Stand (Black Addiction Book 3)

by T Gephart

  “Nice place,” Joey strode in, the tray of extra-large coffees balancing in one hand. “Ivy really is a genius when it comes to property, right?” His feet continued moving from my entranceway into my living room, not needing an invitation.

  “Yeah, it’s not her good eye that I want to discuss.” My head tilted toward the two armchairs that were seriously overwhelmed by the new space. Decorating was no longer a priority.

  “Is this going to be a serious conversation?” Joey settled into one of the armchairs, grabbing a cup and handing the other to me. “It’s okay if it is but I’m going to need to have coffee first.” I grabbed the cup and took my seat as he continued. “I love my kid, but last night was brutal. Kenzie walked into the bedroom naked and it took me four minutes to notice there were tits on display. Now that’s some industrial-strength fatigue, my friend. I didn’t notice tits.”

  It seemed we both had wandered into the twilight zone in the last twenty-four hours, for different reasons obviously.

  “Well, drink up then because you’ll never guess who’s kicking it a few levels down. And when I say, you’ll never guess, I mean what-the-hell-are-the-chances kind of odds.”

  “Dude, please don’t make me guess. If I was too tired for tits, I sure as shit ain’t up for a game of charades.”

  Yeah, I wasn’t up for the game either.

  “Beth.”

  “Beth, Beth?”

  “The very same.”

  It’s funny how no further clarification was needed, the one word enough.

  “Are you shitting me?” He waited for the obligatory nope to come from my mouth before continuing. “Wow, I’m not even going to wrap my head around the one-in-a-million coincidence.”

  The one in a million would probably have been generous, except those odds had been stacked more than a little.

  “It wasn’t fate, unless fate stands about five three and shares your last name.” There was no need to point out the obvious, we both knew who had been orchestrating the show.

  “Wow, so you got the apartment and a side order of girl-you-used-to-date. I should have brought vodka; the coffee isn’t going to cut it. How did it go?”

  “Dude, I’m not even sure.” I shook my head, replaying the exchange for the five millionth time. “I think I was able to string enough words together so I didn’t sound like a complete moron, but it felt like someone had just zapped me in the balls.”

  Usually I was cool, calm and collected and hopefully that was the vibe I had given off, because underneath, my brain kept misfiring. And while Beth might have been slightly rattled at the start, she’d reined it in pretty fucking quickly.

  “Fuck dude, was she mad?” He winced as he took another sip, the coffee really not strong enough for this conversation. “I mean . . . were you guys back together before we left?”

  “No, she wasn’t, and no we weren’t.”

  Joey wasn’t trying to be an asshole; the question was completely valid. Of course most couples broke up and stayed that way except that with Beth, well we always seemed to get back together.

  “You know what’s funny, is that she seemed really okay with all of it. Happy even.” Not too many girls you used to sleep with who’d be cool with a random knock on their door. Of course, my morning visit hadn’t been planned but it would have been totally okay if she’d told me to fuck off or at the very least given me a lukewarm reception.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? You guys were close and even when you weren’t dating, you were friends.”

  “Yeah it should be a good thing except that whole thing is driving me batshit crazy.”

  Because that made all kinds of sense. Things were all fine and dandy but that wasn’t enough for me. Oh hell, no. I wanted to dissect it a little more.

  “Dude, you must be in trouble if you are asking me for advice. You know that when it comes to smoothing things over I suck. Badly.” Joey wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t the kind of guy who would do great in public relations.

  “Yeah, I’m going to need to see her again.”

  There was no need to say it out loud; I think we both knew that was going to be my plan.

  “Of course you are, she lives downstairs.” Joey stated the obvious.

  “No, not like that.”

  As Joey mentioned running into Beth would probably happen. Getting the mail, seeing each other in the lobby—all very possible. But shit had seen to it that we should meet, and I wasn’t leaving anything else to chance. Nor would I be happy with a five-minute discussion about the weather when passing each other in a hall.

