"I don't care what he wants," Ben replied. "It doesn't matter to me and I know it doesn't matter to you."
"Oh yeah?" I shot back. "How do you know that?"
He stepped closer, sandwiching me between him and the bureau. "Because you've never given him what he wants."
"And I give you what you want?"
He laughed. Chuckled, as if this was really entertaining. So damn funny that I was dating two men. Two wonderful, damaged, hilarious, hot hot hot men who wanted me. Really wanted me. Crazy super wanted me. Most of the time, I let myself believe they wanted me because they wanted to win. It was easier to make this attention about competition rather than the possibility two men wanted me enough to share.
"Not once," he replied. "Not once have you given me what I want. But I can't stop hoping my day will come."
"I'm sorry about that." Motherfuck. We were not doing this again. "I'm not trying to make this more difficult for anyone. I'm not trying to hurt you."
"I know." His hand shifted, sliding under my robe. Goddamn this inside-out mess. Why couldn't I pull off a good dramatic exit from the shower? "I know," he repeated, his hand still on my belly. "That's what I love about you."
"What?" I asked. "That while you're putting me in a completely unfair situation and making requests I can't possibly fulfill, I still want you to be all right? To walk away from all of this in one piece?"
"Yeah. That. That's what I love," he replied. "But there's only one situation where I'm walking away in one piece and you know it."
"Don't do that," I warned, elbowing him away.
"I can't help it," he argued. "But you can. You can make this better, Gigi."
I wanted to sink into this moment, drown in it. I wanted to wave the flag, drop my shield, and tell everyone the game was over. I didn't require any more fix-ups or setups. I didn't need the apps or matches. I was good now, I was done.
But I couldn't quit this game. Not yet.
It wasn't the mere knowledge that I was due to meet Rob in a matter of hours. It wasn't an overactive sense of obligation to Ben's emotional needs. It was more than that.
It was more. It was so much more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
My date was three sheets to the wind.
Maybe not all the way there but he was on the road and making good time.
"Magnolia!" Rob bellowed from his kitchen island. "And her canine companion!"
I set my bags on the floor and released Gronk from his leash. He scurried off, intent on sniffling every corner and licking every wall. "Be good," I called after him.
Rob leaned against the stone surface with one arm held aloft, drink in hand. The other hand seemed to keep him steady. When we'd agreed to meet at his place before the engagement party—rather than him driving up to my house, only to turn back around and drive back into the city—I hadn't imagined he'd busy himself with pregaming. Although I wasn't sure I'd handle it differently if the tables were turned.
"How did you get more gorgeous while I was in San Francisco? That's not allowed. If you're going to be even more beautiful, I want to be here to watch while it happens."
I gestured toward the full-length dress, the one I never would've chosen without the insistence of Andy and Shannon. The dress was to blame. I was the exact same person I was when he left town for a business trip last week. "Nothing has changed. Fancy dresses and Spanx are optical illusions."
He stared at my torso for a moment, then cocked his head to the side and stared another moment. And then it was just awkward because I was certain he was wondering where I was hiding all my squishiness. Honestly, I was wondering the same thing. It seemed like heavy-duty shapewear worked by rearranging internal organs. I was no medical doctor, but I was fairly confident my liver and stomach were in my uterus—because why leave that space empty when I had a belly to smooth?—and my intestines and kidneys were packed away near my ribs. That worked out well because I wasn't visiting the ladies' room tonight. Once these things came down, they were staying down.
Then, "Nah. I didn't notice the dress until now." He shook his head, flattened his lips. "It's gonna look spectacular on the floor."
"As any pile of fabric costing upward of five hundred dollars should," I murmured.
Rob didn't catch that part, his brows knitting together and his forehead wrinkling while he leaned toward me as if he'd hear previously spoken words better that way. When he thought better of asking for clarification, he said, "Allow me to pour you a drink, love."
