Love Disregarded

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Sad. She must’ve really loved your dad.”

  He took a swig of beer. “She did. Does. I don’t know. It may just be the idea of what they once had. The whole divorce was a surprise to her. My dad came home from work one day and announced he was leaving. Months after he left, she was still walking around talking about a trip to Mexico they took. I must’ve heard it a thousand times.”

  He stopped, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he took a breath and a drink.

  “They drove across the border, looking for some fun, but their car ran out of gas. Of course, all they had was beer in the trunk. They stayed hydrated on only beer until another car swung by. According to the story, they were out there all day. Apparently, they were once young and carefree and in love, easygoing and full of life. Or so the story goes,” he said, his words coming out bitter and sad.

  “After that, my dad worked a lot, or said he was working. He rarely came home, and my mom became completely wrapped up in her self-pity.”

  “Wow, and how old were you when they separated?”

  “Thirteen. I remember my entire eighth-grade year, my mom sobbed into her pillow. I used to go to bed at night and wish my dad would come back. Then I just wished she would get up.”

  “That was a lot for a boy.”

  “Hey, this is crazy. It’s starting to sound a lot like a poor-little-rich-boy story. You, my girl, are strong beyond words.” He tipped my chin up with his finger, and I wished for him to lean in and kiss me.

  Last week, I’d told Aston my dad had been gone since I was born, leaving my mom and me to fend for each other. It was fine, though. We’d made it work.

  I gulped the water, needing to cool off my emotions. Being around Aston brought out every emotion in me—sadness, need, desire, want, lust, pity, and occasionally envy.

  “Let’s talk about something better,” he said, “like school. You ready?”

  I nodded. “Getting there. The money’s growing in my account, and I bought some stuff for my room.”

  “I hope you’re not planning on inviting any boys to your room.” He gave me a pointed look, and I swatted at his chest.

  “Come on,” I said with an eye roll.

  “Seriously.”

  I stared at the floor, heat burning my cheeks.

  How could I take anyone else back to my room, my bed, when all I wanted was him. Him, him, him. Dirty thoughts of him pounded in my head as my heart beat an obscene rhythm in my chest.

  Aston lifted my chin again with his index finger and his gaze traveled my whole face, his finger tracing my cheek. He took my cup and set it with his beer on the counter and slid his hands under my hair.

  With his gaze locked on mine, he whispered, “I’m serious.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond, only kissed my lips. At first, our mouths remained closed, until a small moan escaped me. Aston took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, where it stroked mine.

  The kiss deepened, as did the grip his hands had on my neck. With a quick swoop, Aston lifted me, and my legs wrapped around his middle. He rocked his pelvis into me, and another moan came from me.

  “Want to go upstairs? Is that okay?” Aston mumbled into my ear as he sucked on the lobe.

  “Yeah.” My voice was breathy and unrecognizable.

  He carried me up to his room and set me on the bed. I took a second to glance around while he shut the blinds. King-size bed, two nightstands, and a desk, all in deep mahogany wood. Some safari-themed border ran around the walls, and I knew this wasn’t really his space.

  He clicked on the lamp, and soft light flooded the room.

  Sliding next to me, his long arm draped across me, he began to run his hand over my side, making me shiver. His hand traveled over my rib cage and over my breast, sending chills up and down my spine, like the kind of shock you get when you take off a sweater in dry heat.

  He ran the tip of his finger over my nipple, and it hardened under my tank and bra. He pinched and squeezed it before leaning over and sucking it through my clothes. I’d not done any of this before, yet my back arched and my body begged for more. He tugged down my tank, and when my bra cup came with it, his mouth latched onto my nipple.

  “Aston . . .”

  “Yeah, baby?” His lips tickled my nipple as the words made their way out.

  “More,” I said, my back arching off the bed.

  He broke free and yanked my shirt over my head, then unhooked the front clasp on my bra, shoving it off my shoulders in seconds. I slid my hands under his shirt, smoothing them up his abs until I yanked his shirt off.

