Almost Married

by Kylie Gilmore

  His eyes widened. He dropped her hand and leaned back from the table as if to get away from her words. “You're married?”

  She grimaced. “Only technically. We've been separated almost the entire five years.”

  Hurt washed over his face, and she felt that like a stab to the heart. She hated that she’d put that look there.

  He stared at the table. “Technically married is still married.”

  “It’s not a real marriage,” she said. “It’s over.”

  He still wouldn’t look at her. “You said you loved me,” he said quietly.

  Her heart lurched painfully. “I do.”

  “I was planning…I thought…” He met her eyes with a hard look. “I'm so stupid.” His face flushed red with anger. “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “I don’t know.” Her hands fluttered helplessly in the air. “Now, I guess. When it seemed like we might actually have a future.”

  “She’s married,” he muttered to himself. “Married.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed like that for a long time.

  “Dave? I just wanted you to know. Honesty is important.”

  He grunted.

  “We can still be together.”

  He finally slid his glasses back in place and met her eyes. “I don’t know about this.” He exhaled sharply. “I wish you’d just been honest with me from the beginning.”

  “I know. I definitely should’ve been more upfront.”

  It was just that she hated confrontations. It was something she knew she had to work on, but years of trying to be the easy, never-get-into-trouble kid for her single mom were ingrained into her. Her younger brother had been a lot of work for her mom. Even when Steph was at work, if a kid was acting up in her classroom, she’d just send them to the principal instead of confronting them on their behavior.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you really getting a divorce?”

  “Yes. As soon as I can arrange it.”

  He stared at the table. “I’m getting a really bad feeling about this. Your husband’s not going to show up here and kick my ass, is he?”

  She laughed much too hard. “No way! I haven’t heard a peep from him in five years! No way he’d be any threat to you.”

  His lips formed a flat line. “Okay. I don’t like it, but…” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a rumpled mess. “I need some time to think about this.”

  “Okay. Take as much time as you need.”

  He nodded. “Ready to go?”

  “Sure.”

  Dave left some bills on the table and drove her home. He was quiet, which made her feel jumpy. Maybe he was in shock. Just like always, he parked and walked her to the front door. She gave him a quick kiss goodbye, wondering if it was their last.

  “See you later,” she said.

  “Yup,” he said tersely before turning to go.

  She let herself into her apartment, mad at herself for waiting so long to tell Dave the truth, but also mad at Griffin for not signing those damn divorce papers. She punched the number for Griff’s manager, Bill, on her cell. She got his voicemail again and left a message, “This is Stephanie Moore-Huntley, Griffin's wife. Tell him if he doesn't sign those divorce papers right away, I will demand back alimony and take him for all he's worth!”

  Chapter Three

  Griffin yawned and stretched as he slowly woke to the sound of his cell ringing. He would’ve ignored it, except the ringtone, Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll,” meant it was his manager, Bill. He ignored those calls at his own peril. He sat up, disturbing the naked woman at his side, who pushed her long blond hair out of her face and gave him a sultry smile. He gave her a slow, sexy smile back. What was her name again? Jennifer. No, Jillian. Erica?

  “I’ll meet you poolside, sweetheart,” he told her before taking the call. “What’s up?”

  He watched as the woman walked nude from the room, hips swaying, that sweet ass. She looked over her shoulder, caught him looking, and blew him a kiss. Bill was jabbering on about ticket sales, but all Griff could think was why the hell was he kicking this beautiful woman out of bed. Tanya. That was it. Tanya.

  She disappeared from view. He headed naked to the bathroom to take a piss, phone still to his ear, as Bill bitched about sales for the band’s latest album, Griff’s cash flow, and the European tour. Blah, blah, blah. Griff had a manager so he didn’t have to deal with all that business stuff. He was in it for the music. The lifestyle wasn’t too shabby either.