"I'll pass for now. Thanks," I said, stepping toward him. Goddamn, this man shouldn't be allowed in tuxedos. There should be a city ordinance banning such things because this was a safety hazard and he wasn't even fully dressed. The jacket was draped over the back of an island stool. His bow tie and collar hung open at his throat. Cuffs were rolled up his forearms. If he walked out in traffic like this, the city would grind to a halt. "One of us should stay upright at all times tonight."
He tipped his glass toward me, sending a splash of amber liquid over the rim. "You're a fuckin' babe, you know that?"
I held out both hands as if I was completely and thoroughly righteous in my fuckin' babe status. "I was just thinking you're not too bad yourself, Russo."
"No, I mean you're a fuckin' babe," he drawled, smacking his free hand on the countertop. "How the fuck did I talk you into this shitshow?"
I held out my hands again but this time, it was a gesture of resignation. "I believe I talked you into this shitshow."
At the sound of Gronk's low growls, we glanced toward the living room. My pup was busy dragging throw pillows out from under the coffee table and constructing a nest for himself. I wagged a finger in his direction. "Don't even think about shredding those pillows."
"I don't care about the pillows." He spoke quietly as if he knew better than to let Gronk hear.
"He's not allowed to shred pillows."
"You're the boss here." He narrowed his eyes at me, smiling. "Yes, Miz Maggie, you are the boss and you are responsible for us attending this blessed event tonight." He considered his glass. "Why'd you do that? Why d'you want me to do this? Because it's making me fucking crazy."
I kicked off my heels and paced the length of the island. In all honesty, I was feeling that fucking crazy too. I did some social media stalking last week and discovered Rob's ex Miranda was all kinds of stunning. Sexy, sophisticated, put together. She looked like the kind of woman who knew how to take her daytime look to evening and had frequent occasion to use that skill.
"What part of it is making you crazy? Are you worried about Eddie?"
"He's dead to me," Rob said, waving away all thought of his former best friend. "He can suck my dick for all I care." He set his glass down, cringed. "Nah, I don't want that either. He's too self-absorbed to give a good blowie."
I ran my hands down my sides, over the thin fabric of my dress. It was a subtle choice, this plum-y purple sheath overlaid with superfine lace and tulle. It wasn't impressive on the hanger but it transformed into something magical on my body. I looked like I was intended to wear beautiful things, like this was my everyday style. And when I gazed at myself in the mirror, I believed it. I believed that I belonged at a black tie engagement party at one of the swankiest ballrooms in the city. I believed I belonged on this man's arm.
More than that, I wanted to be the one on his arm.
"Then you're worried about seeing Miranda—"
"Nope," he shouted. "I don't give a fuck about her anymore. I realized I never loved her. Not really. I thought I did but no. No, that wasn't love. I turned that stone over"—he glanced down at his hand, wiggled his fingers like he was counting, then shook his head—"I don't know. Couple of days ago."
When I reached the far end of the island, I grabbed the half-empty bottle of bourbon and carried it to the bar cart in the living room. Inspected the pillow nest for signs of destruction and happily found none. "That's quite the development," I said, turning back to him.
"You know,"
he started, wagging a finger at me, "you're right. However, that's not the point."
I stared at him across the island. "And what is the point?"
"That I realized I love you," he said.
I barked out a laugh. "You're drunk, Rob."
"I still love you." His words came without strain or effort as if it cost him nothing to say them. "I do love you. I have since…you know, Magnolia, I think I loved you from the minute you wouldn't let me get my way. Just didn't let myself see it. Or something like that."
"Someone has to keep you in line," I muttered.
That's right, Magnolia. Dodge. Deflect. Do anything but focus on what he's saying.
I rolled my eyes at myself.
"You want to know how I realized this?" he asked.
I bobbed my head, eager for some explanation. "Please."
He glanced up at the ceiling, blinked at the exposed ductwork. Then, "I got back to my hotel room after being in meetings all day and then dinner with the same damn people I spent the day with. I flopped on the bed and I thought about you." He cleared his throat, shot a quick glance at me. His hazel eyes brightened, shedding the fog of liquor. "I thought about traveling with you. I wondered whether you'd been to San Francisco and which neighborhoods you'd like. Going places and—and being with you. I thought about that and I jerked off a couple of times while I did it—"
"A couple of times?" I interrupted. I knew he had some—ahem—staying power but Satan save us.
