by Amber Scott
Ugh. This was bad. Very bad.
Bad or not, she dug out her lip gloss and blotted her shiny nose on her sleeve as she dressed. Her reflection didn’t show the riot inside her. Did it?
She should make her excuses to Helen. Instead, she waited. She worried. What if meeting Jace here meant something?
At the very least, it was her chance to say good-bye. Claire stared at her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her shirt and toyed with her hair. Maybe she should wear it up. A flash of memory. The wedding. The way his gaze never left her neckline while they were on the dance floor. Why had Jace been so mesmerized by her neck? Why hadn’t any man ever looked at her like that since?
It didn’t matter.
Maybe men did. Would she even notice? She dropped her hair.
She would make her excuses to Helen. It was the right thing to do. Nodding at her reflection, she wiped her hands down her jeans and stepped out of the bride’s room. Feeling only a tad light-headed, she made her way across the lobby to the smaller chain of rooms on the other side.
Helen motioned her over. “Millie will just be another minute. How wonderful that you two get to reconnect.”
Claire took a deep breath. “Mrs. Fletcher ...”
“You know better than that, Claire. You and Tyler may not have worked out, but you are still a friend of the family. Everyone has missed you. So, no ‘Mrs. Fletcher’ here, alright?”
“Of course.” Claire kept her shoulders straight, though they wanted to loll forward and relax. The woman knew how to put a person at ease. “About lunch—”
Jace stepped around the dressing room corridor. He leaned against a wall, took a slow sip from a paper cup, and dragged his gaze up the length of her. Whatever sanity Claire had gathered together skipped right out the door.
Millie popped out of her dressing room door. “We’re going to Pita Jungle. You’ll love it.”
What would one little lunch hurt? What would lunch with Jace do to Oliver’s inferiority complex? Jace shifted his weight, his gaze deceptively disinterested. Did he want her there?
“I guess I could eat,” she said at last, and though it was subtle, she saw a change in Jace’s gaze. A little spark that made her question her decision.
Too late. Millie was dressed and ready. She hooked arms with Claire. Lunchtime.
* * *
Three hours later, the angry clatter of Claire’s keys hitting the granite breakfast bar felt good in her ears. Fitting. If only the plop of her purse next to them did as well. She kicked off her shoes, holding the wall to balance herself. Two too many glasses of wine. Thank goodness for cabs.
Lunch had become dessert. Dessert had stretched into coffee, and coffee into wine. Before long, only the three of them were left—Claire, Jace and Bels—(What kind of name was “Bels” anyway?). And though the sweet little thing gave Claire cool looks that turned downright icy, Claire couldn’t bring herself to get up and leave that damned restaurant.
Like a puppy. That’s what she’d felt like. Like a lost puppy wagging its little tail, hoping for a table scrap. Although she was getting far more than scraps. Jace had given Claire most of his attention and most of his smiles and laughs. Every look and every word kept Claire glued to her seat, while the claws of jealousy scratched deeper and deeper into her heart.
Jealousy! She had no business being jealous of Bels. So she was really cute and really petite. And smart. And maybe a little bit funny. So what?
A small hiccup escaped her as she padded to the kitchen for a glass of water. Oliver wasn’t home yet, thankfully. And he wasn’t likely to think her slight buzz very amusing. Halfway through lunch, he’d left some message about being ready for a big surprise tonight.
Coffee. That’s what she needed. She set down her drained water glass and rummaged for the container of coffee in the cupboard. Where did Oliver keep it? She hardly ever drank the stuff, unless it came straight from a coffee shop—and in the form of an iced whipped delight.
Like a latte. Jace’s hair was almost the color of latte. He’d seemed happy. Well. And so grown up since the last time they had seen each other. The lingering awkwardness of his youth had disappeared, and an easy confidence was in its place. He seemed comfortable in his own skin.
Mrs. Fletcher—Helen—had been a chatterbox. Millie and Ashley barely said a word. Was it her imagination, or did they not like Bels all that much? Wishful thinking.
Girlfriend. They were thinking about moving in together.
