My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  Washing my face, I notice my naked finger and realize I never went back to search for my ring. “Shit.” I stare at my hand. How does a normal female forget about a whopping three-carat diamond ring? Ugh . . . , a girl who wishes the ring didn’t come at all. My tired brain shifts to Ian, once again. To a time when we were younger and I dreamt about the day he would place a ring on my wanting finger. I jump in the shower and attempt to scrub away all the memories that are sitting at the front of my brain. I am in dire need to get Ian out of my system and fast. His close presence is bringing emotions to the surface that I’ve fought very hard to bury. All this constant interaction with him is sparking this familiar feeling in my stomach and I am doing everything in my power to deny it. But I know. Ian’s always had that power over me. Over my heart.

  I’m standing in the shower letting the spray hit me in the chest. I’m trying to wash away the image of Ian in that damn suit, practically begging me to rip it off him.

  “Stop it, Christina,” I warn my conscience. I can’t go there.

  It’s been years since I’ve laid eyes on Ian, but he still has a way of getting me all worked up. And when I say I’m washing him out of me, I mean working my sponge down my stomach ready to scrub in a circular motion until I get rid of this aching feeling. I picture his beautiful face in place of my hand while he twirls his tongue around my center. I bite my lower lip at the sensation forming in my stomach. I increase the speed as I imagine him nipping and biting at my lips, eating away at me like he’s a starved man. My mouth parts as I increase pressure, knowing I’m close.

  “Oh, Ian.” The soft moan leaves my lips as I’m about to send myself into a glorious orgasm. Just as I press one finger inside myself, a knock on the door throws me off my game, startling me, of course, and causing me to jerk backwards, slipping straight on my ass in the shower.

  I’m going to assume it wasn’t a quiet fall, because as I lie on the shower floor, having the water pelt me in the face, I hear Ian busting into the bathroom.

  “Chrissy, are you okay?” He whips the shower curtain open and I stare up at him, stark naked on the bottom of the bathtub. “Did you fall? Faint again?”

  “I slipped,” I choke out, “but I’m totally fine.” Don’t tell that to my ass cheeks. I think they’re forming a concussion.

  “Do you need help up?” he asks and I shake my head, not moving. He looks in no hurry to close the shower curtain. “Well, how did you slip?”

  It’s like we are having a casual conversation over tea.

  I jerk the shower curtain past his face. I’m pretty covered now or at least in parts where it matters.

  “Out, Ian!” I point toward the door, my other hand gripping the vinyl curtain.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” he asks me. “Standing up, that is?”

  I know he’s caught sight of my flushed face. A face he has caused many times over.

  So busted.

  “I’m fine.” I swat away the hand he’s thrust inside the curtain knowing the smug bastard caught me. “I think I know how to stand up in a bathtub.”

  God, what is it with men? Always thinking we depend on them to survive in life. Psshht.

  I try to stand up, only to realize the bathtub floor is slippery from spilled shampoo. As my foot slides sideways, I grab desperately for the shower curtain with both hands. Ripping the curtain clear off the rings, I fall back down where I came from.

  Oh, but I’m not done.

  At the same time, Ian grabs for me. Then loses his balance and falls forward.

  Into the shower.

  On top of me.

  Why are the sex gods torturing me?

  “Ian!” I screech.

  “Jesus,” he groans as his heavy but—oh, God, help me—strong body covers me, blocking the spray of shower water.

  How did I get in this predicament? I went from seeing a beautiful self-induced orgasm in my future to the real deal, Ian, lying on top of me in the shower.

  “Ian, you’re getting all wet,” I point out. I can feel his hard chest through his soaked clothes.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says, sounding as if he doesn’t care at all about his ruined suit. He’s just looking at me, his face so close to mine. He doesn’t make any effort to move. His line of vision moves from my eyes to my lips.

  He isn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  Oh, my goodness. He is! He’s going to try and kiss me.