  “Whoa, you’re gonna try and date? After four years? Man, you got some big stones.” Joey barked out a laugh, his hand slapping me across the back for good measure. And wanting to see her had nothing to do with the size of my stones.

  “Possibly, although she hasn’t given me any indication she’d be up for that.”

  At no time did she give off the vibe she was looking to hook up in any way romantic. She’d been polite, gracious even, but other than giving me a quick wax-on-wax-off across the chest, there’d been no hint that she’d even consider a date. Which with any other girl would have been my cue to say goodbye and head out the door. With her, unless I had it spelled out—and I do mean explicitly, word choice totally intended—I wasn’t walking away.

  “So of course you’re desperate too.” Joey shook his head, completely reading me like yesterday’s news.

  “Yep.”

  “This is probably going to end badly.” The warning not something I wanted to hear, nor cared about at this point.

  “And yet, I’m still going there.”

  We’d already established this was out of character. I hadn’t gone after a girl in—well, not since Beth. Sure I’d been spoiled, even before the band got big I’d managed to get girls with very little effort. Maybe it was because the bass or guitar in my hand acted as a magnet, maybe it was my face—surveys were never handed out. I was never without attention when I wanted it, so chasing wasn’t my thing. That shit was all about to change.

  Whatever reason we had gone our separate ways, was no longer good enough. Of course I had come up with this assessment without her consultation but I was on a moving train I had no hope of derailing. And sure it was bordering on insanity that a short meet-and-greet had spurned this situation but regardless of my mental stability, I wanted to know her again. If I got to date her again? Well wouldn’t that be the jackpot I was looking to win.

  All of which should have been a tip off of how significant she’d been. And obviously I’d not seen it until now because I was either too stupid or a dumbass. Hindsight is great like that, proving what a complete dick you had obviously been. Not that it mattered; I was going to rectify that shit post haste.

  “Just be prepared for that ship to have sailed.” Joey slapped me on the back trying to play devil’s advocate. “Like maybe there was a reason you guys could never keep it together.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but you’re wrong, the ship has far from sailed.” At least it hadn’t until I gave it one last shot.

  “Start talking.” Jules yanked on my arm the minute Max had left the apartment. “All the details and don’t leave anything out.”

  My eyes were still locked on the door that had just closed in front of me, trying to reconcile it all in my head. By some act of God—seriously, thank you Jesus—I was able to pull it together. My hands had also behaved themselves as I reminded myself why I put the distance between us in the first place. And what do you know, my mouth and body cooperated and I was able to act like a normal person. As opposed to the fruitcake I was currently acting like in my head.

  “It was before they were famous. When I lived in the Bronx.”

  I knew better than to think this was going to be a three-minute conversation. Jules was going to want to know when, how, why—with a storyboard and cue cards.

  “I don’t care if they were famous or not, you slept with Max Reynolds. Did you happen to catch a look at him wh
en he walked in here? He’s not hot, he’s like DAMN! Even if he wasn’t famous, he was worth mentioning. At least a freaking footnote or something. I thought we were friends.”

  “Jules, it’s not like I am going to run down my entire dating history. It’s been a few years, I didn’t think I would see him again so didn’t think to mention it.” More like happy to leave that part of my life in the past. “And of course we are friends, I’m not someone different because my ex-boyfriend ended up being a rock star.”

  “Don’t be all I’m still Jenny from the Block. That’s some big news, like huge. As in, should have been thrown out there. Hell, if I dated him I would be freaking signposting it. There’s a Facebook group dedicated to his penis. His penis, Beth! Oooooooh, is it true? Is he really that big?”

  Jules was easily excited. Part of the reason we became friends was because, despite our rather conservative workplace, she liked to have a drink or two and cut loose. See a local band at a bar, go watch some avant-garde play or spend hours dissecting less famous French impressionists. She was quirky, breaking into song randomly or scaring the neighbors with her own—and often randomly timed—Broadway show numbers. And while I had come out of the cocoon and left my former life behind, being with Jules anchored me to my inner true self. Besides, she was awesome and a great friend.

