Twin Piques

by Tracie Banister

  We still have on way too many clothes for my taste, so I shove Gav’s shirt off his shoulders and yank the fabric down his arms. Unfortunately, it gets stuck at his wrists, where the buttons are still fastened, so he has to raise himself up to a kneeling position and rip the shirt off – Yes, flying buttons, just like in my fantasy! And as a bonus, I get to drink in the sight of his sinewy arm muscles at work. Free of his shirt, Gav’s lips descend on my bare skin once more. They only graze the side of my mouth before embarking on a very thorough and heated exploration of my torso, from collarbone to belly button, and back up again.

  Of course, he spends the majority of his time on my breasts, which he appears to be quite fond of. It occurs to me that it’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed this kind of quality foreplay. Josh certainly wasn’t a fan of “dragging things out,” as he so charmingly put it once. UGH Why am I even thinking about that d-bag? Gav is superior in every possible way. He’s always there for me. He cares what I think and how I feel. He’d never lie to me. His body rocks. He’s a fantastic kisser. And I have every confidence that sex with him is going to be multi-orgasmic. Anxious for him to prove it, I dig my fingers into Gav’s thick hair and push his head down.

  He takes the hint and moves his mouth to my abdomen, depositing a soft kiss on the spot right above the waistband of my cut-offs – such a tease! Undoing the button at the top of my shorts, he starts to slowly slide the zipper down. I close my eyes and savor the feeling of anticipation. It’s torturous, and amazing, and . . . I hear ringing. A loud, obnoxious ringing that’s very distracting and potentially mood-destroying. Dammit, why didn’t I turn off my cell phone after ordering the pizza? Who could be calling me this late? The only person who ever calls me after ten o’clock is right here, easing my last stitch of clothing off my hips and– Wait . . . what if this call is from Josh? What if he’s phoning to pitch his mistress proposal to me again? He’s never been one to take “no” for an answer. He probably thinks that if he tries another approach, or cranks up the charm, or–

  “Ignore it,” Gav murmurs the words against my belly, and for the first time in my life I do what a man tells me to.

  Chapter 29

  (Willa)

  I get Sloane’s voice mail, which is weird. Maybe she and Gav are still at the restaurant, lingering over dessert and coffee. It’s not like my sister to turn off her phone, but if she did, I’m glad, because Gav deserves her full attention. Not wanting to ruin their evening with my tale of woe, I decide not to leave a message. I end the call and set my cell phone on the coffee table, then lean back against the sofa cushions with a forlorn sigh. Sensing I could use some comfort, Cicero jumps up next to me and raises his soulful, brown eyes to mine. I gather him up in my arms and start petting his back. He doesn’t smell great, probably because I haven’t bathed him in what . . . three weeks? His white fur is a dingy shade of gray, so it’s probably more like a month. That’s just shameful! How could I let myself get so caught up in my on again/off again relationship with Brody that I forgot to tend to my sweet boy? Not that he minds his current state of filthiness. Cicero’s never met a pile of dirt he didn’t want to roll around in. I’ll have to take him out back and give him a good scrubbing in the morning. Guess there will be plenty of time for dog baths now that my social calendar has been cleared.

  My eyes fill with tears as I think about all the dates with Brody that are never going to happen. It’s so unfair! Things were going so well for us. Tonight was perfect from beginning to, well, almost the end. If only Justine and her baby bump hadn’t shown up! I just don’t understand how she could do that to Brody – keep her pregnancy a secret all these months. The poor man was in a complete state of shock. He was barely coherent when he drove me home. He just kept mumbling, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” I feel awful for him. He spent so much time being hurt and angry about the breakup with Justine, then when he finally found a way to move on and be happy again, his past comes strutting back in a pair of sexy stilettos.

  UGH Why couldn’t Justine have stayed in whatever part of SoCal it was that she fled to and left Brody and me alone? It’s a selfish thought, and I immediately chastise myself for thinking it. Brody has the right to know about his child. I have no doubt he’ll be a great dad. He’s so kind and patient and caring and . . . The floodgates open, and tears begin to spill from my eyes. I wipe them away, but they keep coming as I hug Cicero tightly to my chest. That’s when I hear the front door of the apartment burst open.