  He left the cell on the counter, not bothering to put it on speaker or tell Bill to hold on. The man would just talk until he had nothing left to say. Then Griff would say okay, and they’d go about their respective jobs. He took care of business, washed his hands, and caught his reflection in the mirror. Bags under his eyes, dark rings indicating fatigue, and the wrinkle in his forehead was deeper. Damn, it sucked getting old. He was thirty-five, had hit the big time finally at thirty with his band Twisted Star, but the late nights and constant partying were catching up to him.

  He picked up the phone—Bill was onto some legal complication with Griff’s lawyer, Paulie D—grabbed a fresh pair of briefs, pulled them on, and headed to the kitchen for water and the frozen tea bags he used to get rid of the bags under his eyes. He stopped at the mention of Stephanie.

  “What was that part about Stephanie?” he asked.

  Bill let out a noisy exhale. “Were you listening at all? I heard you take a piss.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I was listening. I just wasn’t sure I heard that part about Steph correctly.”

  “She’s left several messages, and I know you don’t want a divorce—”

  “So why are we talking about her?” Griff liked having a wife. It helped deflect women looking for a commitment. So sorry. Can’t. I’m married.

  “She sounded really serious this time. She threatened to sue for back alimony. To, I quote, ‘take him for all he’s worth.’”

  “That’s weird.” He grabbed a bottle of Perrier from the fridge and twisted off the cap. That wasn’t like Steph to care about money. What was she really trying to say? Did she miss him? He’d been thinking about her more lately, back there in Connecticut, wondering how she was doing. Sometimes, on a rare night in, when he was alone, he wondered what his life would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he was still a guitar teacher. They’d probably have a bunch of kids, barely able to make ends meet. Steph always wanted kids. He didn’t. He knew what it was like to grow up poor, having the electricity shut off because your single mom couldn’t pay the bill on a secretary’s paycheck. His dad was also a musician, one that couldn’t be nailed down in one place. Like father, like son.

  He took a long drink and watched the blonde lounging by the pool turn over, sunbathing topless. Gretchen? Did she have an accent? He couldn’t remember.

  “Are you listening?” Bill demanded.

  “Mmm,” he murmured noncommittally. He got out the frozen tea bags and headed for the long white sectional sofa.

  “I said go see Stephanie. See what’s got a bug up her ass. Make sure we don’t have a money problem here.”

  He stretched out on the sofa and put the bags over his eyes. “Why do I have to see her? Just wait until she takes legal action and sic Paulie D on her. He’ll take care of everything.”

  “Can I be honest with you here, Griff?”

  “Sure.”

  “You need the publicity. It’s as simple as that. I’ve got a call in to Mandy. You’re taking the jet tonight. I’ve arranged cars for both of you. We need pictures of you with your secret wife. It won’t hurt her and, believe me, the mystery of your long-lost wife will only help you.”

  Griff grunted. Mandy worked for a trashy tabloid, Stars Chronicle, and had always reported on him in a flattering light. They were friendly. And he wasn’t opposed to seeing Steph again. Their brief time together was the only time in his life he felt like part of a real family—the two of them and her younger
brother, Joey. They’d lived together before he went on his first tour. He smiled, thinking of Joey. Sweet kid. Maybe he could squeeze in a visit to him too. It’d been a year since he’d last seen him.

  “Yeah, sure,” Griff said. “Looking forward to it.”

  “You are? Great!” Bill blew out a breath, muttering to himself, then louder, “I knew you’d come through when it counted. You’ve got until Saturday; then we need you back here for The Bridgette Show.”

  They had a gig on the popular late-night talk show. “No problem.”

  “Thatta boy.”

  Griff hung up and headed over to the pool. “Hey, gorgeous, I gotta leave town. I’ll call you, okay?”

  The woman stood and grabbed her bikini top. “I’ll wait by the phone,” she said dryly with no accent.

  “Michaela!” he said triumphantly. Her eyes flashed, and he quickly realized he should’ve kept that to himself.

  “It’s Taylor, asshole.” She turned on her heel and stalked toward the house.