  “I’m not going to tell you how big he is.” I scoffed. Point blank, we were not going to be talking about Max’s cock. But if ever there was one that was worth talking about, it was most definitely his.

  “Why not?” She pulled back, absolutely horrified I wasn’t doling out prized information. “It’s not like you are still dating him. You had no problem telling me how not big gym guy was.”

  I guess on that she did have me. A precedence had been set which unfortunately pointed to me not having a problem with discussing that. But with Max, I just didn’t want to share. Which was stupid because from all reports he’d shared the knowledge of his cock with many women.

  Oh, and I knew about the group. Possibly even wandered in there a few times. Purely from a curiosity stand point. Okay, so maybe a little bit more than curiosity, part of me was somewhat smug to have insider knowledge. Yes, yes, I know how unbelievably conceited that makes me sound—I never said I was a good person.

  “This is different.” I maintained my stance, no comment remaining my rote response.

  Her eyes widened, my silence fueling the rumor. “Oh my God, he’s huge.”

  HUGE.

  I was in no way a dick expert, but I’d seen a few. And none of them had ever measured up—and I am talking literally—to what Max was packing. Besides, it wasn’t just the size—which ain’t gonna lie, was more than substantial—it was what he did with it. And Max Reynolds knew what he was doing in a bedroom. Or a bathroom, kitchen, backseat of a car . . . I’m getting distracted, but you get my point. He was the master of his domain, wherever that domain was.

  “You saying nothing right now is all the confirmation I need.” She smiled smugly; content she had gotten the truth, the matter being far from over.

  “Can we change the subject already?” I ignored her, turning my attention to clear the breakfast dishes. That was a more productive way to spend my time, cleaning not talking about Max’s—yeah, now I wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about it.

  “Sure, I’ll let that part slide for now, but you still have told me nothing.” She joined me in the cleanup, my reprieve short lived. “How long did you date? Why did you break up?” She continued the inquisition. “Obviously, it wasn’t horrible because you were looking at him like a side of bacon.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Oh God please tell me I wasn’t. “I wasn’t.”

  I couldn’t be sure. Not one hundred percent. I had touched him and what my hands were making contact with was very pleasing. Which was ridiculous because I knew what he looked like naked. Probably why I had the need to get handsy in the first place.

  Oh hell, I had looked at him like a side of bacon.

  “Who you trying to convince?” She laughed, not like a little chuckle either, I’m talking a full bellied eruption to illustrate the hilarity of my refusal. “I’m surprised you didn’t need to use your shirt as a napkin.”

  Once again, valid.

  Perception was one of Jules’ strong suits so as much as I wanted to dance around it all, eventually she would get it out of me.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you everything but you can’t tell anyone.” I threw up my hands admitting defeat. “Especially not people we work with.”

  “Please, it’s in the vault. I’m basically going to listen, nod and then hate you because you managed to tap that.” She motioned toward the door Max had not long passed through. “But I can’t promise there won’t be questions. They may or may not feature his cock.”

  She was only willing to concede so far, and I guess as long as her silence was assured—in my heart I hadn’t needed her word, knowing she’d never intentionally gossip—I could deal with the millions of questions that were going to be coming my way. Whether I answered any would still be my call.

  So with a huge—it seemed to be the theme for the morning—cup of coffee we took up residence on the couch. She listened with wide-eyed wonder and I recounted the whole tale. Meeting him in high school, and being incredibly smitten. Then of course our first break-up happened when I went away to college, somehow always winding up back together whenever I’d be home on break.

  And so started the merry-go-round—on again-off again—like a favorite pair of jeans you couldn’t bear to throw out. I think most of my uncertainty stemmed from the fact there was never ever a conclusion. At no point—at any of those numerous times—did we say goodbye and end it. Nope, we just drifted until the current brought us back together. He was the tide and I was the sand, mostly moving together but sometimes moving apart.

