by Piper Lennox
I scratch my head and pretend to check the blind spots. “Uh, kind of. My mom we can tell over video chat, and I’ll just call Uncle Tim and Aunt Jeannie. They’ll tell my cousin for me.”
She waits. “And your brother?”
“To be decided.” I glance at her. “I promise, it won’t be much longer. He’s just been such an asshole, lately...and with the Wallman event coming up—”
“It’s okay.” Her hand locks into place with mine on my leg. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I get the feeling it’s not really okay.
I squeeze her fingers. “I’m not ashamed or embarrassed or anything. I need you to know that.” Bringing her hand to my mouth and kissing it, I add, “I can’t wait to tell everyone. About you, the baby. Levi’s the only exception. Which sucks, because the way he used to be?” The words drop away for a second. “He would have been the first person I told this kind of stuff to, back then.”
“I think he’ll be excited. Even if he gives you grief, at first. Hey, wait, you missed the turn.”
“You said Mara doesn’t work tonight. Nothing against her, but I’m in desperate need of some alone time.” The car glides through the streets cleanly, headlights slicing the darkness down the middle, until we turn into the park.
I cut the engine and kiss her before she can ask questions.
“I love your new shirt,” I tell her, kissing my way to her breasts, tugging the collar lower and lower.
“And the maternity leggings?” she jokes, snapping the panel on her pants; it nearly reaches her armpits.
“And the maternity leggings,” I repeat with a smile. I pull the cup of her bra down and flit my tongue over her nipple. She sighs and tips her head back. I feel her fingers wind into my hair.
“Backseat?” I ask. She nods, already out of breath.
The coupe is beyond tiny; we quickly realize positions will be limited. “I could get on top,” she offers, self-conscious. She had to invest in a bunch of maternity clothes last week and now “feels fat,” even though she’s barely showing. Pants were putting too much pressure against her stomach, though, and half her tops were too tight on the chest, so the new wardrobe was a necessity.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper as she straddles me. I run my hand down her cheek; she grabs my hand and presses her mouth against it, holding it there.
“Even though.... Even with my body changing?”
“I would say, especially with your body changing.”
She smiles, biting her lip the way I love. “You’re just saying that.”
“Like hell I am. I mean, I knew I’d like the bigger boobs aspect—”
Her laugh rings out, trapped inside the car.
“—but touching your stomach....” We watch my hands lift the flowing fabric of her shirt, then fold down the panel of her leggings. My fingers spread across her skin. That tiny bump, the smallest and biggest change I’ve ever seen. “I love it. Knowing you’re carrying my baby in there. I can’t believe it, but then I see you changing like this...it makes me so stupidly happy.”
“It doesn’t weird you out?” she asks cautiously. “Like...it’s not a turn-off?”
“Juliet.” I grab her hips in my hands and thrust upward, rubbing myself against her until she lets out a quiet, breathy cry, so she can feel what she does to me. “It turns me on like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
She shuts her eyes and rocks herself back and forth on me, the friction growing, the need burning brighter and hotter until neither of us can take it. I undo my pants while she pulls off her leggings.
“Cohen, oh, God,” she pants, lowering herself onto me. Her sex grips mine, adjusting, before she sinks down completely.
“Ever orgasmed in your car?”
“By myself?” she asks, mimicking my smirk. “Yes. Once.”
I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, then slip my thumb between her lips. Her tongue flicks back and forth before enveloping the entire thing. “What about…with other guys?” When I take out my thumb and press it against her clit, the circle I draw ruthless and strong, she tilts her face to the ceiling and shuts her eyes. “Anyone ever made you come in here before?”
She shakes her head.
My other hand clutches her hip and guides the rhythm, lifting her until only the tip of my erection is inside her, then pulling her down as I thrust. Her hands brace against my chest when she comes; the sting of her fingernails through my shirt feels like getting a tattoo. Technically painful, but so addictive.