Claire straightened. The distinct rattle of keys in the lock made her drop the whole idea of coffee and dash to the adjoining bathroom for toothpaste.
She shut the door and turned on the water right as Oliver’s voice filtered into the door. She brushed quickly and forced her expression to reveal nothing, knowing that any second he’d barge in to say hello.
At least she didn’t look like she’d been drinking, or vying for attention from the one that got away. Had she made a total ass of herself, or just half an ass? She shut off the water and toweled her mouth when a foreign noise met her ears. A giggle.
A female giggle. In their home. And it was not hers.
Frowning slightly, Claire walked back out the way she came. There, in the living room, sitting and holding a glass of chardonnay, was a very blonde, very buxom, young woman. Claire smiled tightly when her fiancé and the woman saw her. They stopped laughing.
“Claire,” Oliver said, his tone was not nearly as bright as his face, but it was close. “I’d like you to meet Trina. Trina, this is my fiancée.”
Trina stood and extended a hand. “Hello. It’s so nice to meet you. You weren’t lying, Oliver. You really are stunning, Claire.”
“Um, thank you.” Claire adjusted her shirt. Any minute now, Oliver would know that she’d seen Jace. He’d see that something was different.
Wait. What exactly was different?
“Are you with the firm, Trina?” she asked, avoiding Oliver’s gaze.
“Mmm. Hmm. How did the fitting go?” Oliver asked.
“The fitting?” Her mind still swam with images of Jace’s smile. His hand on Bels’. The little whispers they exchanged here and there. “Good, it fits perfectly. They did an amazing job.” Was her voice too high?
“Oh, your wedding dress?” Trina cooed. “Is it strapless? You have great shoulders.”
“Thanks. Uh, so do you.” The oddness of the compliment knocked on her buzzing brain. Should she tell Oliver about lunch now? In front of a third party to create neutral ground? “I love your boots.”
Oliver got them wine and sliced some cheese and crackers. If these two were here to hammer out a deposition or go over testimony, Claire might head to bed before dinner. Sleeping off this buzz sounded like a good idea. If she could sleep.
As Oliver moved the conversation along, though, and Trina’s lashes lowered again and again, her legs crossing and uncrossing, a previous conversation crawled into the light—and her memory.
Oliver hadn’t brought Trina home to ... No.
No way. He wasn’t that kind of guy.
Or was he?
Another bat of Trina’s eyelashes. Claire gulped down her wine. Yep. He was.
A low roar seemed to hum inside her. The collapse of a very well laid plan, all in one fell swoop. Oliver had gone too far. How could she not have seen this coming?
She’d told herself it was a guy thing. A rude guy thing, but still. She’d blamed that conversation about Jace.
Jace.
Guilt panged her chest hard enough that she rubbed the area.
Trina smiled at her, seemingly oblivious to what Oliver prattled on about in nervous tones. She leaned in close, and whispered in Claire’s ear. “Don’t worry. I’m here for you. Not for him.” She pulled away and looked meaningfully into Claire’s eyes, and then slowly leaned forward, her pink-glossed lips parted.
Claire fell off the couch. Her wine sloshed all over her. Her disbelief got trampled under the heels of intense outrage.
“Sh
it, are you okay?” Oliver scrambled to help.
“Am I okay? That’s it?” She moved to get up, but Trina just about straddled her and then dragged her to her feet. She was strong for a skinny thing. “Um, I think my fiancé here misled you, Trina.” Claire brushed at her wet clothes, glaring at Oliver. “ Leave. Now.”
“Wait, Claire, we talked about this,” Oliver said, motioning for Trina to stay, following her as she headed to the door, red-faced. “I swear, Trina, we did.”
“No,” Claire said, her hold on her patience breaking. “You talked about it because you are completely insecure.”
“Uh, I’ll let you two work this out.” Trina didn’t let the door hit her as she left.
“I’m not insecure, Claire. I’m a man. I have needs. We are about to spend the rest of our lives together, and all I wanted was to know what I might have missed. Isn’t that what you said, Claire? What you wouldn’t give to ‘just know’? So you could never think about it again? How is this any different?”
