After You (Because of You Book 2)

by Sam Mariano

  “My stepdaughter here needs someone to show her a good time. I’m talking two orgasms, minimum. Men need itches scratched, they get it done. Girl power and all that shit. Are you qualified to get the job done?”

  “I need another drink,” I state.

  He quickly turns and grabs a bottle, pouring me a shot and pushing it across the counter.

  “Mm, thank you. You’re pretty,” I tell him, throwing back the shot and putting the empty down on the bar top. “I think I actually do need some water, though.” Then, looking at Bethany, I tell her, “I think you might be a bad influence.”

  “No, I’m a good influence. I live my life to the fullest and you should, too. Screw settling for the boring lawyer and never having good sex again. Quit playing it safe, sweetie. You’re going to wake up one day and be old. Is this the life you want to remember?”

  That makes me sad. Is this the life I want to remember? No, the life I wanted to remember already slipped away a long time ago. I don’t want to get drunk off my ass and have sex with random strangers, I want to rewind to 18, stop Derek from ruining both our lives, make him be mine, and unpause. I don’t care if it means growing up too fast. I want struggling through college together, both of us working too hard and sleeping too little, I want Chinese food for dinner while we study, and at the end of every stressful day, I want him in bed beside me. I want his kisses on my lips, his hands pinning my wrists over my head, him moving inside me.

  But I want all of that with no trace of Kayla, and that’s impossible now. He ruined everything, and there’s no fixing it.

  I am no longer paying attention to what is happening with the bartender, but I have lost all interest in him. I wander away by myself, looking at the families seated at tables as I pass. That’s the wrong thing to look at. Suddenly tears are clogging my throat, and I want to collapse. The sadness hits me now. The regret. The pain. Oh, I forgot alcohol only numbed things temporarily, then it’s a flood of emotions. Then it’s the worst.

  I need to find Henry and get my drink. My water. I need water. Only before I can, a cute little blonde girl with blue eyes jumps out in front of me.

  “Boo!” she says, trying to scare me.

  My shoulders sag, my mouth turning down. “You are adorable.”

  Her mom grabs her, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be, she’s adorable. You’re so lucky,” I murmur, walking away.

  Everything is terrible and I want to die.

  I need to get away from everybody. There are too many people and I need to cry, but I’m struggling to see straight. That last shot was a bad idea. I have consumed so much alcohol in under an hour, I might die from alcohol poisoning.

  I walk toward the doors, thinking to get outside and get some air. I make it to the quiet corridor outside the reception room, but that’s as far as I can get without breaking down. Today was too much. I’m only human. I’m not superwoman. I can only handle so fucking much.

  Leaning back against the wall, I sink down and draw my knees up to my chest, burying my face in my hands and trying to stop my head from spinning. So many cruel memories are assaulting me right now, escaping the prisons I keep them locked away in.

  Someone touches my knee, but I don’t have the energy to look up. I don’t want to know who it is. “Leave me alone,” I say, my voice muffled.

  “No.”

  My heart stalls and I look up at Derek, squatting down in front of me.

  “Stand up,” he says.

  Now it’s my turn to say, “No.”

  “Now,” he says, more firmly. “It wasn’t a request.”

  I want to tell him to fuck off, but before I can, his big, strong hands move under my arms and he picks me up off the ground. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I tell him, pushing his hands away. “Talking to you makes me sad.”

  “We’re not going to talk,” he says calmly, almost conciliatory. “I’m just gonna take you for a little ride. Okay? No talking. We’ll just be together in silence.”

  Mm, that sounds nice. Now he has his arm around my waist, and he’s leading down the hall, away from the reception. He’s so strong. God, I missed his body. It’s even better now than it was. “Okay,” I murmur, leaning my head on his shoulder, too tired to hold it up myself. “Not too long though. I have to be back for Bethany and Alex’s first dance.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. It’s like a fantasy, so I don’t complain.

  I start to giggle when he stops outside a big, black Chevy Silverado, unlocks the door and eases it open. “Step up.”

