Sex Love Repeat

by Alessandra Torre

  She smiles at my entrance, waving me over with a flour-covered hand. “I need those fingers. Come knead this dough.”

  I wash my hands in the small island sink and pat them dry on a hand towel, joining her at the counter, my hands diving into the sticky dough, grateful for the job.

  “How’s it going?” she murmurs.

  “Fine.” I say softly, though no one is close enough to hear. “I’ve only spoken to him once—when he introduced me to her.”

  “And...” she reaches for flour, sprinkles a line of it on the counter. “What do you think of her?”

  I think about the question, how to word my response. “I think...” I pause to scratch my hairline with my forearm. “That she is nice. Accommodating. Stewart says she’s a web designer?”

  She snorts. “That’s putting it lightly. She created a music-sharing site that just signed a deal with Apple.”

  So the bubbly blonde with the sparkling smile is successful. Intelligent. I wait for the flow of jealousy that should come, should poke its green head up, but instead, a smile forms. I’ve spent so much of the last year feeling guilty. My life with Paul has been wonderfully easy—perfect. But every bit of happiness felt slightly tainted by the fact that Stewart was alone, left out in the cold as Paul and I continued full-steam ahead in our happy relationship. And now, with our engagement, I’ve been terrified of how Stewart will react. How the brothers’ new, fragile relationship will weather the announcement. To see him happy, with a girl who surpasses me...it lifts that guilt, sends a spike of relief through me. He will be okay. We will be okay. I can continue with my new life—guilt-free.

  That doesn’t stop the attraction. Our entire relationship was built on sex. Hot, fuck-my-panties-to-pieces, sex. It was how we connected, communicated. It will be strange to move into a cordial relationship. One where we chat about life and friendship, and if the Dodgers will beat the Giants.

  I feel arms slip around me, gripping my waist and pulling me tightly against hard muscle, a soft kiss nuzzled into the crook of my neck, a giggle bursting from my throat as I hold up dough-covered hands. “Stop,” I gasp. “The bread!”

  “The bread can wait,” he says softly, spinning me around, his mouth taking mine, a soft kiss that presses back my head and deepens into something more, his pelvis dipping into me, my belly curling at the contact. I moan against his mouth.

  “Wow.” The wry voice is really, really close. So close that I open my eyes in surprise, Dana’s half-smile only steps away. “Point made. You guys can heat each other’s clothes off. I got two bedrooms upstairs should you feel the need for more.” She stares pointedly at Paul. “Now ‘git, loverboy. Go back and tend to the steaks and let me have some time with her.”

  He grins at her, lifting me without warning, his hands strong on my waist, setting me on the edge of the counter and taking one last kiss. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, glancing around quickly before shooing him away. “Now go, before Stewart comes back.”

  “He’s too gaga over Website Barbie to notice,” he says happily, his relief matching my own. “He already invited us to join them in San Francisco next weekend.”

  I frown. “San Francisco?” Stewart, taking a weekend off? That doesn’t sound anything like the man I know—knew.

  Dana barrels through, shoving Paul aside, his wink disappearing in a blur of brunette dominance. “That’s it. Outside. You get all damn night with her. Give me a measly fifteen minutes.” She points to the back door, her expression firm, and he backs up, hands up, sending me a playful smile before heading outside.

  She shoots me an exasperated look. “Please tell me he’s not like that all the time.”

  I bite back a smile. “Okay.”

  She pulls out a pan and unwraps a stick of butter, spreading it around the base of the pan.

  “So... you hiding that ring for a reason?”

  I glance toward the living room, the muted voices telling me where Stewart is. “You know why. I’m going to tell him tonight, but I want to do it privately.”

  She stares me down until I met her eyes. “You scared?”

  “I’m...nervous. It’ll be our first real conversation—in person at least—since the accident. It helps that she’s here. That he’s happy. Paul wanted to tell him, but this is important to me. I think we need this conversation.”

  She nodded. “I agree. It was one of the reasons I invited everyone over. That, and that I’ve been itching for a family Thanksgiving since I bought this house.” She grins. “No other point in having a twelve-person dining room set.”

  I try to return the smile but my stomach is suddenly in knots, the reminder of my impending news sobering.

  The Thanksgiving meal is a success, the table filled with turkey, ham, and enough side items to feed a family three times our size. We eat our fill, and then move, leaving the dishes, the boys sprawling out on leather sofas in the den, football suddenly on the television. I stand in the doorway and watch Stewart for a moment before entering. Football. I’ve never known Stewart to have time for sports, save reading scores and standings while hurrying through the news. His arm is around her, her blonde hair against his sweater, her feet tucked underneath a thick blanket of Dana’s. I tap his shoulder gently, the contact causing him to jump silently, and his head whips around to look up at me.