  He ran his tongue over my breast, kissing my cleavage, then made his way to my other nipple, giving it the same treatment he’d given the other moments earlier. He didn’t stay there long and soon began to travel south, kissing and licking a path to my navel. I gripped his hair with both hands, pulling, guiding, and pushing.

  The room felt like a fiery furnace. My skin was burning, invisible flames licking at it from the inside out.

  Aston unbuttoned my jean shorts and shimmied them down. He stood to pull them off where my ankles were dangling off the side of the bed. I watched through squinted eyes as he shoved down his khaki shorts and boxer briefs, fisting his own length, pumping it while staring down at me.

  Then he was on me again, his mouth down below, licking places I’d never been touched. It felt good. No, amazing. I couldn’t believe how brazen I’d become . . . I was a virgin when it came to everything. Aston was a man, and I wanted to be every bit of a woman to him.

  I squirmed and pushed myself further into Aston’s face, surely making a fool of myself, but I’d never felt so hot. All of a sudden, I felt like my body was splitting in half, blistering heat coursing through my veins. I came, shuddering all over his tongue.

  He didn’t even pause to lick his lips or wipe his mouth. Quickly, he made his way up my body and kissed me fervently, my taste everywhere on him.

  I didn’t care, couldn’t bring myself to worry about that while he was grinding into me, his length touching my sensitive spot, not allowing the tremors to die down.

  We kissed, our tongues colliding and playing, our pelvises doing a dance . . . until he slipped inside me. When he hit the natural barrier, he paused.

  “Bex?” His brow furrowed. “You okay with this?”

  I nodded, and he slowly pushed inside.

  Bringing his hand down to mine while he kept his weight up on the other, he took his time. Languidly, he drifted in and out, the tension heightening, pleasure rising. The pain quickly forgotten, I lifted my hips to meet his, and he picked up the pace.

  Maybe he planned it, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like it was supposed to happen like that, the most natural thing that had ever happened to me.

  Aston Prescott buried himself deep inside me, taking all of me, making love to me in a way I was certain I’d never have again. We never discussed birth control, other than that I was on the pill to regulate my periods. I didn’t care.

  At that moment, all I cared about was Aston Prescott being mine.

  Bexley

  I wasn’t exactly a prude, but until I met Aston, I’d rounded all the bases except two—doing the deed, and letting a guy go down on me. Both seemed to require commitment.

  When it came to Aston, there was an intimacy between us I hadn’t been quite ready for . . . my soul was assaulted with lust, love, unnamed feelings. The moment he shook my hand and introduced himself behind the snack shack, I was his. His abundant arrogance and enormous ego should have been a turnoff, but somewhere in there, I found a redeeming man.

  I saw through both his ego and pride for what they were—an armor. I’d made it my summer mission to put tiny chinks in that shell until it was chipped away.

  When he’d sat me down on the golf course and told me about his life—the true story, his mom, the pain, and the guilt—his drive to succeed made sense. It was all he really had. Despite all the wealth and trappings, his desire to take ove
r the family business and make it great was all that was important to him.

  A week after we had sex for the first time, I sat in his lap one night on the golf course, a blanket spread out underneath us and the stars above, while he ran his nose along my neck. He’d pushed my hair to the side, exposing my skin to the evening air, but it was his touch giving me goose bumps and his words making my pulse race.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to make love to you every second of the day,” he said softly.

  My eyes squeezed shut, and a shiver ran down my spine at the mention of making love. Is that what he thought we were doing?

  “I want to touch you . . . all the time.” His perusal of my neck stopped, and he nudged my face toward his. “What? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “What are you talking about?” The words squeaked out of my mouth.

  “You clenched up, went rigid in my arms. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

  I slid off his lap and knelt before him, my knees pressing into the soft grass under the blanket. “No, not that. You didn’t hurt me or anything. It’s just you . . . you said . . . make love,” I stammered.

