by Anthology
She shrugs. “He wants you back. Says he’s sorry.”
Ella rolls her eyes. “Of course. He realizes the grass isn’t greener on the other side. The girl was what, twenty?”
“Twenty-one, if I had to guess.” I hate the reminder. “Not much older than you.” My words are directed at Ella.
“And isn’t Joel twenty-something?” Amelia asks, looking pleased with herself.
Inwardly, I groan. “Yes, and that’s the point. He’s ten years younger than I am. We’re friends. That’s it.”
“Uh huh.” Amelia lifts her head heavenward for a second. “You guys eat dinner together once a week, and he’s your personal trainer.”
As she spouts off his stats like a news reporter, I regret telling Amelia about him.
“He’s an artist who moonlights as a personal trainer. We run and go to the gym together on occasion. But I don’t pay him.”
“Even better. So now when you fuck him, it won’t feel like you’re paying him to do it.” Amelia laughs so hard she starts to tear up.
“Why have I not heard about him?” Amusement crinkles the corners of Ella’s eyes as they bore into me.
As much as I love her, Amelia and I have always been closer. We are two years apart, and we’re both married. It’s just been easier to talk about my life with her.
“Oh. My. God. He’s, like, so hot. Tall, about the same height as Corey, but sexier. Thick brown hair, with scruff on his face and beautiful blue eyes. And you should see his ink.”
How had Amelia noticed so much in the few seconds she met him that one time?
“He sounds delicious.” Ella might have been responding to Amelia, but her focus is squarely on me.
He’s all that and more, I muse. He’s starred in many of my fantasies that ended with my vibrator in my hand.
“He’s too young. Not happening. So don’t go there.”
“Fine,” Ella says. “Truth or dare?”
Shit. “I thought you gave up on that.” Ella shakes her head. “You cannot dare me to have sex with anyone.” I point my finger at her like a scolding schoolteacher.
“Agreed.” Ella sounds way more sober than Amelia and I do.
I don’t want to answer any more questions about Corey, or even Joel. Neither is here. So I boldly answer, “Dare.”
The grin my sister produces immediately tells me I’ve made the wrong choice.
“This guy has ink, right?” Ella asks, pinning me with her gaze.
“Did I mention he’s a tattoo artist too?” Amelia cuts in.
I groan.
“Don’t wimp out on us. You chose dare, and I’m daring you to get a tattoo. Do something different for once and stop being little miss perfect,” Ella chides.
Doesn’t that bite when your little sister basically calls you out for being boring? Ella has some ink, though it’s hidden.
“Fine.” I take two more shots. “You’re going to have to buy a bottle to get me sufficiently drunk. I hate pain. And Joel says it hurts getting ink sometimes.”
“And where does this gorgeous specimen work?”
My big-mouthed, well-meaning sister Amelia fills her in. Now I know better than to share any secrets with her.
Ella makes the arrangements, getting us an Uber and talking the bartender into selling us a bottle of booze. And we are on our way.
“It’s late. How do you know they’re even open?” I complain.
“It’s Friday night. Drunk people do dumb things.” Ella shrugs.
“So this is dumb.” I simplify her statement in hopes of getting out of the dare.
“Of course it is. But it’s a rite of passage. You didn’t get to do all these wonderful things, as you played house with Corey since you guys where in diapers.”
I grumble to myself when the Uber stops in front of a tattoo parlor that’s lit up from the inside. We hop out and go to the door, but it’s locked. Ella commences to beat on it until a looming figure appears on the other side of the glass and says, “We’re closed.”
“But we’re friends of Joel, and it’s my sister’s birthday,” Ella pleads.
“It’s not.” My words go unheard as the guy gives my sister the once over.
Amelia wobbles on her heels over to me. “Yes, it’s after midnight. Happy birthday, Livvy.”
She pulls me into a hug while hopping as if she’s twelve and we haven’t seen each other in days.
“See? Can you do us a solid?” Ella asks.
