by Nikki Sloane
“Roll it up in a towel,” she said quietly, gesturing to the dress in my hands, “then wring it out that way.” When it was done, I hung it on the back of a chair. Not sure how dry it would get, but it was better than nothing. I did the same with the rest of our clothes, feeling her heavy gaze on me.
My shoes squished with water. That should make walking outside later in the snow fun. I sat down on the lounge chair beside her and tugged off my shoes. The longer we went without speaking, the more the tension grew. It was already as thick and overpowering as the humidity in the room.
At least she wasn’t shivering anymore. I pulled off my socks and wrung them out, and when it was done, I suddenly wished I had something else to do. Ruby seemed to be waiting for me to finish moving and start talking, but for once in my life, I hadn’t the faintest idea what to say.
“Thanks,” she said over the edge of the towel draped on her body. “I mean, for hanging my stuff out to dry.”
“Sure.”
My brain knew what I was supposed do. I should peel back the long towel hiding her body from me, and slide in beside her on the narrow chair where there’d be barely any room for both of us. We’d burrow under the towels and drink warm champagne, and try to fix this space between us.
I wanted that.
I wanted her in my arms, yet I couldn’t seem to move. I lied to myself and said it was indecision, and wasn’t fear she’d reject me.
This was stupid. We’d just had sex. Mind-blowing sex. Get off your ass and get over there.
Ruby’s gaze lingered on mine, and slowly she withdrew. The longer I sat motionless, the further away she felt.
“It stopped snowing,” she said, gazing at the windows.
“Yeah.”
The silence was painfully taut, weighed down with all the things we weren’t saying.
“It’s getting late,” she added.
I pressed my lips into a line and nodded. Warning lights were flashing in my head, alerting me that this was going south and I needed to correct course immediately. But I didn’t know how.
“I think, uh . . .” she said, shifting to sit up, “I should get dressed.”
I blew out a breath and my eyebrows tugged together. “Okay.”
Goddamnit. What was wrong with me? I didn’t want that to happen.
Ruby wrapped the towel tightly around her and padded on her bare feet over to the dress that was still dripping onto the textured floor. She moved slowly, as if giving me every opportunity to stop her. Instead, I sat hunched over with my elbows on my knees, staring at the ground while I listened to the sounds of fabric swishing and rustling.
As she dressed, I tried to pull my thoughts together and force my confusing feelings into words. I’d hung onto my anger for so long, it was hard to just let go.
Her towels were tossed into a laundry bin. She slipped her feet into her heels. Time was running out on me, and it drove me to my feet. “Ruby.”
The damp pink dress clung to her like it was painted on. Even though she wasn’t tall, she looked statuesque on her heels, framed by the large windows behind her. Like she was a work of art.
She waited expectantly, and maybe with a kernel of optimism, for me to say something, but I faltered. I didn’t usually have a problem with words. I could wing a closing argument if needed, as long as I had the bullet points I wanted to hit. Making the transitions between them was easy. But when it came to her, nothing was simple.
Her shoulders fell, and hope visibly drained out of her.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, her tone containing a terrible sense of finality to it. “There wasn’t anyone else for me. It’s five years too late, but . . . I’m sorry I lied.” Her expression was devoid of any emotion. “Goodbye, Kyle.”
Her words paralyzed me. I stood stock still as she walked steadily to the door and went through it, never turning back to look at me once.
Chapter
TWELVE
RUBY
Grant’s apartment door swung open as I made my way down the hall, carrying Morgan’s dress in a garment bag in one hand, and a box in the other.
“Happy New Year,” he said. “Let’s hear it, then. Feel better after giving McAsshole a piece of your mind?”
Normally I enjoyed Grant’s South African accent, but now I grimaced. We had become friends my final year of law school, and although he’d never met Kyle, he’d heard all about him.
No. Better was definitely not the word I’d use after my evening with my ex. Trampled, maybe. Or gutted.
As soon as I stepped inside the apartment, I could tell things were different. I set the box down on the kitchen table. Didn’t there used to be a picture on the wall over this? Everywhere I looked, it seemed like something was missing. “What’s going on?”
Grant stroked a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, Morgan and I had a disagreement.”
I hung the garment bag in the closet. “About?”
“What’s all right to text to other people and what’s not.”
My movements slowed as I stared at my friend. All the traces of his girlfriend had been removed. There was hurt in his eyes, and I immediately went on the defensive. “What the fuck did she do?”
“Sometimes she’d text me pics where she’d be,” he made a face, “sans clothes.”
Surely his girlfriend sexting him wasn’t a problem. I gave him a skeptical look. “Naked pics, okay. What’s the issue?”
“I wasn’t the only guy she was sending them to.”
I sighed, and pretended I was speaking directly to his girlfriend. “Oh, Morgan.”
Sadly, this didn’t surprise me. Morgan was a pretty girl, but her beauty was her favorite thing about herself. Not only was she vain, she needed constant validation. Like, hourly updates on how good she looked.
She was a backup meteorologist for the weather on channel seven, and had met Grant when he’d stepped in as a line producer for the morning news. I’d gotten along with her well enough, but hanging out with Morgan was exhausting, and I thought Grant could do better.
