by Nina Levine
Adam and Calder follow Alexa out while Hayden says to me, “You got any free time over the next couple of days? I thought we could take the bikes out. Maybe take a ride down to Byron.”
“Yeah, sounds like a plan. How about Sunday?”
“Works for me.” A text comes through on his phone, distracting him.
“Come over first thing. I’ll have your bike ready.” Hayden left his bike with me when he moved to LA a few years ago. We usually take it out every trip he makes home.
He nods, busy with whoever’s texting him.
I grab another beer and wander out of the kitchen. Alexa’s apartment is huge, with four bedrooms and multiple living areas. Fuck knows why she needs such a large place, but she declared it the perfect home when she bought it a year ago and has managed to fill every available space in it with her shit. My sister is a hoarder, not that she’d call it that. She prefers the term “collector,” but fuck me, between the shoes, clothes, handbags, books, make-up, perfume, plants, and artwork, there’s not one empty spot in this place. I’m not sure how fifty-odd people have squished into the apartment tonight, but they have. And they’re fucking rowdy. I can hardly hear myself think over the music blasting, the chatter, and the laughter.
“Mason!” one of Alexa’s friends calls out. “Oh my God, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” She throws her arms around me and kisses my cheek.
Fuck, what was her name again? Debbie? No, Josie. Fuck, maybe it’s Sarah.
Before I can say anything, the blonde with her shoots me a sexy smile and places her hand on her friend’s arm. “Jess, nip slip, babe.”
Fuck. Jess. That’s right.
Jess keeps one arm around me, settled across my ass, while fixing her top. “Thanks, girlfriend. Seriously, this top is the worst for that.” She looks up at me and grins. “Not that I think Mason would care.”
Memories of the night we fucked flash through my mind. Christ, I remember now, this chick was clingy as fuck after that night.
“So, Mason,” the blonde says, “the last we heard, you were single again. Is that still true?”
I suck back some beer, wishing like hell I wasn’t trapped with these two. As the beer slides down my throat, movement near Alexa’s front door catches my eye, and Chelsea comes into view.
Time fucking stops.
My lungs fight for breath.
I practically fucking choke at the sight of her husband putting his fucking hands on her.
“Fuck.” The word drops from my lips. It tastes as bitter as looking at her feels.
Jess’s arm tightens around me as Chelsea’s eyes lock with mine. “Are you okay?” she asks.
Chelsea’s gaze shifts to Jess and then back to me. I don’t miss the jealous flash in her eyes. And I sure as fuck don’t hate it.
I glance down at Jess, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good.”
I briefly catch her smile as I look back at Chelsea, who’s still watching me. I’ve no fucking idea what game I’m engaging in here or why, but I can’t stop myself. I fucking want her to hurt like I am.
Hearst bends his mouth to Chelsea’s ear and says something to her. She nods and turns to him, bringing her hand to cup his cheek before standing on her toes and fucking kissing him.
It’s like the fucking world is sitting on top of my chest.
Pressure like I’ve never known presses down on me.
“Mason, did you hear what I said?” Jess says.
I try to drag my attention from Chelsea, but fail. She’s a fucking train wreck I can’t look away from.
“Mace!” Calder says, joining us. “It’s time for our annual shots.”
I finally look away from Chelsea and meet Calder’s gaze. “Yeah,” I agree. “It fucking is.” I can’t think of anything I want more right now. “Alexa’s ready?”
He nods. “Hayden’s rounding her up.”
The five of us always do shots of Alexa’s choice on her birthday. Last year, she made us do multiple four horsemen shots; fuck knows what she’ll make us drink tonight.
Hayden and Adam make their way through the crowd with Alexa, who grins at me and says, “Are you ready to get fucked up, big brother?”
“You have no idea. Hit me.”
She looks at Adam. “Adam’s making them this year.”
I arch a brow and eye my brother. “She’s letting someone else take over?”
