by Aly Martinez
“Gorgeous, I have no idea what you are trying to hide here, but it’s pretty cute listening to you talk about seasonal vegetables while trying to distract me with these beautiful tits.” He reaches one hand forward, cupping my entire breast and stepping into the shower. “I know we haven’t been together long, but I have a feeling we are going to be together quite a bit from now on, so there is something you need to remember about me. I’m a detective. My job is to figure things out and recognize when someone is lying to me. I’m good at my job because I see the little details others miss. Like just a minute ago, when you tossed that note down into the water so I wouldn’t read it again.” He raises one eyebrow at me before continuing. “I’m also not a quitter. I’ll search for answers long after everyone else has given up. So it would probably save us both a lot of time if you just come out with it.” He rubs his thumb across my nipple.
“However, you are so fucking hot right now that I’m willing to let this slide long enough for us to christen your shower properly. I’ll just talk to Kara when she gets home.” He leans over, placing a very promising kiss on my shoulder.
I jerk away from him, slipping and sliding in the shower. Thankfully, he grabs my hips, keeping me from toppling out onto the bathroom floor.
“You can’t ask Kara!” And I’m serious. He can’t. She will make it sound way worse than it really is. She would probably even hit on him and stare at his pants while she tells him.
“Then why don’t you let me in on your little secret. I probably wouldn’t care if you weren’t so desperate to hide it from me.”
Crap. I’m going to have to do this. I let out a frustrated groan and stare at the ceiling to avoid his eyes. “She wants me to tell her what vegetable your penis most closely resembles.” I sigh and wait for his reaction.
Brett has a great sense of humor. I’m sure he’ll laugh about this. But I hate being laughed at, even when it’s obviously something as silly as this. I feel his hands grip my hips a little tighter. My eyes slide back to his, and I find him standing with a blank look on his face. No humor dancing in his eyes. Nothing.
“Well?” he asks, void of all emotions.
“Well, what?”
“I have no idea how to feel about this until I know what vegetable you picked,” he says seriously.
“Oh, um…I don’t know. I didn’t exactly plan on answering her.” I stumble over my words.
“Okay, well let’s discuss this.” He backs up, gliding his hands through the air, showcasing his privates like a Price is Right model. “See, if you said green bean, I’d be very upset. However, if you told her an eggplant, I’d probably never wear pants again. So what’s it going to be, Jess?”
This conversation has just crossed over into crazy town. Brett is always funny, but this ludicrous conversation is a bit odd, even for him. Just as I’m about to mentally inventory the produce department, I catch a small glimmer in his otherwise serious eyes. Oh my God! He’s messing with me. Again. Hopefully I’m not wrong about this, because I’m about to turn the tables on this jokester.
I slide my eyes down his body. Swaying my head side to side, I pretend to weigh my options. “Well,” I answer quietly, “I guess I would have to say a kosher dill pickle.”
“What?” he asks incredulously.
“Yeah, definitely a dill pickle spear.” I look down at his feet, pretending to be embarrassed but really trying to keep him from the seeing the smile I’m desperately attempting to hide.
“What?” he yells. “A spear?! Not even the whole pickle? Jesse, you need glasses!” he screams, trying to defend his deflating manhood.
I can’t hold back the laugh that’s building inside any longer. I burst out laughing, causing the disbelief to fade from his face.
“Oh, I get it. You’re a funny girl today, huh? Ha. Ha. Hilarious, smartass.” He pretends to be annoyed as I continue to laugh. “Yeah, laugh it up now, because I’m about to pickle you.” He leans forward, so close I can feel his breath against my ear as he whispers, “Hard.”
I abruptly go quiet, as I feel myself getting wet, and it has nothing to do with the chilly water coming from the showerhead. Who knew such ridiculous words could have this kind of effect on me, but the way Brett says them instantly turns me into a wanton woman.