  “Right, make love. Make no mistake, in my mind I’ve had you seven ways until Sunday, but when I’m inside you, it’s something else. Making love.”

  A nervous giggle floated from my mouth, and Aston kissed it away.

  “Believe me,” he said. “I never thought that expression, those words, would come from me. It’s all you, Bex.”

  “I’m falling for you, Aston Prescott. You’re nothing like the boys I know. Not like the men my mom knows.”

  “That’s good, because I’ve fallen for you, Bexley Rivers. You most definitely aren’t like anyone I’ve ever met, and I don’t ever want to go back to anyone like that again.”

  At the end of the summer, he took me home to my house for the first time and saw exactly how different we were. We were complete opposites, but he still acted like I was better than sliced bread.

  Aston was gracious to my mom, drinking iced tea from an old coffee mug and shaking her hand in a way that made my heart beat a little faster. He kissed me good-night on my stoop, pretending not to notice the chipping paint and cheap siding. He promised to visit me often, and offered to pay for me to visit him when he couldn’t come to me.

  And he made good on all of that until he graduated the next semester and began working for his father.

  Then all he saw was the cheap facade that was me, Bexley Rivers.

  Aston

  Present day

  I walked out of the putrid county building, thankful for the dark of night hiding the purple circles under my eyes. Yes, I was vain enough to think of those. Probably because I’d spent so many years being photographed.

  Glancing at my watch as I refastened the expensive timepiece to my wrist, I noted how late it was. “Thanks, Patrick,” I said to one of my oldest friends, who was waiting for me outside the shitty building.

  He’d brought my car over for me without asking a single question.

  I didn’t dare ask Mike for help. I wasn’t ready for him or his inquisition, or more specifically, Milly’s wrath. Yeah, Mike had promised to keep everything related to me to himself, but Milly had a way of inserting herself and her opinions into everything. Including my life.

  “Listen, you good? You want to talk or something?” Patrick looked uncomfortable as he walked next to me, twisting his wrist inside his French cuff. He was keeping up with my quick pace, yet allowing a significant space between us.

  “I’m fine. I need a stiff drink and a hot shower. Maybe a massage. Truthfully, the rest of this shit is up to my lawyers. It’s bullshit, so I’m not worried.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I stopped in my tracks, my suit wrinkled and heavy on my shoulders. “Pat, I didn’t do a damn fucking thing. I may be an asshole most of the time, a pain in the ass to get along with, and whatever else everyone says about me, but drugs? Really? No. Just no. That’s not me, and you know it. Jesus, I hope to fucking Christ you know that. I have kids, who I take care of, by the fucking way. I wouldn’t get involved in something illegal.”

  Not going to lie, the charges humbled me a tiny bit. Everything I’d ever worked for, all the shit, namely Bexley, I’d given up in the name of Federal Stars Hospitality Supplies—a lifetime of sacrifices were on the line. I hadn’t spent years sucking up to CEOs to peddle soaps, shampoos, imprinted cocktail napkins, and luxury manicure kits to hotels and resorts, just so I could lose it all because of some bullshit charge.

  “It’s just you’ve been off, you know, for a while. That’s all. I know you have a shit-ton of pressure.”

  “Pressure,” I whispered to myself and nodded. “I can handle it. I’m a big boy, Pat, made my bed and all that crap. My marriage went to shit, so the fuck what? It happens to fifty percent of marriages. We all knew that would happen to mine. Don’t you dare question my integrity, though. All I have left is the company and my kids. Why the hell would I do anything to risk it? Fuck, I have to figure this out because I’m all the kids have.” Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I ripped off my jacket and slung it over my shoulder.

  Pat nodded. There was nothing left to say. He shouldn’t have said anything. Mike had probably gotten under his skin.

  “Sorry for losing my cool. Thanks for bringing the car. It’s been almost two days in this hellhole. I have to get out of these clothes and get some rest.”