“We’re going old school,” Alexa says.
Adam’s mouth quirks. “She’s requested some Aftershock.”
“Fuck me,” Hayden mutters. “I should have known this party would be a two-day affair.”
Adam heads to the bar Alexa has set up for the night and pulls a bottle of blue Aftershock out, along with five brandy sniffers and five tumblers. He fills the brandy sniffers with Aftershock, lights them up and lets them sit for a beat. He then pours the Aftershock into the tumblers, placing the sniffers over the tumblers to seal the fumes in. While he does that, I set up the straws we need—one each, poking through a serviette.
Alexa looks around at us, reaching for her brandy sniffer. “Go.”
We all remove our brandy sniffer from the tumbler and place it upside down on our serviette over one end of the straw, and then down the Aftershock. Then, we suck the straw, dragging the fumes in from the glass sitting on the other end of the straw.
Alexa’s eyes light up. Hanging out with us is one of her favourite things, and since we don’t get to do that often these days, I know these moments mean a lot to her. She motions at Adam. “We need more.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He might be a fancy fucker these days with his suits and penthouses and yacht, but he’d do anything for Alexa. Fuck, we all would. She’s our baby sister.
We end up doing four rounds. I’m not fucked up by the last one, but it’s a good fucking start. I intend to find myself a bottle of Beam and slaughter all the thoughts of Chelsea screaming through my mind.
“You good?” Alexa asks as I narrow my eyes on the alcohol behind the bar.
“Yeah, but I’m gonna need one of those bottles of Jim.”
“You’re staying here tonight, right?”
I pull my keys from my pocket and pass them to her. “Yeah.”
She lifts her chin at the bourbon. “It’s all yours, but you need to promise me you won’t go near Chelsea.”
“I have no fucking intention of going near her.”
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t stop me from taking the bottle.
Twenty minutes later, I’m feeling a hell of a lot better after planting my ass on one of Alexa’s couches and keeping to myself while slowly knocking myself out.
That is until I hear Chelsea’s laughter behind me.
Fucking hell.
I down some more bourbon, trying to scratch her laughter from my brain.
“Yes, the wedding was magical,” she says to whoever has cornered her to talk about her fucking wedding.
“I heard he took you to Paris for the honeymoon. So romantic.”
Fucking kill me now.
“It was amazing. I told him we need to go back there for every anniversary,” Chelsea says, and I see fucking red.
Pushing up off the couch and turning, my eyes collide with hers, and I send her a signal to fuck this chick off and to do that fast.
She places her hand on the girl’s arm and says, “I’m sorry, Anna, I just saw someone I have to say hi to.”
“Oh, no worries, Chelsea. It was good to see you. Tell Joe that we need to do dinner soon, okay?”
Chelsea nods while I try like fuck to hold onto the small amount of patience for this shit that I have.
Anna walks away, and Chelsea stares at me like she’s never seen me before. She’s seen me wild, but the level of wild I’m feeling isn’t a level she’s ever experienced.
“The fuck was that?” I demand, moving closer to her against all good reason.
She continues staring at me, not s
aying anything.
“Well?” I say. “Was that shit true?”
Chelsea shakes her head. “No, we’re not doing this, Mason.”
“Yeah, we fucking are, princess.”
“This is your sister’s party. And my husband is here. We’re not doing this here.” With that, she turns and walks her ass away from me, pissing me off more than she already has.
Chelsea’s wearing a short green dress that barely covers that ass of hers that’s never stopped featuring in my fucking dreams. The dress has long, flowing sleeves that I know from listening to Alexa bang on about clothes are meant to be the “star” of the dress, but for me, the star of that dress is the way it shows off her cleavage by dipping low in the front. If she was mine, no fucking way would she wear a dress like that in public.
Unable to stop myself, I stalk after her, catching up with her halfway down Alexa’s hallway. Taking hold of her arm, I pull her into Alexa’s bedroom. There’s no way we’re not finishing this conversation.