  I know I should stop him. I’m going to stop him. Right after I remember how to use my vocal cords again. Okay, so I think I might just let him kiss me and worry about the consequences later. I close my eyes and wait for his lips to touch mine. This is so wrong, but I can’t do a damn thing to stop myself. I can feel his breath on my face and I know he’s close.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  The sound of a little human brings us both back to earth.

  Kiss forgotten.

  Me completely mortified.

  “Oh, my God.” I try and scramble upright, pushing Ian off me and attempting to wrap the curtain around myself.

  Ian, in his dripping wet suit, gets to his feet and turns to help block my naked form and address our audience. “Nothing, sweetie. I was just helping Chrissy get ready.”

  “Oh, can I help too?”

  “No!” we both respond in unison.

  “Honey, let’s go make sure we have all the stuff you want to bring for Mommy and Daddy while Chrissy finishes up.” He guides Pippa out of the bathroom, gently shutting the door.

  The remainder of my shower is spent being shot with freezing cold water, imperative if I hope to put out all the flames.

  I BELIEVE, IN ANOTHER life, Jimmy Buffett and I would have been besties, because he said it best. It’s five o’clock somewhere. After yesterday’s church service and the funeral today, a strong martini just sounds better than coping like a normal person.

  If watching a hysterical Pippa didn’t kill me slowly, then watching the first tear roll down Ian’s beautiful face really did me in.

  I’m not strong. Not like him. So mid-service I had to step away. I felt almost like an outsider saying goodbye to a person whom I completely let down. A sister I loved but chose to selfishly turn my back on. I waited by the car and wept alone until it was over. My nerves were so completely shot that I chewed at my nails until I was practically eating skin. I knew the only thing that was going to get me through the rest of this day was vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.

  I’m currently hiding out in Pippa’s closet, sipping on travel shots I bought at the local one-stop shop after I told Ian I had to make an emergency stop at the strip mall. He wanted to know why, so I explained, “Tampons. Tons and tons of tampons.” He didn’t question and parked in front of the Rite Aid. After a quick trip in and out, I was all stocked up on mini-refreshments.

  Beyond my hideout’s door, there are people bringing over dishes and paying their respects to Ian and trying to cheer up Pippa. People I don’t know or remember. It makes me feel like I should wrap it up here and just go home.

  Home.

  Speaking of, I should call home. But then I think about my hardheaded fiancé who doesn’t understand the word ‘done.’

  I know what you’re thinking, I make a horrible fiancée. I get it. I should be doing anything and everything but picturing that tall drink of water out there serving up whatever the hell it is people brought over with those manly hands and that deep, sex-dripping voice.

  I take another swig of the mini vodka bottle until I hit the bottom and cap it, throwing it into my purse. I’m hoping to stay in here until everyone is gone so I can sneak out and possibly walk back to the strip mall for a refill.

  I need to get out of here. And it may seem like I am taking back more luggage than I came with. I dig out my phone, buried under my mini refreshments, search through my contact list for BB Sterling, the gallery’s legal contact and type an email to the lawyer.

  BB-

  Have a kid now.

&nb
sp; Find us a home, and set up schooling.

  She is four. Make it happen. Pronto!

  -Chhistoomza

  Not sure any of it makes sense, but they get paid enough to get the gist.

  Since they say no better time like the present, I hit Brent’s stored number. It rings three times before I am pretty sure I am sent to voicemail. What a dick. His voice message plays in my ear like nails on a chalkboard and the beeps dings. “Hey, Brent. It’s me . . . Christina. Listen. I need you to listen. And by listen I mean you need to hear the words that are coming out of my—”

  My phone beeps indicating I have another call. Distracted, I stop my ‘this just in, we’re done’ message to look and see that Lexi is calling in. Since I am in need of some major comfort from someone other than that man candy out there, I abort the rest of my message and answer her call.

  “Hey, hoe banger, what up?” she greets me. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. That’s probably so totally inappropriate.”

  “Nah, it’s totally legit right about now.” I lay my heavy head against the closet wall.

  “No shit? How’s it goin’?”