  “Of course you have a giant truck,” I tell him.

  “It’s for work,” he tells me.

  “You know what they say about big trucks?” I ask, shooting him a teasing look. “Tiny dick.”

  Derek laughs lightly, kind enough not to comment on me criticizing him when I can’t even keep my shit together at cocktail hour. Carefully moving my leg into the car so he doesn’t shut the door on it, he tells me, “You know what I’m working with. I don’t have a big truck to compensate for a tiny dick. I have a big truck because I have to haul heavy shit for work, and I need the big bed in the back to do that. Watch your feet,” he says, before slamming the door shut.

  When he climbs in and starts it up, I lean my head on the seat, looking over in his direction. “What do you do now? Not still at Burger King, I take it?”

  “Hell no,” he says, checking his rearview mirror as he backs out. “I work construction.”

  I gasp, feeling like a prophet. “So you do build walls.”

  Frowning faintly, he says, “Huh?”

  “At the church. I thought you leaned against the wall like you built it. Never mind. I’m being crazy.”

  “I’m not sure if I should take you for coffee or try to get you drunker,” he says lightly.

  “I’m game for either. I’ll let you buy me a drink. You owe me like 8 million drinks.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I’ll drive us toward a bar, and if you’re still awake when we get there, we’ll go in and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I tell him, nodding my head.

  Chapter Seven

  As I float out of the most pleasant sex dream I have had in a long time, I become aware of a painful pounding in my head. Like an explosion that won’t stop, hurting so much that it makes my stomach hurt, and those aren’t even remotely related things.

  I start to pry my eyes open, but oh, God, it hurts. My stomach rocks. I reach down to place a steadying hand over it, and my hand lands on a soft, white down blanket that is tangled around my body.

  Wait. I don’t own a white down blanket.

  My eyes shoot open and I see a window with sun shining through, but it is not my window. A pillow next to mine looks slept on… but it is not my pillow.

  Horror blossoms and I look down, lifting the blanket wrapped around my chest, and sure enough, I am naked beneath this blanket.

  Oh, my God. What have I done? And who did I do it with? Oh, please say I’m at Henry’s house. I know I can’t be at Henry’s house, because Henry doesn’t have a house, he has an apartment, and I can tell looking out the window and seeing a house next door that this is a house.

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh my God.

  I haven’t experienced this horror in a long-ass time, but wouldn’t you know, last time I did, the same asshole was involved. I’m trying to remember last night, but this time, it really is fuzzy. I’m older than I was back then; if I slept with Derek last night, I legitimately do not remember it.

  This cannot be happening to me again.

  I’m going to stab him.

  Throwing back the blanket, I go to sit up and I’m punished with a thunderbolt of pain striking me right in the temple. I close my eyes and grab my head, making a mental note to move gently. Am I hung over? I might be hung over. I forgot what this felt like, but wow, it is bad.

&n
bsp; Derek’s white dress shirt is draped across the dresser, so I grab it and slip it on. Somewhere in my mind there must be a memory of me taking it off him, but I can’t find it.

  My mouth is so dry. I managed to get off the bed without dying, but I am not about to look around for my dress. God, I hope I went home with Derek. I mean, I’ll kill him, but he’s the last person I remember going off with, so if not Derek, I have no idea what I did last night.

  I button up his shirt, open the bedroom door, and make my way slowly down the hall. The television must be on in the living room. It sounds so loud. My stomach is rocking, and my head won’t stop exploding over and over again, punishing me for my loss of control. I get it, body, you’re pissed. Message received.

  I don’t feel any signs of soreness between my legs though. If Derek fucked me, I can’t imagine it would have been gentle.

  I gasp, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sight of a child sitting on the couch in the living room. A pajama-clad little girl with long dark hair sits in the middle of the sofa, one arm slung around a white unicorn with a pink, glittery horn, the other hand absently popping colorful cereal into her mouth.