My goal, always, is to make Juliet finish multiple times before I do. The more pregnant she gets, the easier that goal becomes.
But tonight...the moonlight, the rocking of the car, the memory of her pivoting through her childhood kitchen like a dancer switching partners—the rush in every section of my brain, when I put my hands on her stomach again....
My orgasm hits hard, no warning. “Juliet,” I groan, clipped and hushed, while the electricity courses through me.
Her lips meet mine. “You’re shaking,” she notices.
“I can’t....” I can’t stop. It feels like I’ve been on this peak forever. Maybe it’s only been a few seconds. All I know is that this is ten times as fierce as any orgasm I’ve had before. I’d be more surprised if I wasn’t shaking, honestly.
Finally, it’s over. I drop back against the seat and wrap my arms around Juliet, holding her to me like a life preserver. I can’t let go.
18
“Who is she?”
Lindsay grins and pokes me with her garlic bread while I stab into my pasta. This is the first Sunday dinner we’ve had in almost a month, temporarily moved to Monday, courtesy of Levi’s work schedule. He’s finishing paperwork right this second, in fact. His wife’s teasing is the only reason he even looks up.
“Okay, okay.” I swat Lindsay’s hand away. “I’ll tell you about her, but you guys have to promise not to do...what you always do.”
They both look offended. “What do we ‘always do?’”
“You know.” I falter, then motion to Levi’s face: he’s already scowling. “Levi’s too damn critical—”
“Your last girlfriend spent half the night telling us about her nipple ring infection. I’m not allowed to criticize that?”
“—and you,” I go on, pointing at Lindsay, “get too attached too fast and scare the girl off.”
“Excuse me for asking your potential life partners a few simple questions,” she counters, pouring us each another glass of wine.
“Really? Asking girls their ‘ideal marriage proposal’ is a simple question?” I look between them as I finish half my glass in one gulp. “Just...just promise you’ll be chill, when you meet her. I really like her.”
More than like. I can’t even think about the real word I want to use, it freaks me out so much. Ever since that night in the car, things have felt different between Juliet and me, in the best damn way.
“I promise,” Lindsay says, hand on her heart, “I’ll refrain from picking your wedding colors. And your brother will...try and focus on the positive.” She gives Levi a pressing kind of smile. “Right?”
His eyes skate to her, then me, before returning to the paperwork. “Promise.”
I should just blurt it. All of it. But the fact Levi’s not even looking at me confirms what I dread most: that he’ll make me regret telling him about the baby. Doesn’t matter how I do it.
For now, I decide to stick with the basics. Boy meets girl, boy dates girl. Boy says jack shit about knocking girl up.
“I met her at an event.”
Lindsay reaches over me for the butter. “Which one?”
“The, uh...the Brooks-Villeni event. Back in April.”
“Huh,” Lindsay offers warmly, but Levi’s head snaps back up.
“The Brooks-Villeni event?” he asks. He sets the pen down. “You mean their wedding?” His sigh tumbles across the table like metal shavings. “You hooked up with a wedding guest?”
My appetite’s gone. I push my
plate away and take another long drink of wine. “I gave her my card, that’s all. It’s called networking. Not my fault she called me for personal reasons instead of business, is it?”
“Leave him alone.” Lindsay pokes his shoulder. She might as well be poking a brick wall, for all the good it does. “What’s her name?”
I finish my drink. “Juliet.”
“Oh, Shakespeare! That’s a beautiful name. What’s she do for a living? Does she live here?”
“Uh, yeah—she’s an administrative assistant at an ad agency, lives in the city.” I measure my answers carefully, so Lindsay can’t pull too much information from me before I’m ready. It’s a skill of hers that never fails to entrap and baffle me. Levi, meanwhile, keeps tapping his fork on the edge of his plate.
“Juliet,” he says to himself, then looks at me again. “The maid of honor? The bride’s sister?”
“You know her?”