  “Don’t let the door hit your pretty ass on the way out, Taylor,” he called after her.

  She flipped him the bird and left.

  He dropped his briefs and dove into the crystal blue water, thinking of his young bride, Steph, feeling younger already himself.

  ~ ~ ~

  Steph dragged through work at Clover Park Elementary School the next day. She hadn’t slept at all last night. She was afraid things were over with Dave before they really had a chance. Not surprisingly, she hadn't heard from Griffin.

  “I don't care how upset you are, you still need your sleep,” Amber was saying as they headed toward the school's exit at the end of the day. She’d filled Amber in on all the latest over lunch in the teachers’ lounge. Her friend taught art. “You have to take care of you. Don't make me get you into bed tonight.” She paused and cocked her head to the side. “Wait. That didn't come out right.”

  Steph smiled weakly.

  Amber opened the door and stopped short. “Uh, Steph, there's a limo. You don't think—”

  Steph pushed past Amber and stared. The stretch limo looked incongruous sitting in the front parking lot of Clover Park Elementary next to the sea of minivans. Her stomach dropped. “No,” she muttered like a curse.

  The back limo door opened—black Converse sneakers followed by long legs encased in black leather, a black leather jacket, black aviator sunglasses. And that hair, that beautiful thick, wavy black hair. She'd always envied his hair.

  “Omigod, it's Griffin Huntley!” Amber shrieked.

  Steph's head whipped around to stare at her usually mellow, easygoing friend.

  Amber shrugged. “It just slipped out. I've never seen a celebrity up close.” Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “He's coming over.”

  Steph turned as Griff swaggered over. He smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth. Someone visited a Hollywood dentist. She didn't smile back.

  He hugged her anyway. “Good to see you again, Steph.”

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Amber elbowed her and said under her breath, “Introduce us.”

  “This is my friend Amber,” Steph said automatically. “Amber, Griffin.”

  Amber went all shy. “Hi. I love your music.”

  Griff angled his body toward Amber and gave her friend a slow, sexy smile. “Thanks. It's always nice to meet a fan. Love the pink streaks.” He indicated her hair.

  Amber nodded and smiled, nodded and smiled. She looked like a bobblehead doll.

  Steph waved a hand in front of Griff's face. He was always looking for an audience. He slowly pulled off his shades, blinked, and turned to her with those hazel eyes that matched her own. Her throat felt tight. She’d always thought their kids would’ve had hazel eyes.

  He gave her that same sexy smile meant to charm.

  She was long immune to his charms. “I hope you're here with the signed divorce papers.”

  “Is that any way to greet your husband?” He looked to Amber for her reaction to this puzzling event.

  Amber took a step back. “I'd better go. Call me if you need anything, Steph.”

  Steph nodded.

  Griff spoke in a silky whisper. “Shall we go?” He gestured to the limo.

  She didn't move. “Do you have the signed papers?”

  “I want to talk about it first. Come on, Steph, just give me a little time. I'll drive you home.”

  “My car's here.”

  “Then I'll follow you to your place.”

  She stood there for a moment, noticing the curious looks of her coworkers and parents as they made their way to their cars. “Fine.”

  She got into her sunny yellow VW Beetle and made the short drive home. What in the world could Griff possibly want to talk about after all these years? And why did he have to come in person? She knew exactly why she'd fallen for him when she was in her twenties—hello, hormones!—but now at thirty-two, her priorities had changed. It wasn't all about gorgeous hair and a killer bod. She wanted more—stability, faithfulness, children. She’d always wanted children. That kind of life was one thing she knew she could get with Dave.