  “Could I speak to you for a minute?” I smile awkwardly at Mia. “I won’t keep him long, I promise.”

  He squeezes her shoulder, placing a quick kiss on her head. “I’ll be right back, babe.” She smiles sunnily, turning back to the game, and responds to an insult Paul had just flung out to the television. She is so comfortable, with Paul, with Stewart, and I marvel at her easy fit into the strange dynamic that we make. Paul and Stewart have seamlessly slid back into old roles, their love apparent throughout dinner, jabs and insults exchanged as easily as compliments. I am the one at odds, my stiffness with Stewart causing a hitch in this renovated machine. I hope this conversation helps.

  He holds open the door for me and we step outside, my skin standing at attention in the cool fall air. I shiver slightly and his eyes sharpen on the movement, his movement visibly restrained when he starts to move forward and stops. We both laugh awkwardly. “Want to sit on the steps?” he offers.

  “That sounds great.”

  We sit, his long legs stretching down the steps and he turns, facing me, his eyes close on and moving over my face, as if he is memorizing the features. “I’ve missed you.”

  My eyes close, blocking out the view of his concern. I hesitate over the words, and then let them free. “I’ve missed you, too. We had some good times.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah. Most of our good times involved very little clothing.”

  Color floods my cheeks and a grin breaks out at the truth in his statement. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. After the accident.” His voice is so somber that I look up to find his eyes on me, serious and dark.

  I frown, confused. “You had work. You always have work. I understood that—that is how your life is.”

  “Was.” He corrects me gently. “I’m trying to be different with Mia. Something Dana said—after the accident—it stuck with me. With her, it’s not the same—I’m putting aside work more, making time for her.” He looks apologetic as he speaks, and I smile at him.

  “I’m glad, Stewart. I’m glad you have someone that you care enough about to do that.” I stutter, realizing how the words sounded. “I-I mean—I’m happy for you.”

  “I’ll always love you, Madison.” He says quietly, my heart tugging at the words, his eyes on mine. “I love you for mending this family—for letting me see what is possible—for making Paul happy. But the ‘in love’ with you part... I’ve moved on from that. I’m really happy for you. For both of you.”

  I blink back the tears that have found their way to my eyes. In a way, it is heartbreaking. I’m looking at the man I always hoped Stewart would
become. A man who would spend Thanksgiving with family, who would sit on the couch and not look at his phone. A man who realized what was important, and who had found someone who he loved enough to adjust his life for. Someone who wasn’t me. I’ve never been so happy to be so easily replaced. “Working less, huh?” I choke out a laugh. “That makes me really happy for you, Stewart.

  He reaches his arm out, wrapping it around my shoulders and squeezing me to his side. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

  “We better be,” I grin. “We’re gonna be stuck together for a while.“ I push away enough to look into his eyes. “In fact, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  He moves a bit on the step so he can face me. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  I hesitate. “Nothing’s wrong. Paul proposed.”

  If I have any doubt of Stewart’s sincerity, it disappears when the grin splits his face. A grin. Stewart... doesn’t really grin. Not normally. He scowls, he glints, but grinning... it is such an odd look that I stare at him in surprise. He grabs my hand, his smile dropping when he sees the bare skin. “You said no?”

  I shake my head with a laugh. “No, I accepted. I just didn’t want to show up wearing a ring...without talking to you about it.”

  He sweeps me into a hug, hugging me tightly, so tightly I squeak.

  “You’re happy?” I laugh, pushing out of the hug.

  “You’ll be my sister now, Madison. As totally creepy as that is, seeing as I still got a raging hard on when you walked in the house—”

  “Shut up,” I choke out, blushing, my own inappropriate thoughts coming to mind.

  “Seriously,” he says, grabbing my hand. “You’ll always be in my life now. That couldn’t make me happier. And Paul—he loves you so much. More than I ever did. He deserves you, Madd.”

  “Madd? You’ve never called me that before.” I wrinkle my nose at him.

  He shrugs. “Things are different now.”

  “So...we have your blessing?”

  He wraps an arm around my neck, pulling, and placing a quick kiss on my forehead. “More than that, babe. More than that. You have my heart. Both of you.” He releases me and stands, holding out a hand and helping me up.

  “Did he get you a good ring?” he asks gruffly.

  I nod with a smile. “He did good. You’d approve.” And he had done well. It wasn’t a Stewart ring, picked out by his assistant, wasn’t a huge rock that shouted my status while begging me to be mugged. But for Paul and me, it was perfect. A blue sapphire, the color of the ocean after a storm, tiny diamonds making up the band, leading delicately up to and framing the stone.