When he lifts me off my feet, I wrap my legs around his waist as he pushes me against the wall. He uses one hand to turn the water as hot as it will go. It only warms a fraction of a degree, but it’s just enough to keep us in the shower for another twenty minutes. Brett utilizes those minutes and makes good on his promise. We properly christen my shower. Hard.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brett
IT’S BEEN seven weeks since Sarah showed up at Nell’s. I have to say that I thought I would never have another shot with Jesse after those first few days. Everything went so wrong so fast, but I never should have underestimated her. She hasn’t asked about Sarah again, which really surprises me. I keep waiting for her to sit me down to have “the talk” one day, but she never does.
After the first two weeks, I realized how weird she gets when I drop her off on Wednesday nights. She always hugs me extra tight and repeats over and over again what a good time she had. She talks a million words a minute and chews on her thumbnail. I’ve learned that both are telltale signs that Jesse’s nervous. At first, I couldn’t figure it out, but when she made zero attempts to reach me on Thursdays, it didn’t take me long to figure out why.
Jess and I text all day. She sends me sweet notes, and I send her dirty ones. On Thursdays, though, she goes quiet. I realized that she must remember that I visit Sarah on Thursdays. So I go out of my way to call her every night as soon as I get home. We talk for hours, and those are the best hours of my entire day.
Jesse may dread Thursdays, but I’ve grown to loathe them. I went to Sarah’s every day after her freak-out at Nell’s. For the first two days, she stayed locked in her bedroom. She wouldn’t eat anything, and if it weren’t for the fact that I could occasionally hear her TV changing channels and the shower going on and off, I would have worried. On day three, I ducked out of work a little early to check on her, and when I got there, she was standing in her kitchen with a huge smile on her face.
Seven Weeks Earlier…
“HEY, SEXY! I was wondering when you were going to show up,” she says, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. As she moves her hands back down, I catch the sparkle off her left hand.
“How you doing, Sarah?” I ask, trying to figure out what the hell she’s doing still wearing her rings.
“I’m good. Are you just going to stand in the doorway and stare at me all night, or are you coming inside?” Her candor is nothing unusual, but I’m still suspicious as hell. “I made dinner,” she says, pulling a casserole dish out of the fridge.
Sarah always made the weirdest food. I guess they aren’t weird to everyone, but I was never a fan. She made Southern dishes like potato soup made with more butter than milk or fried macaroni and cheese bites. I’m sorry, but does mac ‘n’ cheese need to be deep fried? Her family raved about her cooking, but I never could get on board with soggy bread-like noodles in chicken soup. She called it chicken and dumplings. I called it gross. However, when she would branch out into different types of food, it was always delicious.
My favorite of all her meals was her seven-layer Mexican dip. She always made it for my birthday or any time we were celebrating something special. God, it was good. So when I see her unwrap a dish topped with lettuce and decorated with dollops of sour cream, my eyes jump to hers.
“What is that?” I ask skeptically.
“Seven-layer dip.” She acts like it’s nothing more than ingredients tossed in a bowl. We both know it’s more. It’s a memory. It’s happiness. It’s our past.
I have to restrain myself from reaching out and slapping that stupid-ass dish across the room. I want to see it shatter into a million pieces, just like our future. Fucking seven-layer dip!
I try to
compose myself enough to speak. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I need to get back to work.”
“Baby, you haven’t eaten yet.”
“Don’t call me that!” I shout.
“Jesus, it’s just fucking dinner. Stop freaking out,” she responds, rolling her eyes at my outburst. “You’re acting like a douche right now.” Yep, still the same new Sarah.
“Dinner. Right.” I nod, knowing that she’s flat-out lying, but I can’t figure out why. “What are you doing? You haven’t cooked for me in years. Now, two days after showing up and freaking out on the woman I’m seeing, you make my favorite meal? For what?” I begin to get angrier as I talk. It’s one head trip after another with this woman. “Please, just tell me why!” I scream across her room.