  She looks up at me, but doesn’t look nearly as stunned by my presence as I am by hers. “Good morning, Mom,” she says casually.

  My eyes pop open so wide, I think they’ll tumble forth from their sockets.

  What the hell did she just say to me?

  My mouth hangs open and I look around for an adult. Or a fairy godmother. Someone who can explain what this small child just said to me.

  I clear my throat, trying not to look horrified. “Wh—what?”

  Smiling brightly, she asks, “How did you sleep? Daddy said you were tired this morning. He’s in the kitchen making you breakfast.”

  I’m losing my mind. I am losing my mind. It’s lost. It’s gone. Someone paper all the telephone poles with posters, because my mind is officially missing.

  The little girl looks at me for a moment longer, then turns her gaze back to the TV.

  I grab the wall to steady myself, then continue into the living room. I wait for more children to pop up, but it’s just this one.

  Past the living room is an arch that leads to the kitchen, so I walk in there, my stomach even less settled now than it was a moment ago.

  Derek’s back is to me as he stands at the stove, cooking. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats and no shirt. His hair is still short, not long, so this can’t be a dream. I would give him long hair in a dream.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  He turns, smiling warmly when he sees me wearing his shirt. “Hey, babe. Sleep okay?”

  What?

  I step inside the kitchen and lean against the wall, needing it to hold me up. I can’t think straight. I’m too hung over for thinking, and this situation would be monumentally fucked up even with a fully sober brain. What the hell is going on? I’m so confused.

  I stand there for a moment, not moving. Waiting for the world to right itself. Maybe this is a dream. I have never been hung over in a dream before, never felt physical discomfort so acutely, but it’s really the only explanation at this point. There’s a little girl in the living room calling me mom, and Derek just called me babe. I was just melting down at my father’s wedding about the life I couldn’t lead, so maybe my brain is… tripping out, and this is happening. Or maybe I have finally lost my mind. It was bound to happen eventually, I guess. If ever there was a woman built for madness, you only have to look at my genes to see it is definitely me.

  My eyes widen as Derek turns around to grab a shaker of pepper off the counter. This is definitely a dream, because I gave Derek a tattoo. On his left side, over his rib cage, he has words tattooed on him. My Derek did not have a tattoo—at least, not at 18.

  This is the most realistic, fucked up dream I’ve ever had, but it’s literally the only explanation. Movies flash through my mind, like that old Nicholas Cage one The Family Man, where you suddenly wake up in the life you could have led, had you both made different choices. But… stuff like that obviously does not happen in real life. Therefore, this has to be a dream.

  I smile, feeling a little relieved. It still doesn’t make complete sense, but it’s the only possible explanation—aside from madness. I guess I shouldn’t rule that one out.

  What do I do? Derek is making breakfast for me, and we have a child, apparently. What is our child’s name? How do I find that out without alerting Dream Derek that I don’t know? I’m a horrible dream mom. Maybe I’ll just give her one and go with it.

  “Um, why is… Peyton having dry Froot Loops if you’re making breakfast?”

  Derek turns back, cocking a dark golden brow at me. “Cassidy?”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant. Cassidy.”

  “She’s a weirdo,” he tells me. “She doesn’t like breakfast food.”

  “We have clearly raised her wrong,” I state, walking over to see what he’s cooking.

  Smirking as he looks over at me, he says, “We clearly have. I like you in my shirt.”

  If I had known there was a child in the living room, I probably would have put on pants, but what the hell? This is a fantasy.

  “Do you work today?” I ask him.

  “Nope, I never work on Saturdays. I’m all yours today.”

  A bubble of happiness bursts open inside me, spilling all over, leaving a blanket of everything lovely in its wake. It’s as if a Disney movie has burst open inside my heart, the ice soldiers of my waking life a memory, replaced by this glorious dream. Maybe I will drink more if this is the kind of fantasy I get when I fall asleep. I’ll become a mad, alcoholic hermit, but every night when I close my eyes, I’ll get to live my fantasy life, so it’ll be worth it.