  “I don’t know if that is tragic or beautiful.” Jules clasped her hands dramatically. She really had missed her calling as an actress. “Possibly even tragically beautiful.” The batting of the eyelashes was unnecessary; I realized how corny it all sounded.

  “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” I tossed a throw pillow her way. “It’s not something a lot of people would understand and I’d rather not deal with the sarcasm.”

  I didn’t care about the judgment. No doubt those who had been around or heard the story would cast their conclusions. I had either been a doormat, so desperate to have a boyfriend I welcomed him back every time, or I was a groupie who slept with the guy because he was in a band and it gave me cool points. Neither of these were true. I loved being with Max, because I loved being with Max. Period. And people could think what they wanted; it wouldn’t change what we had.

  What I didn’t want to deal with was the trivialization. The jokes. The bullshit people needed to tell themselves so that we made sense in their minds. They could say and think what they wanted, but I didn’t have to hear it. It was my story and it wasn’t up for review, which is why for the most part I kept it locked up tight.

  “Hey.” Jules stopped laughing, her face turning serious. “I’m sorry, I was being a dick. Honestly, it sounds epic. A love story I could only hope to have.”

  “It’s fine, it’s in the past.” I ignored Jules’ it’s-the-most-epic-love-story-of-all-time. Besides, it was in the past and that’s where it should stay. We had both moved on.

  “Let’s just forget the whole thing; I need to go back to dealing with this hangover.” Which was totally a lie, because I had almost completely forgotten about it. “And go on with our day.” Yeah, because that was a possibility.

  Not going to lie, pretending was going to feature highly. Just because I wasn’t talking about it, didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it. And Jules could sniff out weakness. So I was taking my happy self—big freak show smile plastered across my face—to my room, putting on some fresh clothes and possibly taming my hair into something manageable. Something I should have done before answering the door.
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br />   Actually I’m not sure how he didn’t turn around and run when I opened the door looking the way I did. Best prediction without the mirror confirmation was: bloodshot eyes—fuck you, Sauvignon Blanc, hair like it’d been through a wind tunnel—not in a sexy way, and an outfit that was a cross between thrift store chic and homeless person. Ha. How was he able to resist? Screw you, universe! If we were destined for a reunion couldn’t I have at least been wearing a bra?

  Which brought me to another bone of contention—let’s face it, I had a few this morning.

  Ivy Shaw.

  I’d known that girl almost as long as I’d know Max so it was going to be sad to say goodbye. We’d had a good run, but unfortunately I was going to have to kill her. The reason for her demise was twofold. One, she sold Max an apartment and directed him to my door and two, she hadn’t warned me about either. At the very least a cryptic text saying “Hey make sure you don’t answer your door looking like an extra for The Walking Dead.” That’s not too much to ask, surely.

  So after de-zombiefying myself—at least I’d look good in the mug shots—I waved goodbye to Jules and Ubered myself to Ivy’s front door. It had been tough getting away from my roommate. Her cries of if-you-are-going-to-see-Max-take-a-photo-of-his-cock rung in my ears as I hit the buzzer of Ivy’s cute Greenwich Brownstone. Jules would be down for body disposal later, she was good like that.

  “Hello” Ivy’s sweet voice leached from the speaker. Good, she was home; the neighborhood would be spared my rampage.

  “It’s Beth, open up.” I didn’t bother with a hello or good morning, no point pretending this was a social call.

  “Are you mad?” She giggled back through the speaker clearly knowing the reason for my impromptu visit.

  “I’ve calmed down.” Not a lie, I’d let her have some last words now, earlier I hadn’t been so charitable.

  “Then come up.” The lock on the exterior door popped open. Ivy living on the second floor was convenient; it meant I didn’t have to climb too many stairs before exacting retribution.