  Paul designed it, agonized over it, and his eyes were glued to my face when he presented it, early one morning, when I was still half asleep, his proposal coming after coffee, my body wrapped in a big blanket, the ocean air blowing through the open window. He handed me coffee, and I waited for him to join me, to sit behind me and wrap his arms around me, pull me back against his chest. It was how we often spent our mornings, the lazy ones that didn’t involve early morning sex or surfing. Instead he dropped to one knee, his eyes tight to mine, his hands fumbling as he opened the box and extended it out. He had choked out the question, his voice tight, his hands shaking, his eyes glued to mine. And I sat there, for one shocked moment, before my mind responded and I launched myself into his arms, covering him with kisses and whispering the word yes.

  He had been worried, nervous. Scared for whatever reason that I would say no. But he had nothing to worry about. I’ve always been his. I’ve loved him since the moment I saw his playful grin in a line at Santa Monica pier, his eyes studying me as I took the place next to him. And finally, with my relationship status one devastating blue-eyed brother less, we had nothing holding us back.

  I step into Dana’s great room, and watch Stewart pull Paul into a congratulatory hug, their faces holding matching, dimpled grins. I watch them, no sign of tension or competition in the air. It is incredible, that this train wreck ended in such a perfect fashion. My boys, the ones I fought so long to keep separate, embracing. I will get to keep them both in my life. I have emerged with my heart intact. And get to continue life with the man I love. The one who, from the beginning, has waited patiently for this chance.

  I cross the room to him, his gorgeous face beaming as he collapses on the couch, pulling me to him, his arm looping around my neck. I lean back into his chest, and look into his eyes.

  Their eyes. It should have been my first clue. Piercing blue, too gorgeous, too unique to be a coincidence. But this man’s eyes... they see into my soul. They know every bit of me, and accept it all. I will grow old with this man. I will have his babies, and teach them to surf. And try, through it all, to be worthy of his love.

  EPILOGUE

  I knew. I’d known for a long time. Since I’d opened our mailbox one day and saw Paul’s real last name. Not the one he’d used for as long as I’d known him, the one plastered over surfer magazines and endorsement deals. I’d known it was a pseudonym, one he used for press, but I had never taken the time to dig deeper. Paul Linx was how I knew him, was how he lived his everyday life. But that day, on the broken concrete that led to our garage, I flipped through envelopes and stopped at one with a different last name. Paul Brand. A unique last name. So unique it made my hand shake and the mail drop to the ground. I told myself it was probably a coincidence. A crazy, highly unlikely coincidence. As crazy and highly unlikely as dating two men who end up being related.

  All of the similarities between them suddenly flooded my mind. Piercing blue eyes. A kissable curved mouth. Rugged features. Tall, athletic builds. Even the impressiveness that hung between their legs. Jesus. Both of them, estranged from their families. Both who had—at some point in time—mentioned a brother. I was stupid for not seeing the possibility sooner.

  I, scooping up the mail, stumbling upstairs, had full-blown panicked. Sat on the couch, counted to ten, then, twenty, then one hundred, breathing deep, ragged gasps of air, my mind racing with the implications.

  At the time, it had seemed disastrous. Insurmountable. Right then, right that moment, I would have to choose. I had to pick. There was no going around it.

  But it was too late. My heart had gone too far, jumped over two cliffs and plummeted past the point of return. I could not choose. I could not willingly rip a piece of my heart off and flush it down the toilet. Break up with one of these men with no way to explain the reason. I couldn’t. I couldn’t throw a bomb into this perfect world where everything was flowing so well, smiles all around, orgasms at every turn.

  So I didn’t do anything at all. I left the mail on the counter, and went about my life the same as before. But I made sure to keep my lives separate. Made sure to never mention their names, or details of our separate lives. Not that the boys cared. They were blissfully ignorant of each other and happy about it. So I lived the life, knowing the entire time that there was an expiration date. Knowing that one day the truth would come out and our perfect world would implode.

  I dreaded that implosion for so long. Stressed over it, worried over what disasters it would bring. But now? I roll over in bed, burrowing against Paul, who wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, and gently presses his lips to my forehead. I think I knew all along how this would probably end.

  The implosion—it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened. To me. To us. And to them.

  Deepak Chopra once said, “All great changes are preceded by chaos.” Looking back, chaos was a great way to describe our lives. I saw it as perfection, only because I didn’t know what could exist, what lay on the other side of that coin. Now? Now that I know? I am grateful for the chaos. Grateful for the immense change that it brought. Grateful that now, I am in a pleasant state of calm.

  I am in, finally, the right place.

 

 

&nb
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