“Mason,” she hisses, trying to fight me off. “What the hell are you doing?”
I slam the door closed with my boot and back her up against it. The only lighting in here is what’s coming from outside. It falls across Chelsea, illuminating her face and chest, giving me an eyeful of the beauty that steals my breath every fucking time.
“I want an answer to what I asked you,” I order.
“No you don’t.”
“Yeah, I fucking do.”
“Mason, no. Please.”
I work my jaw, trying to keep my shit together. The problem is, there’s too much alcohol in me now, and between that and the boiling rage I feel over what Chelsea said, there’s no hope of me being able to hold myself back. I’m hurtling towards a fucking mess here and I can’t save myself even if I try.
Gripping her face, I growl, “Fucking tell me.”
Her eyes search mine. I know her well, so I see the anger brewing in them. I also see the moment she snaps and breaks. And fuck me, as much as I hate her and everything she says, she’s fucking fire when she’s like this. “You wanna know how my honeymoon went down? All the ways I fucked my husband in Paris? How many times I sucked his dick?” She leans her face close to mine. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
My mind explodes.
It’s a fucking wreck of thoughts that never ease.
Images of Chelsea with Hearst, doing all the shit she just threw in my face.
I let her go and stumble back, jamming my fingers through my hair while emotions I don’t know what to do with assault me. “Fuck! Fucking hell!” I stare at her as the world crashes down around me. “You’re a fucking piece of work.”
Her eyes flare as she pushes off from the door and comes at me with her hands. Smacking them against my chest, she yells, “I’m a piece of work? You fucking asshole!” She pushes me. “It’s all right for you to say shit like that to me when you fuck my friend, but I’m a piece of work when I say it to you? Fuck you!”
“I’m not the fucking asshole here. You’re the one who fucked this all up.”
“Well, it looks like I made the best decision of my life if this is what our life together would have been like.”
I grab both her wrists with one hand and shove her up against the wall. “Our life would have been more fucking magical than anything Hearst will give you. But you’ll never fucking know because you didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”
She continues trying to fight me off, but I’m holding her so tightly that she hasn’t got a chance in hell of making that happen. “You know what? My marriage was arranged and you know that, but you still give me shit over it, and there you are all over Jess McDonnell. Don’t fucking come at me with your bullshit, Mason. I’m not taking it anymore. Not now that you’ve moved on.”
I let her go and move my hands to press against the wall either side of her, forcing my body against hers to hold her in place. “I don’t know anything about your marriage, Chelsea, and I don’t fucking want to know. And as far as me and Jess go, yeah, I’m fucking moving on. I’m finding pussy that won’t fuck me over.”
She jerks against me, as wild as I am, her eyes stormy, her expression fierce. “Fucking let me go!”
I don’t know what the fuck possesses me—except I do, this fucking woman in front of me blazing with everything I both love and hate—I crash my lips down onto hers. Fuck, I practically inhale her while forcing my tongue against hers and taking what I want. She tastes like home, and I fucking hate that, but I can’t not kiss her. Hell, I want to tear her clothes off and fuck her, but somehow I manage to restrain myself.
She groans as I deepen the kiss.
I growl in response, my hands moving to her body.
Fucking hell, I’ve missed her. Missed this mouth and this body. But more than anything, I’ve missed being with her.
Her leg slides up and hooks around mine as she presses herself against me.
I reach down and grasp her ass under her dress, still kissing her.
We’re all hands and mouths and lust, and before I know what’s happening, she’s in my arms with both legs wrapped around me, and my dick grinding against her cunt.
“Fuck!” I pull my lips from hers. “We’re not fucking doing this again.” I let her go before I change my mind. Before I fuck this up more than it’s already fucked up.
She glares at me, straightening her dress and trying to get herself together. “Don’t ever touch me again!”