  On their first date, Dave had taken her to a hibachi restaurant for dinner. They’d sat around the huge hibachi grill with two families and had a blast watching the chef cook up dinner with all sorts of tricks like the flaming volcano made of onions, catching shrimp shells in his chef’s hat, and flipping cucumber bits off his flipper into Dave’s mouth. The fact that he’d taken her to a family-friendly place for their first date spoke volumes by itself, but then after, he’d driven her home, and they’d taken a walk through the backstreets of Clover Park. It had been summer, and lots of people were still out—walking their dogs, hanging out on their front porches. Kids were riding bikes and chasing fireflies. Dave had turned to her and said, “This must be a great place to raise a family.”

  She’d thought so too when she’d moved to town a few years before. “It would. You don’t miss the city life?”

  “It’s fun when you’re younger,” he replied. “I mean, there’s always stuff to do. But if I was married with kids, I’d like to raise them in a small town like this.”

  “Me too.” They smiled at each other, and something about the tender look in his eyes told her it could happen for them. And for the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful about the future.

  Now she parked in front of her place and noticed a black sedan with tinted windows parked across the street. It didn’t look like one of her neighbor’s cars. Griff’s limo pulled up behind her. She waited for him to get out.

  “Friend of yours?” she asked, pointing across the street.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know anyone in Clover Park except you.”

  She tried to see through the front windshield of the strange car, but couldn’t make out anyone. She turned and headed to the front door of the house, unlocking it. She went up the stairs to her apartment ahead of him, feeling sure he was checking out her ass. At least her skirt covered her decently. She glared at him over her shoulder as she caught him doing exactly what she suspected.

  “What?” he asked in the voice of the innocent. His eyes sparkled mischievously.

  “You know what.”

  He chuckled. She let him in and sat on the far end of the sofa, hugging a pillow, waiting for him to talk. He took his time, peeling off his leather jacket to reveal a snug black T-shirt. His muscular arms were covered in tattoos. He'd only had one tattoo when she'd known him—a heart on his bicep with her name in it. She checked. It was still there.

  “I thought you'd have that one removed,” she said, pointing to her name.

  He gave her a slow once-over from her hair to her chest covered by the pillow and down her legs. Her irritation grew as his gaze slowly dragged back up, lingering on her mouth before flicking to her eyes. “Now why would I do that? You're my wife.”

  “Oh, and how does that go over with your groupies?” she sniped.

  He took his
time answering. She watched while he made himself comfortable on her sofa. Her cat, Loki, hissed and jumped off the sofa, then stalked from the room.

  He spread his arms across the top of the cushions, taking up all the space. “It keeps away who I want it to keep away. My long-lost wife who still holds my heart.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Come over here.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Steph. I only bite if you say pretty please.”

  She threw the pillow at him. He laughed and slid over next to her.

  “How've you been, darlin'?” he crooned, stroking a lock of her hair, his warm fingers grazing her neck.

  She snatched her hair back. “Don't pull this crap with me. This isn't a seduction scene. I'm not one of your groupies. I—”

  “That's right, Stephanie Moore-Huntley, you're my wife.” His voice was low and husky, and she refused to be drawn in again.

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Griff, I met someone. I need to be single again. He doesn’t like that I’m still married.”

  He stretched out his leather-clad legs. “Sounds like a conservative dweeb.”

  “He's not. Dave's wonderful. So sweet. A perfect gentleman.” She found herself smiling, thinking of Dave.

  Griff gave her a disbelieving look. “So you just expect me to step aside and let this wuss take my place.”

  “Stop calling him names. He treats me right. I love him.”

  Griff sat up straight. “You're serious, aren't you?”

  “Yes!”

  Does he think this whole divorce thing is some kind of ploy to get his attention?

  He looked hurt. “I came back here hoping to give us another chance.”

  She felt like grabbing him by the hair and shaking him. “We haven't lived together in five years.”

  “It's been that long? Huh.” He stared off in the distance, thinking as hard as his pea brain could. “I want to meet him.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “I want to meet the man who's taking my place.”

  “That's ridiculous.”

  “I've got until Saturday before I have to be back in L.A. for a gig. Tell Dave I want to meet him, and then I'll sign the papers.” He smiled smugly.