  “Not good at all actually.” Because let’s be honest, it’s not going good at all.

  “Oh, shit. Okay, girl, lay it on me.”

  Oh, goodie, my last forty-eight hours in a nutshell. “Oh, sure. So let’s start from the beginning. Most importantly I’ve started the fight to discontinue vans, along with the extinction of skunks; my little niece is four and the cutest little human I have ever laid eyes on. Lose/lose for both of us in regards to her future. My ticketed destination to drop her off does not exist since her daddy’s parents are dead and his grandparents now shack it up in an old folks’ home. There is no way I’ll be back to work on Monday and my first love from high school turns out to be the cousin of my sister’s husband, who is now causing me to possibly commit something sexual and wrong in the eyes of a ‘we’re on a break but soon-to-be expired’ relationship, which—” I pause to inhale a gigantic gulp of air, “I’m not sure is wrong if you’re on a break, THEREFORE I think I need to come home.”

  Hmph . . . I let out a huge gust of air. That was long.

  And draining.

  I mean, to get myself all worked up over those skunks again is just not healthy.

  “Okay . . . so great story. I also hate vans, not sure on the whole skunk thing. Holy shit on the kid, can’t wait for you to enlighten me on where that goes, and excuse me on the ex?”

  Yeah. I’m not sure that last sentence made much sense.

  “For starters, my ex-boyfriend from high school. He’s here. Apparently he stayed close to my sister after I left and she ended up marrying his cousin.”

  “And why is this that big of a deal?” Lexi inquires.

  At that, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Ready, set, go. “Because he was the one.”

  My newsflash causes Lexi to choke on whatever drink she was chugging.

  “You okay over there?” I ask.

  “Shit, yeah . . .” More coughing. “Okay, sorry. Um, say that again?”

  “Oh, you heard me. He was the one. He might still be.” I sigh. The flutters I feel in my belly when I say it out loud confirm I have reason to worry.

  “Oh, my gawd, Christina Daniels,” Lexi says.

  “Yeah, agreed, and that’s not even the biggest issue. Seeing him again is messing with my already confused emotional state and, worse, it’s tempting my very want-to-be-active sex drive.”

  “Interesting. Okay, so important stuff first. What does he look like?”

  “Phsst, what does he look like? Every woman’s wet dream. Tall, dark and handsome. Double- dipped sexsicle—” I babble on.

  Lexi yelling my name into the phone snaps me out of my description of sex on legs. “Hey, skank! Stay with me. Keep that shit up and you’ll be responsible for the random hookup I’m forced to snatch up and work this image out on. Now, important stuff. Do you have a photo?”

  First off, as if she isn’t sitting at a bar already scoping out prey to do just that and second, don’t judge me. I do. Not proud of this moment but today, while at the church, as Ian was talking to some friends, I totally faked sending a text and took a photo of him. Who wouldn’t? I just wanted to take something back home with me so in those intimate moments, aka my self-induced orgasms, I had something to stare at.

  “Hold on,” I tell her and fumble in my photos and hit send.

  Her phone dings, indicating she has a text.

  “Jesus Christ almighty,” Lexi says a minute later. “Does he have a brother?” she moans into the phone. And yes. She moaned.

  “I’m going to get off the phone with you if you don’t behave,” I warn her.

  “I swear I’m not doing anything. My hands are in sight. Plus, I’m in public, at a bar having my liquid lunch, trying to scope out some prey to do just that, so we’re good.”

  She gets a laugh outta me. I know my friend so well.

  “Okay. So why again is he your ex, then?”

  The question of the hour. “Because when I left home for a better life, I left him as well.”

  For once, Lexi is shockingly silent.

  “Hello? Did I break you?”

  “No, babe. Sorry, I just didn’t know what to say. You never spoke much about your past, and I guess I never asked why you left home. But if I had something like that, I think I might have stayed.”

  “Well, it was years ago. Too late for regrets.”

  “Speaking of regrets, have you spoken to your fiancé?” She emphasizes the last word.