“Because you are the only one who hasn’t turned their back on me,” she rushes out, stepping towards me. “Because I know I messed things up for you a few days ago with that girl. And…and because I miss you,” she says in a voice unlike any version of Sarah I’ve ever seen.
I take a step forward, trying to get a better read on the situation. She’s done nothing but push me away. Now she misses me? Stunned by her admission, I can’t even stop to evaluate my feelings, but that doesn’t stop a knot from forming in my throat.
She closes the distance between us, resting her hands on my chest. “I miss you, baby,” she repeats, staring down at the ground. “Maybe we could try to work something out, get to know each other again.” Using her foot to draw patterns in the carpet, she leans into me.
I don’t recognize this woman. She is so timid and shy. She’s so…Jesse. Shit! Jess. I quickly take a step backwards out of her reach, and thankfully, she doesn’t follow.
“Start talking,” I demand.
I have an unexplainable need to hear her out. My mind is racing, but I’m not excited like I thought I would be at finally hearing those words come out of her mouth. A few weeks ago, I would have been at her mercy, ecstatic to have another shot at a life together. Only now, I feel apprehensive.
“Um, I just thought…” she trails off.
Any hope that started to fill my heart quickly deflates when I see the humor twitch in her cheek. This is yet another one of her games.
“Fuck, Sarah!” I explode, unable to can’t catch my breath.
This woman stands before me joking about missing me after the hell I have been through. Years spent holding on to hope that, one day, I would get my wife back, yet it’s all one big joke to her. The only thing stopping me from unleashing the brunt of my anger is that I know it’s not her fault. I lost my wife, but she lost herself.
These games are a different story altogether. I have every right to be pissed about this. She may not have been able to control who she became after the wreck, but she made the decision to wage emotional war on me over the past few days. First with Jesse, and now with this bullshit. It’s drama upon drama where Sarah is involved. I have nothing left to say. I’ve already tried every possible combination of words to move past this. It’s time to suck it up and admit that there is no fixing us. At some point, you have to cut your losses and walk away, but I can’t seem to convince myself that the fiery woman who used to own my heart is a complete loss.
I turn to walk out the door. I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me react again.
“Brett, wait!” she says, softly laughing. “I meant it. Maybe not the way you want me to mean it, but I do miss you. You won’t believe me, but I remember being happy with you. I remember the day you proposed. Jesus, that was corny. That whole Jeopardy thing.” She laughs a little louder. “Seriously, that was cheese dick.”
I put my hands on my hips, assuming the position for her to sling hate-filled words at me.
“But I do remember the way I felt when you asked.” She reaches down, spinning her rings around her finger. “I loved you,” she says, completely devoid of emotion. “I want to feel like that again.” She finally looks into my eyes, and I see a flash of something genuine before they go blank again.
I can barely breathe. My chest feels like it’s going to collapse at any second. I know what I’m about to say, and it is scares the hell out of me. I can’t do this emotional roller coaster anymore. I don’t want the drama, the longing, the feeling that I’m constantly waiting for something to change. I may not be able to give up on her as a person, but I can finally let my Sarah go.
“I loved you too.” I suck in a breath. The past tense of those words is enough to bring me to my knees, but I have to finish. “Sarah, I’ll always be here for you. Every single Thursday for the rest of your life, I’ll be knocking on your door. You can act like a bitch, you can call me names, you can try to lock me out, but I’ll always come back. You would have done that for me. But there will never be another Brett and Sarah Sharp.
“You moved on four years ago, and tonight…” I pause, terrified to finish the sentence. It needs to be said though—for both of us. “Well, tonight I’m moving on too.” I wait for my words to sink in. Surely this will have some emotional effect on her, but she stands stock-still, seemingly unfazed.
Just as I’m about to repeat myself, a small, mischievous smile creeps across her face. “Okay,” she says, walking out of the kitchen and into her bedroom, locking the door behind her.
