“Because…” I searched for the true source of her anger. “Because it’s fine? Because we’re three consenting adults? It wasn’t cheating. His divorce was final.”
“Right. After his divorce but before he moved out ten days later. So, what? Did you start to hump him on the way home from the courthouse?” Her face reached a new level of red, one I hadn’t seen before. “That’s swell. That’s just SWELL.”
My dread over revealing Aaron’s involvement turned a fresh corner and I hoped, I really, really hoped, that this emotion wasn’t coming from where I thought it was. “What are you so mad about?” I glanced around to see who was in earshot of this meltdown. “We—”
“Because I LIKE him, Elle.”
And… there it was. Made even worse now that I knew he was still hung up on Becca. Chelsea liked Aaron.
That’s why she was swearing off men.
That’s why she was losing weight.
That’s why, right now, her eyes were welling with tears.
How did I not see this? And why… why hadn’t she told me? She could have told me in Vegas, or when we found out about Becca’s cheating, or at any time in the last six years and I would have known. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone near him. I never would have told Easton that I liked him watching us fuck, and I never would have put myself in a situation where I knew what his dick tasted and fucked like. I closed my eyes and searched for a way out of this.
“I liked him—I like him—and you took him. It wasn’t enough that you had E. Perfect fuckin’ E. The guy that God handcrafted to check every single checkbox.” She jabbed her finger on the table with each strike against me. “You had to have Aaron too?”
“I—” I didn’t know what to say. And it didn’t seem like an appropriate time to mention that she had screwed Easton too. I glanced toward the exit and noticed every eye in the surrounding four tables, locked on us. “I didn’t take Aaron. You can have Aaron. You could have had Aaron.”
“I couldn’t have had Aaron because he was married, Elle.” She stated the fact as if I was stupid, and maybe I was, because I’d been elbow deep in this dynamic for eight years now and it felt like I’d just been hit in the face with a shovel. “And the minute, the actual nanosecond that he becomes single and lifts his head from Becca’s ass, you’re there. Naked. And it was probably hot. Full of sparks and chemistry and orgasms. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
I swallowed, fighting an overwhelming bubble of guilt and dread. How would I fix this? There was no way to fix this. Initially, I’d been worried that our threesome would dismantle E and me, but this was a new and horrifyingly opposite side effect, one that was almost as bad. “I—”
“Just fucking go. Seriously.” She pointed in the direction of the door and I watched the pale pink tip of her index finger as it trembled in the air.
“You want me to leave?”
Her finger remained suspended. “Yeah. I’m not fucking with you. Go.”
It was sixth grade all over again, when the cool kids told me I couldn’t sit at their table again because they found out I hadn’t started my period yet, and babies had to eat somewhere else. I slid my phone off the table and into my bag, working my way down the tight plastic booth. My fingers bumped against the still-sizzling iron skillet and I bit back a cry of pain. Lifting my hand, I sucked at the burnt flesh and stood.
Around us, there was pure silence.
“GO.” Chelsea pulled her glass closer to her and waved her hand in the air, dismissing me as if I was an annoying child. “Jesus. Stop staring at me.”
I turned, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, and left, my bag bumping against someone on the way, my eyes pinned to the floor. When I made it to the door, I paused, hoping to hear her call my name, or stand from the table. But there was only the loud jangle of the bell, and I swung the glass door out and stepped into the parking lot, hurrying toward the sanctity of my car.
Driving away, I realized that I’d stuck her with the bill.
Coming down the 195 bridge, my phone sang with Easton’s ringtone. I made it across and pulled into a gas station and dug frantically through my bag, finding the iPhone and answering it.
He said hello, and I tried to speak but hiccupped out a cry instead. Then, the sobs started and didn’t stop until he was beside me at the station, pulling my phone from my hand and wrapping me in his arms.
25
I pulled the blanket higher up to my chest, and Wayland pawed at the material. “No.” I pointed toward the back of the house. “Crate.”