Over Amelia’s shoulder, I spy the guy continuing to check out my baby sister. Either he’s decided she’s cute, or the lip poking thing she’s doing is really working.
“Is she drunk?”
“Of course not. Are you, Livvy?” Ella glares at me.
“Nope, I’m cool.”
He eyes me for a second. “Okay. Come in. Joel’s not here.”
Disappointment clouds Ella’s face. “Great. Here is what I have in mind.”
Inside, as I listen to her explain my planned tattoo, I take the vodka from my sister’s hand. I seriously need to be a little more wasted to get through this.
Chapter Two
My dress is gone, replaced by a gag gift Ella got me. Not wanting anyone to see me, I’m in a rush to get inside my apartment. But where are my damn keys? The clutch I carry isn’t that big. Just as I start to dump everything on the ground, I pull the damnable things out. Like a missile, they shoot out of my hands and go clattering to the floor.
“Mother sucker,” I slur, still feeling the effects of the alcohol I’ve consumed over the last few hours.
I bend in half to grab for them when I hear, “Cinnabuns?”
My ass clad in pants had been on display with the words Sin-and-Buns written across the bottom. I straighten so fast I stumble a bit and have to steady myself with a hand on the wall.
Staring into Joel’s gorgeous face, I let my other hand fall from my chest as my heart skips beats from fright.
Before I can explain my questionable wardrobe choices, he reads the words on my chest.
“My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard.” He chuckles.
“It’s not what you think.” Then the worst possible thing happens. I let out the loudest burp known to man.
Embarrassed, I spin around, somehow managing to fit the key into my lock and turn it. But damn if my feet don’t get in the way. My open purse skitters away from my hand as I basically slide home across the floor. Then he’s there, smelling like fresh mountain air. I have no idea why, as D.C. isn’t mountainous.
“Olivia, are you okay?”
As he crouches in front of me, his head spins clockwise in my hazy vision. My head aches, and I don’t know if it’s from the many drinks I had or my fall. I think he asks me a question, but I don’t answer when suddenly I’m airborne.
“I think I can fly,” I sing, feeling like I should share this knowledge with the world. But then the nerve endings on my back flare to life, and I know he’s carrying me. “You’re so strong to be able to lift these buns.”
His laughter fans my hair. “You’re light. I could keep you in my arms forever.”
I’m sure I drifted off to dreamland for a second. No way has he said something like that.
Then he sets me down on what must be a cloud.
“Wow, this is nice.” I snuggle in.
“Don’t move,” he orders and disappears out of my sight.
I close my eyes for just a second.
“Olivia, you can’t sleep.”
I slap at his hand, which prods a sore spot on my head.
“I’m tired. It’s been a long night. And today is my birthday. I should be able to do what I want.”
“You should. But you might have a concussion. Maybe we should go to the doctor.”
I shake my head, which makes everything spin more.
“I’m fine. No doctor, just sleep.” I close my eyes again.
“No sleep, or we go to the doctor.” He sighs and brushes my hair from my forehead. My eyes flutter fro
m his gentle touch. “Why don’t you tell me what you did tonight?”
A giggle bubbles in my throat. “Let’s see. I went out with my sisters. Amelia thinks you’re hot, by the way.” I sigh. “Anyway, we played truth or dare. I took dare and got a tattoo.”
Suddenly, he sits up, making the bed rock. “You got ink without me doing it.”
I reach up, wanting to brush the frown off his face. “It would have been you, but you weren’t at work tonight.”
Cupping the side of his face, I have the urge to touch his lips.
“Where is it?”
Confused because I’d been focused on his lips, I ask, “Where’s what?”
“Your tattoo?”
His eyes follow where I point in the direction of my center then jerk back to focus on me. “On your…”
I bust out a laugh. “No, silly, here.”
When I pat my fingertips on the covered spot just to the left side near the juncture between my legs, he groans. “Who did it?”