  “No, actually I haven’t. I was going to call him later.” Uh, no, I wasn’t.

  “Just letting you know, I ran into him last night at Sullivan’s. And he was with some real hoe bangers. Like legit ones, too. He said they were clients, and it definitely looked like there was some kind of deal going on. Just not the kind you do when the sun is up, if you get me.”

  “Like he was on a date?” I ask, shocked. Talk about taking a break that piece of—

  “I’m not putting it past him, honey. There were three of them. All I know is that I was tempted to rip BTD’s dick off and wait, what did you mean by soon to be expired—”

  I hear a soft knock, cutting off Lexi’s rant, and I watch the knob twist, hoping it’s not Pippa. Luckily, I see Ian’s well-built frame fill the doorway. I lock eyes with the most beautiful set of greens that have forever haunted my dreams.

  “Lexi, I have to go,” I barely mumble and just end the call.

  “I found you.” He leans against the doorframe, surveying my less than sober appearance.

  “You win. Now it’s your turn to hide and I’ll seek.” I giggle at my own totally awesome comeback.

  He nods toward my purse. “Drinking the tampons you needed, I see?” Totally blowing my cover.

  “It’s really unmanly to question a girl about her feminine products.” I offer a weak grin.

  His humor disappears. “What are you doing, Chris?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

  “I’m hiding, Ian. Exactly what it looks like I’m doing because I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with all those people staring at me, judging me.” I grab at my purse in search of another mini bottle. I find it hiding in a pocket. With vigor I crack open the cap and take a healthy swig.

  Bummer that Ian’s not down with my antics. He bends down and takes the mini goodness right out of my hands before I get to finish.

  “Hey! I was drinking that!” I pout and try to grab it back. Unfortunately for me he’s quicker and I just end up lunging forward, knocking him backwards onto the floor. I land, straddling him, my knees on either side of his lap. I lie unmoving for God knows how long. I have my head in the crook of his neck, and I’m pretty sure he’s choking on a chunk of my hair splayed over his face.

  A moment of facts: when you drink, whatever you’re thinking, you usually actually do. Nothing is said or thought or done only in your head. So when I think this is nice
to myself, Ian’s tensing body confirms it’s probably not in my head. Then, when I start sniffing at his neck and mmm-mmming, it also may be out loud. I pull away, throw my beastly head of hair over my shoulders, and catch the curious eyebrow now raised at me.

  Yep. That was all actually happening.

  “Why are you drinking, Chrissy?” he asks, now looking hurt.

  “Because I guess it’s true what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  He sighs in defeat. He lifts his hand to tuck some flyaway hair behind my ears. He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. He wants to say something. I know he does. I can see all the questions lingering in those shiny green eyes. Sometimes I remember staring into those eyes like they could tell you a story just by looking long enough. His story right now is sadness.

  Truth serum. It’s a bitch. So I let my next thought slip through my lips. “I want to kiss you right now,” I blurt out.

  His hands that have made their way around my waist tighten. “You say it like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

  There is.

  “But I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say, trying to figure out why. It’s definitely not because I am technically on a break.

  With what may well be a cheating dick.

  Truth be told, it’s because my heart can’t handle leaving him for a second time.

  “I’m sorry about your cousin,” I say, changing routes. I know he’s also hurting.

  His hands skim back up my waist and make their way up my arms. “John was an amazing guy. He was very good to your sister. They had the kind of love we all wish we had.”

  Um, okay, thanks for that blow.

  I try and struggle out of his grip, but that only forces him to hold me tighter.

  It’s also a shame I’m a glutton for punishment, because I really don’t know who I’m trying to convince. I don’t want out of his embrace. I want to do things to him right now and I won’t feel a bit of shame. Or guilt. Or possibly remember. I’ve technically had seven mini bottles of vodka in the past two hours and the evening is still young.

  “I think it’s time we get you to bed,” he whispers.

  “I’m not tired. And I like where I’m at right now.” I watch his chest lift up and down. Approval or defeat?