  “Bumba, bumba, bum, bum! Bumba, bumba, bum, bum! Bumba, bumba, bum, bum!” My roommate does the conga into the living room, kicking his arm and leg out on the fourth beat each time. He’s bare-chested, but his bottom half is covered by one of the sarongs I made him (the tropical print with white flowers, outlined in black, on a red background, which was my favorite). “Hey, chicken! Whatcha doing home so early?” He continues to do the conga around the couch, and Cicero, thinking it’s playtime, leaps down on to the floor and starts following Tommy, with his tail wagging. Normally, I’d be grabbing my phone so that I could make a video of this adorable animal/human conga line and share it with my Instagram pals (#dancingdoggy), but I’m too depressed to put forth the effort.

  “My date with Brody was cut short by the sudden appearance of his ex-wife.”

  The conga line screeches to a halt.

  “Ohmigod, duh-rama! I love it!” Tommy claps his hands together excitedly.

  I make a pouty face, letting him know I do not share his enthusiasm for the unexpected turn my evening took.

  “I mean, I don’t love that you’re upset,” Tommy hastens to clarify as he plops down next to me on the couch and places Cicero between us, “but there is nothing better than two gussied up white girls getting into a screaming match at some fancy soirée while the other guests look on in horror. Please tell me that you ripped out Mrs. Brody’s hair extensions, or threw some wine in her face.”

  “Of course not! This is real life, not Real Housewives.”

  He purses his lips disapprovingly. “So, you’re saying that everyone involved in this little love triangle behaved in a mature and civilized fashion?”

  “It’s not a love triangle!” I assert. “Before I ever agreed to go out with him, Brody told me in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t love Justine. And why should he? She treated him terribly. She disparaged his work and tried to bully him into doing something that would make him miserable, she walked out on him with no warning, she rebuffed all his attempts at communication, then had him served with divorce papers. I don’t think Brody would even be talking to her if she weren’t carrying his child.”

  “What?!” Tommy shrieks, the high-pitched sound making Cicero bury his head in the folds of my skirt. “The ex is pregnant?”

  “Did I forget to mention that?”

  “Uh, yeah, and that’s a pretty important detail. You may not like drama, but the missus clearly does. She hasn’t seen her ex in months, then she pops up at some big event to spring the ‘I’ve got a bun in the oven!’ news on him? Sounds like a well-timed ambush to me. I bet she knew Brody was bringing a date to the party and she showed up when she did so that she could cause the maximum amount of damage to your budding romance. Sneaky bitch!”

  “I can’t believe she purposefully set out to ruin Brody’s relationship with me . . .” Although now that I think about how the evening played out, it does seem strange that Justine went to all the trouble of getting dressed up and driving out to Berkeley to see Brody when she could have just called him and arranged a more convenient time and place to meet. Maybe one of their mutual friends told her Brody was bringing me to the party as his plus one, and that information sparked some jealousy in her. She wouldn’t be the first woman to toss a man aside, thinking she didn’t want him anymore, then she heard he was with someone else and he suddenly became attractive to her again.

  “Believe it. This Justine sounds like a master manipulator who’ll do anything to get what she wants. Loo
k at how she rolled over you tonight.”

  “She didn’t roll over me!”

  “Really?” He eyes me with pity. “Who’s with Brody right now and who’s sitting on her couch, clinging to her mangy mutt, while mascara runs down her face?”

  I put my hands over Cicero’s ears. “You know we never use the m-word in this apartment!”

  “Well, I had to mention the first ‘m’, because you really should be wearing waterproof to prevent this streaking problem.” He points at my face, which must look a fright. “And the other two are sadly applicable to Cicero at the mo. Your putrid pooch is in dire need of a bath.” Pinching his nose closed, Tommy waves his hand in the air in an attempt to rid the room of canine b.o.