Oh shit. This isn’t good.
“Sarah!” I knock on her bedroom door. I just unknowingly issued some sort of challenge and she was all too happy to accept it. “Open the door.” I continue to knock.
She never answers, and after a few minutes, I have no choice but to leave it alone for now. I decide to head home and deal with this tomorrow. Awesome. More drama to look forward to.
When I get outside to my car, I have an overwhelming urge to drive directly to Jess’s apartment. It’s been a week since we started dating, but I’ve already become addicted. She always makes me forget everything else. It’s more than just a distraction though. My life has been on autopilot, nothing in my control. I have no choice but to go along for the ride. For a man, it’s a damn near crippling feeling. Jesse grounds me. She looks at me like I’m the prize, but she has no idea that I’m the winner every time we are together. I want to rush to her right now and fall asleep buried inside her. But that’s not fair to her. We agreed to take this slow and not rush into something I can’t give her when my life explodes again. The same way it always does.
I walk into my apartment, wasting no time before heading directly to the phone. If I can’t see her, I damn sure am going to talk to her. As soon as I hear her pick up, my whole load is lightened.
“Hang on, Brett!” she shouts distantly. “Okay, I’m back…hello.”
“Well, you sound busy.”
“No, I was just trying to catch Paprika.”
“Um, I’m not exactly a chef, but does paprika run away often?”
My words cause her to giggle, and it’s as if that small sound makes the world tilt back onto its axis.
“No, Paprika is a cat that Kara adopted from the shelter.”
“You got a cat?”
“Well, no, Kara got a cat, but we can’t keep him. Our landlord has a strict ‘no pets’ policy, but Kara thought she could get him to cave. He lets the girl downstairs with the big boobs have a Chihuahua. Apparently, Kara is not well-endowed enough for his tastes.”
“What the hell! He said that?”
She starts laughing again. “No, he didn’t say that exactly, but you know how Kara is. She flirted him up hardcore and still got the door slammed in her face. She told me I should give it a try next. She thinks I’m more his type.”
“Jesse, you are not going anywhere near your landlord.”
“Oh I know. That guy gives me the creeps. He’s, like, thirty-five and always staring at my boobs.”
“Gorgeous, I’m thirty-two and always staring at your boobs.”
“I never said you weren’t creepy too.”
“That is a title I will gladly accept, because unlike your pervert landlord, I get to a
ctually touch those boobs.”
She laughs again. I would do anything to hear that sound.
“Well anyway, we have to give the cat back tomorrow, so we are just hanging out, playing with all the kitty toys we bought earlier. You should see him. He is so cute. He’s white with a few orange speckles. Kara said she was going to call Nell and see if she wants him.”
She continues rambling about the cat for a few more minutes. I grab a beer and collapse onto the couch, closing my eyes and listening as her words free me from the stress that keeps me weighted down. It’s funny to hear her get like this. A few days ago, she would have been saying nothing but ‘uh’ and ‘um,’ but now she has barely stopped talking long enough to breathe.
“Jeez, I’m talking a lot,” she says. “What have you been doing tonight?”
“Not much. Just lying on the couch, wishing you were here with me.” The words come out before I really think them through, but it’s the truth. Damn it, I should have gone to her place.
“You want some company?” she asks, reading my mind.
“No, it’s okay, babe. I know you have Paprika there tonight. Today was just a little crazy. I’m fine now though.”
“Chocolate or vanilla?” she randomly asks.
“Huh?”
“I’m bringing ice cream and beer. Oh, and a movie. You sound like you need to watch a movie.”
“Jesse, we never actually watch movies… Oh, um…okay. I could definitely watch a movie right now.” We both start laughing when I realize she isn’t talking about a movie at all.
“Okay, give me about thirty minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Gorgeous, you don’t have to do that. You’re already cooking me dinner tomorrow night. Don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook for that one.”