His ears fell and he turned, his tail pinned in between his back legs. I felt a stab of guilt but said nothing, listening as his nails clicked along the hardwood floors toward the laundry room.
“Here.” Easton came into the room with a box of Thin Mints and a Dr Pepper. “Bringing out the big guns.”
My eyes widened at the non-diet soda. “Where’d you get that?”
“I have a few hidden in the back of a case of beer in the garage fridge.” He winked at me. “Don’t tell my wife.”
“I won’t,” I grumbled, pulling open the box and stealing one hand inside. “She’d tell everyone because she can’t keep a secret.”
“Don’t be like that.” He sat down on the couch next to me and leaned over, pushing my hair away from my forehead. “You were feeling guilty before because you were keeping it from her. Don’t feel guilty now because you told her.”
“I’m not guilty because I told her.” I pulled a couch pillow from underneath my shoulder and hugged it to my chest, studiously avoiding his gaze. “I’m guilty because I did it to begin with.”
“Screw that,” he said sharply. “You didn’t know how she felt. None of us knew how she felt.”
“I don’t know… now that I think back, there were some signs.” Her inappropriate comments about his looks—though, to be fair, she made inappropriate comments about everyone’s looks. Her offer to let him live with her, though she had done the same for me at multiple times in our friendship.
The problem was, Chelsea flirted with everyone. She was nice to everyone. She was crude to everyone. She helped out and fawned over everyone. I had dismissed any clues that had occurred, chalking it up as standard behavior. The only non-standard behavior was that she hadn’t tried to sleep with Aaron, and maybe that was the giant red flag I should have noticed.
“This wasn’t your fault,” Easton said again, his fingers working past mine to get a cookie out of the box.
I passed the entire thing to him. “She hasn’t called me yet. She always calls me by now.”
“Give her time and let her cool off.”
I lay down, putting my head in his lap, and stared at the dark television screen. Maybe I didn’t need to feel guilty about telling her, and maybe it wasn’t my fault that I had sex with Aaron, but all that aside, we were now in this situation and had to figure a way out of it.
From behind us, the front door slammed against its frame.
“Damn, you guys know how to fuck something up.” Aaron’s drawl echoed from the entry hall as his heavy steps moved closer.
“Did you talk to her?” I craned my neck up, trying to see over the back of the couch.
“Yeah.” He took off his baseball cap and smoothed his hair down. “She’s pissed off.” He looked at me. “Next time you plan on throwing me under the bus, give me a heads-up.”
“I didn’t plan on telling her. It just came out that I had done something, and then she figured out that it was you, and I couldn’t lie to her when she outright asked.” I watched as he leaned against the support column, wondering how much she had told him. The chances were high that she’d kept her feelings for him secret and only bitched and ranted about the threesome.
He gave E a hard look. “You fucked me by making me promise not to tell her. Now I look like a piece of shit for keeping it from her.”
“Is she mad at you?” I shifted to the edge of the couch.
“I don’t know. She was
too mad at you to talk about anything else, and I probably didn’t help your case any.”
“Thanks,” I said tartly.
His eyes narrowed. “Let’s just be upfront for a minute, Elle. We can do that, right? Set aside all the bullshit and be honest?”
“When am I not honest with you?” I looked to E for help, but he seemed as confused as I was by Aaron’s sudden coldness.
“I told you I was developing feelings for her and you wanted to sabotage it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw flexing. “Well, congratulations. She’s looking at me as if I’m a fucking—”
“Whoa.” I held up my hand. “What are you talking about? You never told me you were developing feelings for her.”
He looked me square in the eye and sighed in exasperation. “Elle. Don’t play this shit.”
“I’m not playing any shit.” I pushed to my feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you told E, but you didn’t tell me.”
“I did.” He glanced at his watch. “Two, maybe three hours ago. When you were on your way to meet her for lunch. Right before you fucked us both to hell.”