He was a great guy. A few years younger than me, smart, and good looking. He’d also dated my sister for a nanosecond, so I’d never viewed him as a prospect. He was like a brother. He’d come to the States to get his college education, and wound up staying on a work visa. Last year, I’d helped him through the U.S. citizenship process.
Even though I didn’t like her, Grant had cared about Morgan, and I freaking hated to see him hurting. I’d have to stifle the urge to throat punch her if I ever saw her again in person.
“She swears she wasn’t cheating on me,” he said. “She told me hearing from other guys about how nice she looked made her feel better about herself.”
I paused. “Other guys? More than one?”
“Some of which we work with. Even if I was all right with her sending those kinds of pictures to other people, which I’m not . . . my coworkers? She didn’t consider how foolish it made me look. So, yeah, I’m done.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his kitchen table. “Just finished my New Year’s cleaning. If that’s a thing.”
“Well, shit,” I deadpanned. “I feel just awful now about ruining the dress she lent me.”
Grant straightened. “You did what?”
I unzipped the garment bag and pulled the sides open, revealing the dress. The pink silk had dried with water stains all over it. The chlorine probably hadn’t helped, either. “A dry cleaner might be able to fix it. Or I can just buy it from her, I guess.” Please don’t let it be crazy expensive.
Grant gazed at the dress and gave half a chuckle. “What happened?” Then his gaze drifted over to the box. He lifted the lid. “Oh no.” He peered at the dozens of cookies inside, stacked in alternating colors. He shut the lid and locked his gaze on me. “Your night obviously didn’t go well. Did you sleep much?”
A few years ago, after too much wine and an evening on Pinterest, I discovered a tutorial on making French macarons. My first
attempt had been a disaster. Puffy cookie shells with cracked tops. But I wouldn’t be beaten and kept at it, figuring out the perfect temperature for my oven, and how to fold the delicate batter so I’d get shiny, perfect shells with chewy centers. I was obsessed with making them in different colors and flavor combinations. Creating the sandwich cookies had become my therapy.
Grant knew this. One look at the box announced my fragile mental state.
“Yeah, I slept,” I said, trying not to be defensive. “I got an early start.”
He meandered to his fridge. “Care for something to drink while you tell me about it?”
I took a glass of water and sat down across from him in the living room of his studio apartment. I wasn’t sure where to start. When I’d asked to borrow a dress from Morgan, I’d had to reveal what I needed it for. Grant had seen me at my worst. We’d met just two months after Kyle had left, when I’d been working my way toward rock bottom of a not-great time in my life.
So while Grant understood my desire to get closure, he’d also been worried about the emotional toll there’d be for me to get it. I’d sworn to him I was strong enough now to face Kyle. The one good thing to come out of my breakup with him was I’d grown tough and hardened my heart.
“The suspense is killing me,” Grant said, leaning back and casting a thick arm on the back of the couch. “I take it you spoke with McAsshole.”
“I did.” I took a sip of my water. “He, uh, filled in some gaps in the story.”
“Gaps? What kind of gaps?”
It burst from me suddenly, rapid-fire. How I’d left the awful voicemail that had driven Kyle away, and then the second lie I’d told which was the nail in the coffin for our relationship. In hindsight, my New Year’s Eve plan had been stupid. If I hadn’t kissed him, he would have kept his lips to himself, and we wouldn’t have ended up in the water where he gave me the fuck of my life.
Followed immediately by the most awkward ten minutes of my life.
It had been like he’d shut down after he’d gotten out of the pool and dried off. Kyle just stood there, not saying a word. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to stay or not, but it became perfectly clear when he let me walk away. He hadn’t uttered a word to stop me. Once again, he gave up.
When the conversation lapsed into silence, Grant’s gaze drifted over to the closet. “So, the dress? What happened?”
“We, uh, fell in the pool.” It wasn’t a lie, but I wasn’t about to tell him about what happened afterward. It was embarrassing how fast I’d jumped on Kyle’s dick.
My face must have given too much away, because Grant frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It was just a lot, seeing him again.” Once again, not a lie. My emotions were horribly twisted, and the hardest part was I still wanted him. I wanted to know why he was back. Why he’d only slept with three women since me.
And what the hell he thought about the moment when I turned to him in the pool and whispered, “Again.” I shivered now from the memory. It wasn’t just the burning sting from his spanking I’d enjoyed; it’d been so much more. All those lies I’d told had made something dark inside me crave punishment from him. Like I deserved it. There’d been relief at his command over my body.
Grant raked a hand through his long, mahogany-colored hair, pushing the strands back. “Any chance McAsshole wants to play a little rugby?”
I smiled. Grant was on the Chicago Lions rugby team. I didn’t understand the desire to play the rough sport and get himself beaten up on weekends during the season, but I fully understood the effect his teammates in uniform had on me. I mean, goddamn.
“No,” I said with a light laugh. “I don’t think watching you knock Kyle flat on his ass would make me feel much better.”
“And who cares about that?” Grant smiled. “It would make me feel better.”
“Aw, you’re sweet. Speaking of sweets, the macs are raspberry lemon, caramel apple, and blueberry.”