  “It’s not that bad.” It probably is; I think my sense of smell has shut down to protect itself. “And FYI, I had no choice but to let Brody bring me home. He and Justine had things to talk about privately.”

  “And during that loooong ride back over the Bay Bridge, did you tell Brody how you felt about the situation? About him?”

  I frown. “What good would that have done? Brody and Justine are going to have a baby. They’ll be a family. I can’t stand in the way of that.”

  Tommy groans. “You are such a martyr! Climb down off that stake before you get burned, Saint Willa. Justine divorced Brody. You said yourself he doesn’t love her anymore. So, their relationship is dunzo, and you’re not standing in the way of anything. Instead of backing off, you should be stepping up and letting Brody know that he has your support. He does have your support, right? You still want to be with him despite this whole baby thing?”

  I nod as more tears splash down on to my cheeks. Not having a tissue handy, Tommy offers me the corner of his sarong. Thankfully, he’s wearing a Speedo underneath, so I don’t get flashed. “Of course, I do,” I say as I dab at my wet eyes with the colorful cotton. “Him having a child with another woman may not be exactly what I imagined for our future, but I can adapt and be the supportive girlfriend if that’s what he wants. Oh, shoot, why didn’t I tell him that earlier?”

  “It’s not too late. Send him a text.” He picks up my cell phone and hands it to me.

  I shrink back in horror like Tommy’s offering me a grenade - the explosive device, not the Bruno Mars song I like to rock out to while cleaning the apartment. “He’s probably in the middle of some intense conversation with her. I wouldn’t want to interrupt that.”

  “Hell, yeah, you wanna interrupt, before Brody lets Justine talk him into making a stupid decision like moving down to LA, or wherever, to be near his kid.”

  The thought of Brody leaving San Francisco makes my heart palpitate. “I can’t let that happen.” I grab the phone.

  “That’s my girl!”

  I spend the next five minutes trying to compose a text message that will convey all my thoughts and feelings to Brody. It’s not easy to do. I delete and rewrite the message several times, Tommy gives me his input, which is really helpful, and I ask Cicero what he thinks (He’s more interested in when I might be going to the kitchen to get him a treat.) Finally, when I think I have the perfectly worded message along with situation-appropriate emojis, I place my index finger right above the send button on my cell phone screen . . .

  “Just do it!” Tommy commands.

  “Don’t rush me! This might be the most important text I ever send.” My hand’s shaking, and those tomato pies I ingested earlier in the evening are threatening to come back up.

  Okay, Willa, breathe, I know it’s scary to put yourself out there and risk getting your heart broken, but the alternative is even worse. You can’t just hand Brody over to Justine. He deserves better. He deserves to be loved unconditionally and accepted and suppor–My cell rings and scares the bejesus out of me. I squeal with surprise and drop the phone in my lap, then I look down to see who’s calling.

  Turning to Tommy with wide eyes, I whisper, “It’s him.”

  “He’s calling you? That has to be a good sign. Answer it!”

  GULP I don’t know why I’m so afraid to talk to Brody all of a sudden. This is the same guy who chased down a cocktail with whipped cream for me, who bid a ton of money on a hot air balloon ride because it was something I had my heart set on doing, who kissed me under the stars on a rose-covered bridge. I can trust him to do the right thing. That would be staying with me, obviously.

  “Hello.” I answer the call, trying to sound strong and confident like my sister who always faces problems head on and finds solutions for them, generally ones that benefit her.

  “Hope I didn’t wake you.” I hear the strain in Brody’s voice, which tells me that this night has taken a toll on him. How could it not? Thanks to Justine, his whole world has been turned upside down.

  “Nope. I’m not even in my PJs yet. I was just about to send you a text.” I look over at Tommy and he gives me a thumbs up, then rolls his hand to indicate that I should keep going. “There were some things I wanted you to know, things I wish I’d said earlier–”

  “It’s okay. Seeing Justine, in her condition, was a shock . . . for both of us. It’s still hard to believe this is happening. I thought my life was headed in one direction, then . . .”