I searched through the conversation. “You told me that you’d never done anything with her. No kisses, no sex. Just maybe flirting. You want me to jump from ‘maybe flirting’ to knowing that you’re developing feelings for her?”
“I told you that something was there. A connection.”
“No.” I shook my head. “We moved from that to talking about Becca. And see!” I straightened, strengthened in my resolve. “How was I supposed to understand that you liked Chelsea when you were going on and on, defending and blabbing about Becca?”
“I barely even mentioned Becca.” He peered at me. “Wait. You thought we were talking about Becca that entire time? When you called Chelsea a slut and told me that she wasn’t interested in me?”
“I didn’t call Chelsea a slut,” I said indigently. “I wouldn’t call her that.” Though maybe, at some point, I had—but in loving terms.
He groaned as he linked his fingers and set them on top of his head. “This is so fucked up.”
I was still trying to backtrack through the conversation and figure out whatever it was that he had just put together.
“You thought I was talking about Becca, but I was talking about Chelsea,” he explained. “I told you that I was developing feelings for her and you told me to give it up—that she wasn’t interested in me.”
“Oh.” I sat on the couch, trying to remember everything I had said. Not good stuff. I’d been on my high horse about Becca and preaching on all of the reasons they shouldn’t be together. Bitch. Had I called her a bitch? Probably. Probably a lying slutty bitch. “You didn’t tell her anything I said, did you?”
“No. Did you tell her anything I said? Or what you thought I said about Becca?”
“No.” I’d been trying to spare Chelsea’s feelings, to dilute her anger over the threesome. Thank God I hadn’t attempted to soften that blow by telling her my false impression of Aaron being hung up on Becca. That was one bright spot in this torrential downpour.
“So…” Easton spoke up from the other end of the couch. “You like Chelsea?”
“Yeah,” Aaron answered. “Not that my brilliant plan to seduce her has been working, or has any legs left. She fucking hates me right now.” He sat in the recliner and picked his baseball cap off the floor, working the brim into a curve.
The truth about Chelsea’s feelings sat like an egg under me, shuddering with the need to crack. Should I tell him? Fan the romance flame? Or should I keep her secret? I’d already screwed up this situation in ten different ways. I couldn’t tip the scales further. I had to be very, very careful about what I did, or didn’t do, next.
I eyed Aaron, who pulled the baseball cap low over his eyes, and warred over which path to take.
26
“You really don’t have to be here.” I straightened a row of water bottles on a glass tray and smiled at the house manager, who glared back in response. She still hadn’t warmed to me, but maybe snarls were just her love language. She’d spat the same attitude to Brad and Julia, who had responded with warm affection.
“Are you kidding me?” Tim sipped on an iced latte and peered around the room. “There’s more eye candy in this room than in Azucar on a Saturday night.”
“Oh, so you’re here to pick up a day. Good to know.” I glanced at my watch, anxious for the first showing to arrive. I needed this to go smoothly, and not just for the boost in my reputation and business. With Chelsea ignoring my calls, Aaron sulking at me and Easton refusing to let me claw Nicole’s eyes out—I needed something to go right.
“Don’t be like that,” Tim chided, and I couldn’t even remember what we were talking about. “I’m here to help keep an eye on things. You know, in addition to the gazillion cameras and delicious security detail.”
“Uh-huh.” I noticed a light switch hidden by the sink and hurried to flip it on. A row of lights illuminated underneath the counters.
“Mrs. North?”
I turned, spotting the wiry black man who was in charge of the security detail. “Yes?”
“If you could follow me, I just want to go over a few things in the control room, before we begin.”
“Certainly.” I glanced at Tim. “I’ll be right back.”
He waved me on, and I followed the man closely, visually sweeping each room we passed. Pillows fluffed. Counters empty. House sparkling. Martha may be lacking in the hospitality department, but she had presentation down to a science.
