mouth, letting the citrusy jelly wiggle around on my tongue before sliding down my throat.
“You used to be a party girl,” Marcel points out, looking at me across the table.
“Not really, but I shared an apartment with a girl who loved to party. That’s how I learned how to make these.” I lift the empty cup.
“You never went out with her?”
“I did a few times, but not much. There were times when she liked to smoke joints and watch movies too. Those were my favorite times.”
He chuckles, then reaches for the tequila I brought out not too long ago. We’ve been so busy taking Jell-O shots that we haven’t touched it. He grabs two of the empty cups that had the Jell-O inside them, pouring tequila into both.
The Man I Can't Have Page 18