  I wasn’t positive, but it felt like he patted me on my back and then let me go. I’d become so used to not being touched or consoled or loved by anyone lately, I’d forgotten what it felt like.

  Anyway, what the hell would Patrick understand about my situation?

  He was old money, married to even older money. One richie betrothed to another in a business union—like mine was. His biggest stressor was not drinking too much after eighteen holes, so he could go home, tuck his kids into bed, and fuck his wife. Missionary-style, of course. That was the only thing on the menu with good old Sally Sutton.

  Poor Patrick. He should be worried about himself, not me.

  Actually, I should shut my inner trap.

  I was the saddest sack of them all, carrying a torch for a girl I could have called mine, but tossed aside instead. At least I honored my mom’s wishes. She died successful in her pursuit to make my life as miserable as hers was.

  Caught up in the past, I no longer cared that I smelled like shit or was shaking for a drink. Once I’d dropped Pat off at his house, it was late, and I turned my car toward the last place I should ever go. Unable to control the urge, I only put her and me at further risk of controversy and speculation.

  But all this thinking of sacrifices and past ghosts made me reckless.

  I didn’t have any fucks left to give, so I put my foot on the gas and went where I’d wanted to go for years. Without hesitation.

  I made the drive from memory. I’d done it many times before, but this time I wouldn’t only be driving by, slowing as I passed, and moving on. This time I was stopping.

  Although, once I got there, I turned into a major limp dick. Not literally. My goods worked fine. Conjuring up an image of Bexley left me at half-mast. Unable to make myself knock on the door, I simply slumped down on her front stoop, in front of the stupid house she’d bought with him.

  Leaning my head against the door, I remembered her soft eyes and even softer heart. The way she loved me was like no one else ever had, not my bitter mom or my power-hungry dad. Definitely not my often controlling stepmother. Like I said, no one. The closest I ever had was the housekeeper at my dad’s place, and she didn’t meet me until I was past the gangly stage.

  Bexley Rivers adored my condescending ass. She brought out the best in me, and I’d tossed her out like garbage.

  God, my mom. Who wants to ruin their kid’s life?

  If I had to do it all over again . . .

  That’s how I fell asleep—my head on Bexley’s cheap welcome mat
, my back to her even cheaper door, wrinkling my suit even more.

  It was the best night’s sleep I had in over a decade.

  As the sun began to rise, my eyes popped open, and my mind was already racing. By some stroke of luck, I didn’t get caught sleeping on Bexley’s front stoop, and I thanked whatever god there was for that small favor.

  Quickly, I hightailed it to my car before someone could see me, my phone buzzing like crazy in my pocket. I waited to answer until I was pulling away from the curb in my car, the call transferred via Bluetooth to its speakers.

  “Hey, Mike,” I said to my oldest friend, trying to act normal, whatever the fuck that was in this current state of hell. I glanced in my rearview mirror, relieved that the block was still quiet.

  “What the fuck, dude?” he yelled. “I’ve been calling you nonstop. Then Pat says he brought you your car, and you didn’t even call me back. What the hell is going on? You don’t trust me anymore?”

  Daring another glance in the mirror, I took in my bloodshot eyes and bed head. It wasn’t a good look. “I needed some time to think, and when it comes to you, everything is tied up with her. You know that. I can’t talk to you without thinking of her.”

  God, I feel like shit. I decided coffee first, shower second.

  “Shut the fuck up, man,” Mike spat out. “The police haul you off, it’s all over the news, and you don’t call me? What the fuck, dude?”

  “The charges are bogus, and you know it. I may be a greedy ass, but I didn’t do what they said.”

  “You know what? I don’t know shit. You’ve been so off lately, Prescott.”

  “What the fuck is it to you, Mike? Patrick said the same thing. I haven’t been off. Distracted, maybe, but not off.”

  Flicking on my blinker at the last second—the last thing I needed was a ticket—I turned into the drive-through of the Beanery.