“The bride put her name down to authorize order changes, in case of an emergency.” He takes a bite, but doesn’t even seem to taste the food. “Knowing you, there wasn’t a single bit of ‘networking’ involved. Is that the real reason the van didn’t come back until the morning?”
Lindsay pours herself more wine. She used to be able to diffuse my brother’s anger with nothing but a hand on his forearm. It was like magic.
Then again, back in those days, he didn’t get all that angry.
I lean on the table and stare at him. “And? What if that is how it happened?”
“It’s unprofessional, for one—if guests see you hitting on other guests, it makes our entire company look sleazy.”
“Wow.” I pour the last of the wine into my glass. Nothing like more alcohol to help a bad dinner grow worse, but I’m too pissed to care. “Well, you can get that stick out of your colon, because that’s not how it happened.”
“But it did happen.” The pen is back in his hand in place of the fork. He waits for me to correct him.
I look to Lindsay for help. She just sips and stares at their cat, napping in the sunlight by the door.
“I was off the clock before Juliet and I even introduced ourselves. No flirting, no shirking my duties—all right, man? Stop trying to find any reason to pull me off the Wallman party. It’s getting old.”
“If you want me to trust you with more at work, show me you deserve it. You can’t just skate through life anymore and expect people to hand you whatever you want, Cohen.”
“How am I supposed to show you when you won’t let me?” I stand when he does, the wine sloshing. I feel bad for Lindsay, who rushes to blow out the candles before we can set the whole place on fire. “And skate through life? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact you get so much shit handed to you, and you don’t even appreciate it. You’ve never had to work for anything.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I get in his way before he can start pacing. If he’s going to insult me, the least he can do is maintain eye contact. “I’ve had a job since the day I turned fourteen, same as you.”
“Yeah.” He folds his arms. “Remember what my first job was? Walking dogs and picking up shit for three bucks an hour. And what was yours?”
He waits, but I know he doesn’t need or want me to answer.
“That’s right: house-sitting in the historic district for rich families. And then it came time for college, and not only did you luck into a landscaping job for all those families—you got referral letters from every top professor in that entire fucking neighborhood. All because you sat on your ass in their houses when they were away, then trimmed a few of their shrubs.”
My legs feel locked. I’d swear there was tar on my feet, holding me in place right now. “You think I lucked into all that?”
“Yeah. I do. You’re immature, never serious, you barely had to work at all for everything you’ve gotten, while—”
Levi shuts his mouth, stepping back from me a little.
“While, what?” I prompt. “While you work your ass off and keep getting the shit end of the stick?”
He still doesn’t answer, but I know my brother. No matter how much he’s changed.
“First of all, it isn’t my fault you dropped out of high school. Okay?” I step closer. “You could have gotten your GED and gone to college, too. So don’t even try that guilt-trip shit on me.”
From behind the island, where Lindsay’s cloistered herself with her wine, I hear her throat clear. She doesn’t say anything; neither does he. I go on.
“And second, don’t you dare devalue the things I’ve done. You don’t know how hard I worked or didn’t. And the parts that were just plain luck? That stuff that did come easily?” I take another step. “I can’t help that any more than you can. What should I have done: not taken those clients’ recommendations to get into a good school? Not let them pay me, so affording school would be harder and I could say, ‘Oh, I truly earned it?’”
“Give me a break. You coasted through school, Cohen. You spent every day getting high and doing the bare minimum.”
This, I can’t really dispute. When it came to academics, I was lucky. Studying was optional, and teachers liked me enough to let my constant absences and tardies slip under the radar. Levi, meanwhile, was a slow reader, terrible test-taker, and barely managed to pass classes at all, even when he studied for weeks and took any extra credit he could get.
“Fine, I’ll give you that. School was easy for me. I’m sorry it wasn’t for you.” My apology sounds sarcastic, I’m still so mad, but I breeze past it. “That still doesn’t mean I coasted through everything. Like my job—I worked really hard to get my clients in all the good neighborhoods. No different than what you’re trying to do with your business, right now.”