“That is entirely different, dickhead! That was love. Love! This is porn. I’m not into porn. Never will be. I mean, really, Oliver, what the hell are you doing with me if that is what you want?”
“It isn’t like I was out to cheat on you, Claire. I wanted to share something with you.”
“It isn’t sharing if the other party isn’t interested, Oliver! It’s misogyny!”
He slowly shook his head. “I won’t be ashamed of who I am, Claire. I’m just sorry you couldn’t handle it. I thought I could trust you.”
Claire sputtered. “Trust? Trust?!” He couldn’t be serious. “How does protecting our future—our love and fidelity for each other—make me not trustworthy?”
Oliver shook his head, and slammed their bedroom door shut, locking himself in.
Claire looked down at herself, tears springing to her eyes. She wanted to leave, reverse time, and go back to that restaurant. How had she misjudged Oliver so thoroughly? It had to be pressure from the wedding. How did a fantasy he only brought up two or three times in order to start a fight, move into this level of action?
Thank God that she didn’t tell him about seeing Jace. He’d have latched onto that as another excuse and try to blame her for being a totally normal woman.What a mess. How could she marry Oliver after a stunt like this?
She couldn’t.
~~
Chapter Nine
“Are you scowling?” Millie asked. She couldn’t be sure what with his oversized metro-sexual sunglasses hiding his too-damned-sexy eyes.
AJ lifted his eyebrows, but the sour curve at his mouth still stuck. He adjusted the rearview mirror and watched the road. “Call me pessimistic, but how can you be sure?”
“What do you mean, how? If being assigned to Jace and stumbling smack into Claire isn’t me getting a second chance, what is? I begged you six years ago to let me go to the Karma Court. You said no.”
“Millie it wasn’t that simple,” he said.
Millie folded her arms. He just didn’t want to admit he’d been wrong. Well, that didn’t matter. She was right. That is what mattered now. “I’ve got some serious scrambling to do, but my bet is that when we get Claire and Oliver’s files, you’ll see that I’m right.”
“Let’s say you are right. Let’s say that this is all a big design—”
“Which you’ve sworn happens with Karma Court,” Millie interjected.
“To bring Jace and Claire back together. But why now?”
“Ask the Karma Court.” Which she’d suggested six years ago!
“Think about it for a second. Claire is engaged. Why not assign you a year ago, when she might not have been. Why now?”
“Maybe because Tyler wasn’t ready to meet someone new. Maybe because Jace held a grudge until now. Who cares?”
“I care. I’m not going to help you wreck four lives on a gamble.”
Millie gasped. “Wreck? Wreck.” She held up her bangled arm. “I’m halfway through my sentence, AJ! Half. I mean, yes, I’ve screwed up. A lot. But I’ve learned.” Hurt welled up her chest. “And I’ve never gambled. I’ve guessed wrong, researched errantly, but gambled? Name one time.”
“Albany.”
“Albany was not a gamble. It was a bad assignment. Clark was gay!”
“Which you gambled on.”
“I paired him with someone who was not his perfect type. How was I to know that I’d out him, and it would all fall apart?” How could he bring that up? It was his effing shoulder she’d cried on. For months after. Millie snapped her jaw shut.
A rap song on the radio thumped a pitiful bass out of the speakers. The lyrics put a bad version of “Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear” in her head.
“I think you should consider that Claire showing up isn’t fate tying them back together.” AJ pulled the car up to their apartment. “It might be instead that Jace needs to get closure and say good-bye in order to finally secure the match with the girl you did find. Belinda.”
Millie sagged into her seat. Damn it. Belinda was awesome. “Maybe I should talk to Ashley.”
AJ paused mid-exit. “About what?”
“About Belinda. About Claire.”
He shut the car door, sitting back again. As though he might drive her away from the apartment. “Ashley doesn’t know about Claire.”