Shrugging, I feel bold. “It doesn’t matter. You can do something else for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Be my number two.”
His brow furrows. “Number two?”
“Have I ever told you I’ve only had sex with one guy, like, ever?”
“Olivia, we can’t. You hit your head. And you’ve been drinking.”
“So…” I try not to feel foolish for asking. “You said I can’t go to sleep. What better way to stay awake?”
“You’ll regret this in the morning.”
Rolling over, I hide my face. I’ve only ever dated one guy. I’ve never made a move on another, and now that I have, he’s turning me down.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know why—”
He turns me to face him. “Shit, you think I don’t. I’ve been throwing hints that I’ve wanted to go out with you for months, and you’ve shut me down. I don’t want you to regret it—”
“The only thing I regret right now is you not kissing me.”
I wake hours later to the sound of a drum beating. Immediately, I use my hand as if it could stop the pain radiating in my head. Only, the drum beating comes again. It’s then I realize someone is pounding on my door. I ease out of bed, grateful the room is completely dark. After a year of living here, I’m able to navigate the darkness to get my robe from the hook to cover my nakedness. I normally sleep in the buff.
Slowly, I ease open my bedroom door to avoid any potential loud noises, having lived through my share of hangovers. But the more I walk, I feel the ache between my legs.
A flash of a man’s head buried between my thighs stops me in my tracks. The jolt of heat created by the memory causes me to tighten my legs together to tamp down the sudden lust building there.
Another insistent knock reminds me of my destination. Is that Joel on the other side? How can I face him? The crushing weight of what I’d done in a drunken stupor makes me want to run and hide under my pillows instead of facing the reality of my inappropriate, inebriated behavior the night before.
Another flash memory of his hard body over mine pounding between my legs almost draws me down to my knees. The image in my head is so fresh I can almost feel his skin against mine.
A fist bangs on the door, and I push all those thoughts back. I can do this. I’m a big girl. I can face the man I fucked last night like an adult.
I open the door quickly and in grand fashion. Joel’s name is perched on my tongue like a cuckoo in a clock a second before the hour. But I’m the one who’s cuckoo, because there is no way my ex is standing there with a big smile on his face.
“Corey,” I manage to say. “What are you doing here?”
Brushing by me, he ignores that I haven’t invited him in. As I turn, I face him and try not to think about how good he smells or how good he looks. Those things haven’t changed.
Taller than me by at least head, he stares at me with such intensity, I wrap my arms around myself to stop from walking into his inviting embrace.
“Happy birthday, Liv.”
Looking just slightly older than the high school quarterback who took my virginity, it’s hard to be mad he’s invaded my personal space.
“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here? How did you even find me?”
The day I found him screwing some girl in our bed when I was supposed to be out of town with my sister, I hadn’t confronted him. I’d quietly walked out and gotten a hotel where I’d cried my eyes out for hours. The next day, when I knew he’d gone to work, I went home and packed my things. Then, like any sensible woman, I went to the bank and withdrew half of everything including our savings and drove to my sister’s. My car is still parked there. I’d left him a message on his cell when he hadn’t answered, then I’d turned off my phone. It’s still in the car, dead as a doornail, I suspect. In the days that followed, I’d found a place in the city and gotten a new phone and created a new life. Though I remotely check my voicemail from my dead phone from time to time.
“Your address was on the legal papers.” I close my eyes. I’d forgotten that. “I just thought we could celebrate your birthday at an early dinner for old times’ sake.”
When I open them again, prepared to tell Corey to leave, a man emerges from my bedroom with a shirt in his hands.
Evidently having seen my shock, Corey half-turns to catch my sexy neighbor in the act of putting on his shirt.
“Who is he?” Corey asks in a half-whisper, which makes clear his disbelief.
Joel doesn’t answer. He only has eyes for me, making a beeline in my direction. My jaw hangs open. I hadn’t wanted to believe I’d had sex with him. Standing in front of me, he’s definitely not a fantasy I conjured up in my head.