Pausing in the hall, he glanced around for others, then pressed on the hidden panel and ushered me into the room. He closed the door behind us, and I found myself in very close quarters with the man. I moved further in and bumped into the opposite wall.
“Okay, I’ll be in here for the four-hour window, and will be communicating with the team the entire time. He held out a small earpiece. “I’d like to fit you with a mic also, so I can alert you to any problems.”
“Sure. Do I just—”
“Just stay right there. I’ll hide it in your hair.”
And Easton had thought my blow out was unnecessary. As he loops a plastic wire over my ear, I watched the grid of monitors, my attention caught and focusing on the backyard cameras.
Brad’s finger pushed into the tight and needy bundle of my ass and it was the push that sent me over the edge. I came hard, my fingers digging into Brad’s muscles, my mouth needy on his neck, his voice thick and commanding in my ear.
I hadn’t even thought about the cameras. I tapped on the screen. “Are these the only angles we have on the backyard?”
He left my earpiece and moved to the laptop, typing a string of commands. The grid changed, every single screen filled with different pieces of the backyard. The cabana. Outdoor kitchen. Chaise lounges beside the pool. The stairs leading to Martha’s apartment. The perimeter of the property wall.
I looked through the angles twice but didn’t see what I was looking for. “Where’s the fire pit and outdoor sectional?” My heart, which had begun to beat in double-time, slowed at the slim possibility that maybe our sexual exploitations hadn’t been caught by a high-definition camera.
“That area isn’t covered. There are a few spots in the house that the De Lucas wanted to be avoided by cameras. While I don’t encourage that, I do understand a need for some semblance of personal privacy. My team is aware of those areas and removed any valuables. We’ll also sweep those areas thoroughly, after the showing is concluded.”
“Oh.” I nodded as if I didn’t care. Inside, my chest collapsed in relief.
“This needs to be clipped to you somewhere. We suggest the small of your back. May I attach it to the top of your slacks?”
“Sure.” I turned, fidgeting in place as he clipped the small box to my belt, then smoothed my shirt over it. He tested the mic, and I gave him a thumbs up when his voice came, low and clear, over the tiny bud in my ear. “Thanks.”
>
“We aren’t expecting any problems, but we will be doing pat-downs at the gate, and everyone on my team is fully equipped to handle any issues.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Our showing list included five couples, two families, and a single woman—all with a history in the Miami area, verified funds, and squeaky clean background checks. The only danger in sight was that of a lowball offer.
“The Hertz family has arrived at the gate.” The female voice came through the earpiece, surprising me. I glanced at the man, and he settled into place before the monitors and changed the inputs, all screens changing to exterior shots.
I thanked him and moved out into the hall, carefully returning the hidden door to its place and blowing out a nervous breath.
It was showtime.
Three days and six more unanswered calls to Chelsea later, I pushed a new fertility pill through the foil packet and raised it to my mouth, putting it on the back of my tongue before taking a long sip of water. Through the windshield, I watched as Easton spoke to the yard guy. There was a lot of gesturing in the direction of the hibiscus bush, and Nick nodded. A thumbs up was given. Easton turned toward the car and I placed the packet into my purse and pulled the zipper closed. Setting it down by my feet, I watched as Easton got in.
“Did you tell him about the caterpillars?”
“I tried. I also told him not to cut the bush so far back, but I don’t know how much he understood.”
“Should I talk to him? My Spanish is a little better than yours.”
“Yelling mi pantalones es rojos isn’t going to help in this situation.”
“Ha. I know more than that. And the joke’s on you because it’s son rojos.” I glanced down at my pants. “And I think these are more orange than red.”
“I didn’t know the color for orange.”
I frowned for a minute. “I think it’s just orange. Or orange-jee.”
“No, it’s got its own name.”
“No, I think purple is the same way. Purpala, or something like that.”
Twisted Marriage (Filthy Vows Book 2) Page 16