“You keep at this, and my team’s going to demand I marry you.”
I shrugged. “I keep telling you to drop some subtle hints that I’m single.”
“I do, but it always comes out as ‘stay the hell away from my friend.’ It’s strange. Must be a cultural thing, or my accent.”
He’d always been protective of me, so it came as no surprise when he’d decreed I wasn’t allowed to date any of his ‘meathead’ teammates.
I glanced around the apartment, once again noticing the pictures he’d removed. “And you?” I asked. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Yes.” His expression was sincere. “We’d been over for a while. I think all we really liked was the idea of each other. Which, fuck me, sounds bloody awful.” In his accent, it came out like, “sounds bladdy awful.”
Lord knew he wasn’t going to get any judgement from me. This morning had given me perspective, but last night? If Kyle had asked me to go home with him, I’d have done it.
All he would have had to do was fucking ask.
Chapter
THIRTEEN
KYLE
Unlike most Italian restaurants, the smell of garlic did not cling to the air. The place was understated. Subtle hints of Tuscany in the décor, as opposed to the obnoxious, over the top decorating you often saw in the chain restaurants. The food was excellent without being pretentious.
Joseph sat on the other side of the wooden table, carefully swirling the red wine in his glass, and studied the legs of the wine intently as they streaked down the sides. His dark-eyed gaze was focused, like nothing else existed in that moment.
It was unavoidable, thinking about sex around him, not just because of the club he’d built. A seductive power radiated from him. Our waitress had gotten flustered while taking his order, and I doubted it had anything to do with the fact Joseph was the owner.
How often did he look at Noemi that same way? Did she melt beneath his intense stare?
He set the glass down after taking a sip and considering its flavor. “I’m not sold on this wine. It’s sweet for a red, and expensive. I don’t want to get stuck with several cases I can’t sell.”
He gestured to the glass, wordlessly asking me if I wanted to sample it.
“No, thanks.” I shook my head. “I’m on the clock.” Not that anyone would care if I took a sip of wine during my lunch hour, but Joseph had called me here to discuss business, and I had a self-imposed rule to never drink while working.
“Of course. Thanks for fitting me in.”
Which hadn’t been too difficult. His restaurant was in the Loop, so I was able to cab it over from the office, and he could kill two birds with one stone. Our meeting over lunch allowed him to check in with his staff while discussing . . . whatever it was he wanted to talk to me about.
“Noemi’s father,” he said, “with the help of his legal team, took the liberty of drafting a prenup for her.”
“Ah.” Joseph’s future father-in-law was worth well over a billion dollars, and he’d been grooming his oldest daughter to take over for him at his media company. “I’d be happy to take a look and offer advice before you sign.”
A slight smile turned up at the edge of his lips. “That’s not necessary. I already signed.”
“Oh.” If he had, there wasn’t anything I could do to help.
“I don’t have an issue with the prenup. I know it’s irrelevant because there’s not a chance in hell Noemi and I will get divorced, but regardless, it’s smart business to protect her assets.”
His expression was . . . odd. Like he was amused.
“I’ve explained this to her,” he continued, “but my fiancée refuses to sign. It’s not the principle of a prenup that bothers her. She’s smart and she’s seen both of her father’s marriages fall apart. Her objection is the way Tony presented it to us. He announced he wouldn’t come to the wedding unless we signed a prenuptial agreement.”
I didn’t know them all that well, but I had a very good idea how that went over with the engaged couple.<
br />
“I’m not marrying her for money,” he added, his amusement spreading into a full smile. “I own three businesses and have investments well into seven figures. I may not be as wealthy as the Rossos, but I’m doing all right.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Noemi says he doesn’t respect me, and refuses to let her father hold power over us. So, she won’t sign the prenup he had drafted for her. I need to present her with one instead.”
Realization clicked into place. “You want me to write a prenuptial agreement for you and Noemi, that’s basically a fuck you to the most powerful man in Chicago?”
“Yes. Are you in?”
I chuckled. The idea of doing it was wildly appealing. “Sure, why not?”
“Great. I’ll email over the draft we have, along with the language I’d like to see changed.” He settled back in his chair and a curious, interested expression washed over his face. “Payton asked me to help you get laid.”
“Christ.” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, and my beard bristled against my palm. “I don’t need any help, thanks.”
“Oh?”
This meeting was all sorts of multitasking for Joseph. He could check off wine tasting, prenup, and Payton’s ridiculous resolution for me all in an hour. I was so annoyed, it distracted me from thinking before speaking. “Yeah. I just got laid a few days ago. New Year’s Eve.”
His dark eyes sharpened, and I doubted much got by him. “How was it?”
How was it? Just the best sex of my goddamn life. “It was fine.”
He cut off his laugh. “What a glowing endorsement. Are you going to see Ms. Fine again?”
I’d hoped every day Ruby would reach out, although I knew she wouldn’t. Didn’t stop me from checking my email instantly anytime I got a notification, though. “I’d like to, but that’s going to be a challenge.”
His eyebrow arched upward. “Why?”
“She’s an ex.”
He asked it like he was interviewing me. “And how often do you fuck your exes?”