"Maybe three? Four? I don't know. It'd been a long day." He shot a shoulder up, let it fall.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. Nine Inches and his amazingly short refractory period.
"Like I said, you're a babe. You give me plenty to work with." When I only blinked at him, he continued, "And as I was falling asleep—"
"I hope you tipped the housekeeping staff generously," I murmured.
"I always do," he replied. "As I was falling asleep, I realized I never once worried about you and the firefighter. You and anyone. I trust you, and I'm done holding Miranda's bullshit against you and…and I love you. I love you and I never loved her and this engagement party is making me fuckin' crazy because I can't believe it took me this long to see it. To know I was going through the motions, settling for someone because she was there and seemed…I don't know. Good enough." He grinned at me and the space between us seemed to dissolve. "I realized it because you've given me more than good enough and you make me give more than that too. You make me show up. You make me work for it."
I flattened my hands on the stone countertop, needing that solid surface to keep me anchored here. To keep me from allowing those words to wrap me up and warm me to the bone. To keep me from wanting to hear them again, wanting to take them and tuck them into a secret space where nothing would ever steal them from me. To keep me from believing that I deserved love—hot, sloppy, unflagging, imperfect love. That I had it, right here in a heart-stopping tuxedo.
All I had to do was accept it…and give it back.
"Say something," Rob urged. "Anything."
"You're drunk," I repeated, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the microwave clock. "You're drunk and we're going to be late."
His lips pulled up in an easy grin as his eyelids drooped shut. He smiled, shook his head. His chin scruff rasped against his collar. Without thought, I leaned toward him, wanting to be closer to that sound. That sensation. "Not the response I was expecting but I'll take it."
"What were you expecting?"
"Not an update on my inebriation." Rob opened his eyes, rubbed the back of his neck. I wanted to stop him, bat his hand away, do it for him. Ease his tension. Ease everything.
So, I did.
I took a final step toward him and reached for the back of his neck with both hands. My fingers slipped beneath his starched collar, meeting warm skin. The scent of bourbon and Kiehl's olive fruit shampoo lingered on him. I leaned in, inhaled, brushed my lips over his jaw. He swayed toward me, a soft growl sounding in his throat as my thumbs kneaded his knots.
"Tell me something," I said.
"I've already told you the important stuff," he remarked.
My lips twitched into a smirk. "Why are you drinking?"
He cut his gaze toward the island and his abandoned tumbler. "Jet lag, I think."
"Since it's three hours earlier in California, that's pure bullshit." I smiled up at him. "Come on, Rob. Tell me what's happening with you."
"I was getting dressed and I thought about calling Eddie. For a minute, I forgot my best friend is gone. I forgot that he pissed away a lifelong friendship and I can't call him up to tell him—anything. I can't tell him anything. Not anymore. And I can't be happy for him tonight. They deserve each other. They share the same views on loyalty."
He moved his hands to my hips but didn't stay there. He skimmed up to my waist and down to my backside, his touch gentle. Almost tentative. He swayed once again but this wasn't a drunken stumble. It was a dance to which neither of us knew the steps but we had a good idea how we wanted it to feel. We held each other, moving together in a waltz set to breaths and heartbeats.
Rob continued, "I guess I'm mourning the loss of my friend. I don't think I've allowed myself that yet. So, I poured myself a drink. And then, one more. I recognize this isn't the most well-adjusted coping mechanism for thirty-eight-year-old men but I've never once suggested I was well-adjusted."
"What did you want to share with him?"
He tipped his head to the side, a half-smile playing on his lips as he glanced down at me. "I wanted to tell him I met the game changer. That I fell for the game changer."
I stared at the freckled skin between his open collar. So much easier than meeting his gaze. So much easier than sliding all the way into this quicksand of his affection. "Is that so?"