With one last glare, she pushes past me and stalks out of the bedroom.
Jesus fucking Christ.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t, and that’s the problem.
I never fucking think with Chelsea. I feel.
And that shit needs to stop.
6
Chelsea
Staring at myself in the mirror at my dressing table, I touch my lips and think about kissing Mason last night. He was savage. Possessed. And I loved every second of it even though I wanted to hate it.
I’ve never seen him like that before. Well, except for that time after he slept with my friend Samantha and threw it in my face. He slept with her after he saw the news of my engagement to Joe on the news. That was my father’s doing, not mine. If I’d had my way, I would have broken that news to Mason myself, but my father engineered a lot of things back then in such a way as to inflict maximum pain on Mason. To this day, Mason thinks I chose for everything to go down the way it all did, but none of that is true. My father is to blame for everything I’ve taken the blame for. In the end, I decided to let Mason think what he thinks; it’ll be easier to keep us apart if he hates me. But good God, I never imagined his hate would hurt like it does.
I take a deep breath and reach for my earrings while carefully tracking my husband’s movements in our bedroom. We’re getting ready for Sunday lunch with our families. Joe has been especially testy this morning, making all kinds of demands I want to say no to. I’ve no clue what’s caused him this mood, but for once, I’m grateful our parents are coming over. It’ll give me a reprieve from him.
I’ve just finished securing my earrings in place when he moves behind me. Placing his hands on my bare shoulders, he meets my gaze in the mirror. “Your father is going to ask you today to take a couple of weeks off work at the beginning of his campaign in a couple of months so you can be by his side. It wouldn’t pay for you to decline.”
I stare at him, my chest filling with anger. Anger at both my father for thinking he can ask this of me and at Joe for the arrogant way he talks to me. “He can ask all he likes, but I’m not saying yes.”
Joe’s lips press together. “Chelsea, this may start off as a negotiation, but you know it won’t end as one.”
I stand and face him. “I’m done negotiating with him.”
“No, you’re not. Especially not when it comes to his premiership.”
God, I hate my husband when he’s like this. He’s infuriating in his lack of ability to actuall
y engage in a discussion. He likes to simply state how things will be. Well, not this fucking time.
With a shake of my head, I walk away from him, towards our bathroom.
“Don’t walk away from me when we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation,” he says.
I spin back around to face him. “We weren’t in the middle of a fucking conversation. We were in the middle of you being the dictator you like to be, and I’ll always walk away from you when you’re like that.”
He closes the distance between us as I turn to continue on my way to the bathroom. His hand snaps around my wrist as I turn. Pulling me back to him, he warns, “Careful, Chelsea. I’ve been more than patient with you over the last month, but I only have so much patience to give.”
I attempt to pull my wrist from his hold, but his grip is too strong. Glaring at him, I say, “Let me go.”
He contemplates that for a moment before releasing me. “This was me giving you a heads-up so you can prepare yourself. I suggest you take what I’ve said under consideration.”
“I’ve taken it under consideration, dear husband, and I’ve given you my answer. Perhaps you could take it back to my father and give him a heads-up so he’s prepared for our conversation.” I know I’m playing with fire here, but I can’t hold myself back. Joe brings this side of me out.
When he doesn’t respond except to look at me with his signature look of displeasure, I make my exit and lock myself in the bathroom.
Deep breaths, Chelsea.
You can do this.
You can do this.
You. Can. Do. This.
It’s crazy how often I have to chant that to myself these days. I used to practice manifestation. Now, I spend my days chanting this over and over. In its own way, this is my new form of manifesting things in my life. It’s just a shame the only thing I’m trying to manifest is success in getting through my days.
I spend a good ten minutes in the bathroom, which I suspect is the amount of time Joe’s patience will last before he comes looking for me. Slipping out, I’m relieved not to find him in our bedroom. I spend another few minutes psyching myself up to face the afternoon and then make my way out to the kitchen.