  “You’re not alone in this, Brody. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” And that was pretty much the gist of my text, which doesn’t seem like enough now, so I’m glad the universe is giving me a chance to say more. “Becoming a father will change your life in a lot of ways, but it doesn’t have to change things for us. I mean, I know it will change things as far as you having more demands on your time and heart. That just comes with the territory when you’re a parent and I would expect you to be nothing less than a hundred percent committed to your son, or daughter, because that’s the kind of man you are and that’s the kind of man I want to be with. So, whatever you need from me, whatever I can do to make this work for all of us, just tell me and . . . I could help you decorate a room at your house for the baby, or give you tutorials on swaddling and infant CPR – I learned both of those things when I took a Safe Sitter course at the hospital in my teens. I think I still have my certificate around here some–”

  “Willa, please–,” Brody interjects.

  “I’m sorry. I was rambling, wasn’t I?” Why didn’t Tommy stop me with a throat-slitting gesture like he normally does? I turn to my left and am surprised to see that my roommate has fallen asleep, his head lolling to the side and his mouth hanging open. When I lean into him, I can smell rum and strawberries on his breath. So, he had a few daiquiris at the pool party he attended earlier. Good, I’ll blame the alcohol for his impromptu snooze. That’s preferable to thinking that I bored him into unconsciousness.

  “I am endlessly charmed by your rambles,” Brody assures me, “but you’re being so sweet that you’re making what I have to say really difficult.”

  “Then don’t say it.” With that lead-in, I’m almost certain I don’t want to hear it.

  He sighs loudly. “I wish I didn’t have to. I wish that you and I could go back to that moonlit bridge in the forest when it was just the two of us and everything seemed possible, but . . . it’s not just the two of us anymore. There’s a child to consider. And I’m still married to that child’s mother–”

  “Wait – what? You told me you signed those divorce papers last month. I thought it was a done deal.”

  “So did I, believe me. I thought I was free of Justine, of our marriage, but she just told me that she never had her lawyer file the papers.”

  “Oh, God,” I groan. My head is swimming. If I weren’t in a seated position, I’d probably pass out. I’ve been dating a married man! Okay, I know they were separated long before I entered the picture, but still they were legally bound all that time I was flirting with Brody and fantasizing about him and scribbling “Willa Wyatt” on random scraps of paper just to see how it looked.

  “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this mess.”

  I can’t let him take responsibility for this, not when
the fault lies mostly with me. “I was the dragger, not the draggee. Our relationship would have begun and ended in the Daybreak green room if I hadn’t hired you to take care of Lovey’s rose bushes. And it was me who kept dropping by while you were working, who encouraged you to talk and share and get close.”

  “I’m glad you did. Getting to know you has been a singular experience, Willa, one that I won’t ever forget.”

  I shed a few silent tears to mark the last chapter of what I’d hoped would be a great love story. “So, this is it?” I ask, sniffling. “You and Justine are going to give it another shot?”

  “We have to try for the baby’s sake, don’t we?” I don’t think this is a rhetorical question. It sounds like he’s really asking for my opinion.

  “I guess,” I murmur, although what I really want to say is, ‘Heck no! You don’t have to sacrifice your own happiness to be a good father.’

  “Justine’s willing to stay in San Francisco if I don’t pursue the divorce.”

  So, Brody will have unrestricted access to his child if he does what Justine wants and takes her back. If not, she’ll raise their baby in another part of the state and he’ll have to travel four hundred miles any time he wants to see him/her. Wow. Justine must really be desperate to use her unborn child as a bargaining chip like this, but what was it that induced this desperation after all these months? I feel like I’m missing an important piece of the Justine puzzle . . . No, stop, Willa! Don’t waste your time trying to figure this woman out. Her motivations don’t matter, at least not to you, not anymore, because you’re out of this. Brody’s made his choice, and you need to take the advice of Frozen’s Elsa and “Let It Go.” Although now that I’m thinking about it, I’m really more of a Princess Anna than I am an Elsa, and Anna never let anything go – despite all the obstacles, she didn’t give up on her sister and–