An impatient growl sounded in his throat. "Stop fishing for compliments. I've already said you're hot as fuck and I love you. Don't make me confess my plans to steal you away and marry you."
I leaned back, touched a hand to my throat. If I was wearing pearls, I would've clutched them. "What was that?"
"Shhhh," he whispered, his index finger pressed to his lips. "It's a secret but I'm going to get you a diamond the size of an egg and you're going to make a husband out of me, love."
"What kind of egg?" We'd shuffled all the way across the room now. "Are we talking about chicken eggs or robin eggs? There's a big difference, Rob."
That was my incredibly mature coping mechanism in action. Give me an important moment and I'd give you some topflight sarcasm.
"Ostrich," he replied, serious as a stroke. "I might have to steal from a few monarchies to make it happen but they'll never notice it missing."
"Oh, good." I bobbed my head in agreement. "That's a good strategy."
"Thought so." He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. "I don't think we need to go to this party. I don't need to prove anything to them." He ran his knuckles down the line of my spine before wrapping his arms around my torso. He held me tight, almost too tight. I loved it. "I don't need to do it. Not when I'd much rather stay here and peel that dress off you."
"This"—I traced the fine detailing around the dress's v-neck—"is not hitting the floor until it's been adequately flaunted."
Rob's eyes crinkled as he laced our fingers together, brought our clasped hands to his chest. "Oh, love. I'll flaunt you. I'll flaunt the fuck out of you. And you know what? I won't even have to work that hard at it. You, just being all your you-ishness, is all it takes." He dropped his chin to the crown of my head, blew out a breath. "Eddie will take one look at us and he'll know. He'll know he did me a favor—a shitty one, but a favor. He'll know I never looked at Miranda the way I look at you."
"And how is that?" I whispered. I had to whisper. Had to pretend I didn't need every last one of his words.
He dragged his gaze up my body, taking forever to meet my eyes. "You're the only thing in the world I can see. Only thing I want to see."
My l
ips parted but I produced no sound. I couldn't explain it but those words hit me harder than his promise of love. They stole my breath, blurred my vision. I wasn't certain but it felt like my eyes transformed into cartoon hearts and throbbed right out of my skull.
Jesus Horatio Christ. I was falling for him. This, this was it. Falling was like this—a cartwheel and a jump from the high dive and tripping on a crack in the sidewalk and feeling the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crashed down. All of those things, all at once. Hot goose bumps ran down my arms and over my chest. A shiver sparked through my shoulders. My stomach—wherever it was—flipped, flipped again. Everything was warm and tingly.
He…loved me.
And I…oh my god. Oh, my god.
"You know what?" he asked. "We'll go. We'll drink champagne and toast this engagement because if those cocksuckers hadn't found each other, I never would've found you. I'm happy for it."
I tipped my head to the side. "Now we're thanking them?"
"Oh, fuck no," he roared. "Fuck. No. They deserve chlamydia and back-to-back tax audits."
"Rob. That might be a little severe." When he arched his brows, I continued, "The audits, not the chlamydia."
"Not hardly," he murmured. "But I would've been engaged—maybe even married—to a woman I didn't love and be best fucking friends with a guy who didn't have my back and I don't feel like they fucked me up anymore. I feel like—like one of those memes about the world working in mysterious ways and light coming after the dark and slogging through shit to see the sunrise."
"By that logic, they're the game changers," I said. "Not me."
"Erroneous," he yelled. It sounded like he was objecting in court. Gronk joined in with a howl. "Erroneous on all counts."
"You're drunk," I said with a laugh.
He shook his head once. "Not nearly as much as you think I am."
I peered at him then, wondering whether he was right. Whether I'd decided he was hammered and therefore everything out of his mouth was the product of loosened inhibitions and a slippery tongue. But I couldn't prevent myself from giving him a yeah, whatever eyeroll and head bob, and saying, "This would be a great time for me to ask if you want—"
The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating Page 19