“We both know why you got those rich clients.” Levi raises his eyebrow, gaze steeled. “You loved flashing around the fact you were a Fairfield.”
I throw my hands into the air and laugh. “Says the man who has ‘Fairfield’ plastered all over his fucking company?”
Levi’s fists clench by his sides. I look from them to him, daring him to hit me. Uncle Tim always taught us to never throw the first punch. Don’t start fights: finish them. I took it to heart.
Then again, so did Levi.
He steps back, turns, and shoves his chair into the table. The wine glasses rattle again. Behind me, I hear Lindsay suck in a breath.
“Look at your life, man,” I tell his back. “You’re married to a beautiful woman, you’ve got a huge new house and your own company. If you’re jealous of me...” My laugh makes him flinch. “...something’s wrong with you. And making my life harder won’t make you feel better.”
Even from the back of his head, I can tell he’s fuming. To be fair, he should’ve seen that shot coming: he knows I don’t just finish fistfights. I’m the king of getting in the last word. Hitting your opponent with the deepest, most cutting truth. I play to win.
He turns. It’s eerie, how calm his face suddenly becomes.
“You’re fired,” he says.
Lindsay steps out from behind the island. “Levi.”
I just stand there, staring at him. Looking for some sign of my brother inside this boring, work-obsessed prick. But there’s nothing but that calmness, and it fuels my anger even more than his actual words. Threats or punches, I can handle. It’s when your opponent loses all emotion that you know you’re screwed.
He looks at Lindsay, silent. Then he grabs his keys off the hook, thunders outside, and leaves.
Lindsay and I listen to the squeal of his tires, filtering to us all the way in here like the smoke still trailing from the candles. It reminds me of that night at Paul’s house: the shell sailing into the sky and bursting, nothing but a tail of blue smoke behind it.
“You should go.” She grabs the paper towels from me when I try to mop up the wine. “Please. It...it’ll just be better, if you aren’t here whenever he comes back.”
“Linds.” I put
my hand on hers, mid-swipe across the table. “I didn’t start that shit. You saw it, he came at me out of leftfield.”
“I think,” she says softly, letting her hair fall into her face, “you both need to realize the other one’s life isn’t perfect. Stop assuming.”
“He assumed.”
“I’ve seen you do it, too, Cohen.”
I step back, hands up like I’m under arrest. “Well, shit, doesn’t it piss you off? That he’s got this house, all the money—you—and he’s still not happy?”
“Cohen.” Lindsay’s voice is rigid in a way I’ve never heard. Her hand tightens on the paper towels. “Go.”
The air feels colder as I start away from the table. I move slowly, expecting her to change her mind. Lindsay’s never kicked anyone out of her home before, let alone me. She’s like my sister. I’m always welcome here.
Of course, that’s the difference: she’s like a sister. But in the truest, deepest sense of the word, she still isn’t one.
Lindsay has no siblings. She doesn’t understand the way they act, especially brothers. Levi and I will probably never stop comparing: we’ve been doing it as long as we can remember, using the other like a yardstick to measure our own successes, our failures. Watching them and taking notes, avoiding the pitfalls. Finding the footholds.
“Thanks for dinner,” I offer, when I’m halfway out the door. She just shakes her head, hair still covering her face, and waves me away.
“What’s wrong?” Juliet asks, when I show up at her loft without so much as a text, still breathing hard when she opens the door.
I want to tell her everything. Levi firing me, the fight—Lindsay kicking me out.
But then I remember all the shit he said, about me being immature, lucking into everything, and I shut up. Not long ago, Juliet thought those things about me, too. Maybe she still does. Hearing the father of her kid is now jobless won’t help anything.
I’m tired of trying to prove myself to Levi. The only one I should be proving anything to, is her.
“Long day,” I answer, pressing my head to the doorjamb. “You want to catch a movie?”