Crappity-crap. He was right. “No, but, she does know her brother, and maybe Ashley can tell whether he and Belinda will work out.” Oh, who was she kidding? Ashley couldn’t help. Not without knowing. Millie dropped her head against the headrest. “Okay. So I can’t tell Ashley. And this might not be fate.” She yanked her door open. “I’ll be careful. Happy?”
AJ locked the car and strode after her up the walk to unit B47. “I’ll be happy when we’re both on our last match.”
Wow. Hurt much? She’d throw back words letting him know that made two of them, but his comment brought a new truth home. Once her sentence was over, so were they.
Yeah, she always knew that. She’d just never let herself think it all the way through.
No more matches also meant no more AJ. No more butterflies. No more wishing he’d kiss her. Who would ever make her feel like he did? Better yet, who would ever tolerate her like he did?
Maybe matching Jace and Claire—er, Belinda, wasn’t such a big rush after all.
* * *
Pickled olives and sweat socks. The rotten taste in Jace’s mouth hardly compared to the rot in his guts. Saying good-bye to Bels had sucked. He’d hurt her. Jace found the right words, held her the right way, and assured her that he loved her. And all of it sat like poisonous lies. Rotten, filthy lies.
Not even his spectacular hangover won out.
The only place he wanted to go was the last place any woman he’d loved would look—except maybe one—his parents’ house. Jace pulled up the long driveway and already, the ache deep inside of him, a feeling so close to dread that he just couldn’t face his empty apartment or the idea of Bels in it with him, eased.
He took a shaky breath from the car before getting out and going in. If he’d timed it right, dinner would be on the table. Tyler would be here, and maybe Davis, the oldest of the Fletcher clan, who was finally local again. If his timing were off, well, even his mom’s too-perceptive stare would suffice. He couldn’t be alone. Not now. Not after the night he’d had. Or the day.
His world seemed backward, all of a sudden. His life, his head. His heart. And he needed someplace safe. To think. He needed to talk to Tyler. No. He definitely wasn’t going to tell him the truth of what happened today, but at least part of it. The Bels part. He’d know better than anyone how to handle a very sudden, very drastic, and very terrible change of heart. Tyler spoke breakups fluently.
And if not how to handle it, maybe how to stop the pain.
He had to stop something more. What else, he just couldn’t say yet.
His shoes sank into the grass, and his keys jangled in the evening air among the crickets and birds. The citrus scent of the grapefru
it tree and sounds of home comforted him as he trudged up the stone stairs and knocked hard. Two raps, and he turned the knob.
“Jace,” his mom called. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” Jace called back, shutting the door and dropping his keys and cell phone on the coat bench. His twin’s voice carried over the din of dishes, chatter, and football.
Jace paused a moment before joining the crowd, rubbing at the burn in his eyes. He couldn’t very well walk in all emotional, or his mother would pin him to the wall and have him spilling his heart out to them all. He couldn’t spill anything. Not yet, anyway. Not until he knew what needed spilling.
Why’d it all have to go down yesterday? Seeing Claire on the same day he was supposed to announce moving in with Bels to his family?
Planting a smile on his face, he walked in. The sun was lowering outside and bright shafts of light beamed through the kitchen blinds.
“There he is,” his mother said, embracing him and kissing his cheek. “And I knew it. I just knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“That you wouldn’t be able to resist coming here tonight. I know you better than you know yourself, my dear. Remember?”
Yes, so he’d heard all his life. Better and longer, because that’s what mothers did. To his mother, he only smiled and rolled his eyes a bit.
Tyler motioned him over. “Why did Mom know you were coming?” he asked, pulling out a chair for him as Cody, their nephew, clamored for a hug.
“Where’s your daddy?” Jace asked Cody, the spitting image of Davis, right down to the dimples. When Cody didn’t answer, he directed the question to Tyler.
“Davis has a late shift tonight, so Cody gets to sleep over,” Helen answered from the stove in singsong tones.
Jace didn’t ask about Cody’s mom. Gini, the waitress Davis seduced at Lawrence and Ashley’s wedding ran off more than two years ago, and every time he recalled it his heart ached for the sweet little boy.