“Happy birthday, Olivia,” Joel murmurs.
His warm hands slightly part my robe so that he can glide fingers over my hips and to my ass, before he drops a sensual kiss on my lips.
Clearly, my brain is offline when I fervently kiss him back with Corey standing as a spectator.
The bubble that surrounds us pops, and I hear Corey’s frantic questions about who Joel is. I pull back.
Joel apparently heard him as well. He pulls the lapels of my robe closed before his hand drops to my waist to cinch the sash. Then he turns to face my future ex-husband.
Holding out a hand, my one-night stand introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Joel. And you are?”
Corey’s tan evaporates under the heat of red flame. As he takes the other man’s hand, he’s turned a lovely shade of beet red, extra ripe. The handshake is a show of dominance, and I almost giggle from the hilarity of the situation.
“I’m her husband,” Corey announces.
Laughter freezes in my chest and comes out as puffed air. “Corey, you are not my husband,” I counter.
“Our divorce isn’t final.” Corey’s gaze bounces between the two of us.
“But our separation is. And I’m free to date whomever I please.”
Corey’s jaw works as he tries to think around my logic. Joel takes the opportunity to dive in for another kiss. This one is quicker and doesn’t involve an NC-17 movie rating.
“I’ll see you later,” Joel whispers to me.
I’m tongue-tied and stand still, fighting the urge to cross my legs from the heat he’s created in me.
The door closes with a soft click when Joel leaves.
“What the hell, Livvy?” Corey all but shouts.
His face no longer looks like he fell asleep on the beach face up. Though he does resemble someone getting over a bad sunburn.
A cleansing breath helps me decide what to say next.
“Tell me something. What’s your number?”
“What do you mean? You have my number, though you’ve obviously changed yours or you’re just ignoring my calls.”
Yesterday, after getting word from my lawyer, I’d checked my voicemail on my old number and got his message. Purposely, I hadn’t called him back.
&n
bsp; “I don’t mean that.” I wave him off and head to the kitchen. I need coffee, realizing my headache is not in my head, but he’s standing before me. “I mean, your number. Like ours used to be one. You were my first and only. What’s yours now?”
That stops him, and I can see his brain working.
“Don’t worry about it.” The idea of knowing now makes me faintly ill. “The fact that you have to think about it means it’s not two.” Like mine is now. “How long have you been cheating on me? Were there more before that woman you let blow you in the bed I shared with you?”
Anger toward him suddenly boils to the surface along with bile. We’ve never had this argument before, since I hadn’t exactly talked to him much, with the exception of the required meeting during the divorce process. It’s been a year, and the farce of a marriage might have been over by now if I’d filed sooner. But his pleas and our history going back to elementary school had stayed my actions for longer than they should have.
“Liv,” Corey pleads.
“No, Corey. You were my best friend. You betrayed me in the worst way. The man I thought you were would have just told me the truth.”
“Liv,” he repeats.
“I wasn’t enough for you then, and I’m not going to be just enough for you now. I want the same chance you had. I want to see the world and date and have fun with other people. It must be the greatest thing ever, since you gave us up for it.”
His mouth shuts, and I see when he makes the decision to leave it be.
“You should go,” I say.
“I’m going to be at Amelia’s for dinner. We can talk then.”
Betrayal hits me in the gut. I’m supposed to go over there, but I’m not now. Sable takes that moment to jump up on the counter and bare her teeth at my soon-to-be ex.
“What the fuck is that?” he howls, taking several steps back.
“It’s a cat.” A smug grin grows on my face.
He sneezes, and I hate that satisfaction builds in my chest.
“We can’t have a cat.” His back is only steps from the door.
“We can’t. But I can. You should go.”
His sneezing attack begins. Thankfully, he’s not so allergic as to need an EpiPen. Sable is living up to the deterrent she was meant to be along with company. This is my first time ever living alone.