  I have a daughter. With Derek. I can’t resist walking back to the arch between rooms and peering back in at her. “Does her unicorn have a name?”

  “Princess Purple,” he states.

  “But it’s pink and white,” I point out, turning to look back at him.

  “I have no logical explanation for you.”

  “Do you know who Kayla is? Do I still have a publishing company? I have a lot of questions.”

  “Sit your pretty little ass in that chair and wait for me to bring over your breakfast.”

  “Mm,” I murmur, pulling out the chair he nodded at and taking a seat. “Okay. Are we married?”

  “Do you want to be married?”

  I look at my left hand, but there’s no ring. “We’re not married.”

  “Or you took your ring off,” he suggests. “We could be married.”

  I frown at him, but then he brings over a plate of food. I don’t normally smell things in dreams, but this smells great. He places the food down in front of me, then goes to the refrigerator, grabs me a bottle of water, and grabs a mug off the counter.

  “Oh, I don’t like coffee,” I remind him. Normally I need it to get me going for work, but I have a feeling if Dream Nikki lives with Derek and has a kid, she probably doesn’t have the time for my workload. Consequently, no nasty coffee will be consumed by Dream Nikki.

  He places the mug down, and it isn’t coffee. I’m not sure what it is, so I pick it up and take a sip.

  Mm, warm apple cider.

  He goes to the counter again, and this time he comes back holding a giant bottle of aspirin. “Open your hand.”

  I do, and he dispenses a big-ass pill. “You’re an angel,” I tell him, before popping it into my mouth. I uncap the bottle of water, tip it back and take a drink to swallow the pill.

  Then, like we do this every morning, Derek takes a seat across from me at the table, shoots me a little smirk, and starts eating his food.

  “What should we do today?” he asks.

  Since I have no idea how to answer that, I pick up my fork slowly and ask, “What do we normally do on weekends?”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me as he reaches for his drink. “You don’t remember? All sorts of happy family shit. Trips to toy
stores, bookstores, museums, parks. Remember the time we took Cassie for that cookout at the park and you guys blew bubbles?”

  I remember a scene from book three of my trilogy where not-Nikki and not-Derek took their daughter to a cookout at a park and the girls blew bubbles. Cocking my head curiously, I ask, “Was she wearing cute little checkered shorts?”

  “Yep,” he says easily, grabbing a slice of toast and dipping it in his egg.

  I think I’m starting to catch on. This dream is so vivid because it’s like the ones that forced me to write that damned book. This is an unwritten book four. There’s no more story to tell, so I don’t know why this is happening, but hell, I won’t complain about living my fantasy life until I wake up.

  “Is Kayla dead? Please tell me Kayla’s dead.”

  As if genuinely confused, he asks, “Who’s Kayla?”

  I pump my fist. “Yes.”

  Derek chokes, then covers his mouth to smother his…amusement?

  I narrow my eyes. Why does that amuse him? If Kayla doesn’t exist in this dream, that shouldn’t be funny.

  “Went down the wrong pipe,” he tells me, taking a drink of his coffee.

  “I woke up naked. Did we have sex last night?” I ask.

  “Nope. But we can have sex after breakfast, if you want to. We could both use a shower. I’d be down for some mid-morning shower sex.”

  “Where is my phone?” I ask, my suspicion growing. Something is off, but the little girl in the living room called me Mom. She called me Mom. If Derek is fucking with me, surely he wouldn’t bring his daughter into it.

  Also, that would make the cute little dark-haired girl Kayla’s daughter, not mine. That is not a reality I want any part of.

  I stare hard at Derek as he eats his breakfast.

  After a moment, I ask him, “Are you fucking with me right now?”

  “About what?”

  “All of this,” I state, gesturing around the kitchen, at him across the table, toward the living room. “Am I dreaming? Is this real? I am really hung over and everything is foggy right now, and you know sometimes I do have extremely vivid dreams, but…”