by J. Nathan
My skin crawled as Charles’ greeted us with a big smile as we stepped into the living room, like he hadn’t single-handedly destroyed our family.
“Were you on the phone?” I asked him.
“No,” he said.
“Oh, I thought I heard you talking down here.”
He shrugged before looking to CJ. “Ready, buddy?”
CJ glanced to me and I nodded encouragingly, though all I wanted to do was cry and beg Charles not to take him. And where was Trace? Not only had he promised to say goodbye, but he promised to instill a little fear in Charles.
Charles took CJ’s luggage from him and walked toward the front door. I prayed Trace would be standing there when he pulled it open. He wasn’t.
CJ turned to me as Charles walked outside. I squatted down and he wrapped his arms around me. “Do I have to go?” he whispered.
Tears blurred my vision as I hugged him with everything I had. “You’re dad wants to spend time with you. I get to do it every day. He wants to spoil you, too.”
CJ giggled. “Okay.”
“I love you,” I said.
“More than the universe?”
I laughed. “More than anything in this whole wide world and any other world that might exist out there.”
“I thought so.”
I pulled back to look at him, forcing a smile. “Don’t forget to call me whenever you want.”
“Okay.”
I stood and took his hand, walking him to the door. “I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded, and with that, he hopped down the front steps and met Charles at the open backseat door, disappearing inside. I watched as Charles buckled him in and then closed the door. Charles turned to me and waved. I didn’t wave back. I just glared at him, hoping all the hatred I felt for him was conveyed in my eyes.
* * *
Drinking alone on my sofa was so cliché. But CJ had been gone for eleven hours and fifteen minutes. And already I knew I wasn’t going to be able to handle the time apart. What if he came back changed? What if he didn’t miss me?
I lifted the beer to my lips and chugged the contents. What would I do with so much time alone? My friends all had families. They had their own lives. Sure, they might be up for shopping from time to time, but I didn’t have the money to blow now that I had bills to pay and hadn’t found a job yet.
If only I’d finished my Master’s degree. If only I hadn’t listened to Charles who wanted me home, preferring a wife who cleaned the house and had dinner on the table instead of one who worked long hours, like him. Being naïve and in my early twenties, I went along with his wishes, not realizing I was losing a piece of myself in the process. Now, I had a depleting bank account and a soon-to-be-ex-husband.
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and scrolled through my contacts, wondering who I could bother. It wasn’t even midnight yet. My single friends were probably still up, if not out. After all, the night was still young.
Speaking of young.
My thumbs pounded away at the screen. Thx for coming to see CJ. It took everything in me not to add “you big fat jerk.”
Trace’s text popped up almost immediately. You’re welcome.
That. Jerk. My thumbs went to work. He really wanted to see you.
I really wanted to see him too.
I gasped at his nerve. Well then we’re in agreement. You suck.
There was a long pause before those three dots appeared indicating he was typing. Open your door.
I sucked in a sharp breath. My eyes shifted to the front door. I didn’t hear anything on the other side. And I wasn’t foolish enough to actually get up and look.
Pounding on the door froze me to my spot. Shit.
I didn’t want to see him after he let CJ down.
The pounding continued.
Dammit.
I pushed myself to my feet and unlocked the door, yanking it open. “What?”
Trace stood there like he’d just rolled out of bed. He was barefoot in a white sleeveless T-shirt and basketball shorts that hung low on his hips. “What? What the hell was that text about?”
I dug my hands into my hips. “I thought you wanted to say goodbye?”
“I did.”
A harsh laugh burned in my throat. “Well, did you have something better to do?”
His face scrunched up. “What are you talking about?”
“It would’ve taken two minutes to come by.”
“I did come by,” his voice raised incredulously. “The douchebag wouldn’t let me see him.”
My eyes rounded. “You came by?” Tremors rocked through my body as his eyes slowly descended over the booty shorts and tank top I wore to bed.
“You texted and thanked me,” he said.
“I was being sarcastic.”
He peered inside my living room at the empty bottles on the coffee table. His eyes jumped back to mine. “Did you drunk-text me?”
I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling foolish—and in need of something to cover me up.
“You did,” he said, his smile growing. “That’s fucking hilarious.” His brows lifted. “Were you thinking about me?”
“Yeah. And I wanted to clock you for not saying goodbye.”
He moved forward. I had no choice but to step back into my house. Once inside and on even ground, he closed the door behind him and stared down at me. “Clock me or fuck me?”
My core quivered at the ease in which the words slipped out of his mouth. At my tipsiness and how damn hot he looked. At the notion that he may have been right. I swallowed hard. “I...uh...” I spun away from him, hurrying toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” I stopped short, spinning to face him. “What am I even saying? I can’t offer you a drink.”
“No, but I can go in your fridge and grab my own.”
“I could stop you.”
He smirked as he moved toward me, each step closing the distance between us.
My heart thrashed around inside my chest. Oh God. I was in no way equipped to make a smart decision. If he tried to kiss me, I just might let him.
He didn’t.
Instead, he brushed by me and stepped into the kitchen. “I’d love to see you try.”
The breath I hadn’t meant to hold whooshed out of me. I walked into the kitchen, unable to stop my eyes from appreciating the way his shirt gripped his back and his shorts hung on those muscular hips. At the way he moved with such grace for a big guy. At the way he always just fit in my space. I didn’t stand a freaking chance alone with him. “What’d you do tonight?” I asked, trying to ease the sexual tension radiating off the walls.
He grabbed the refrigerator door handle and looked to me. “I waited for your text.”
I tilted my head, calling his bluff. “How’d you know I’d text?”
He smirked. “Because we had fun at the beach. And because you’re lonely.”
I stood silently, unsure what to say. He was right on both accounts.
“I just never imagined I’d get lucky enough to be your drunk text.” He pulled the refrigerator door open and reached inside.
The jingle of bottles sped up my already erratic heartbeat. If I wasn’t the voice of reason, things could get real. Fast. “Will I get arrested?”
He laughed. “What do you expect to happen tonight?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, unable to deal with him and his flirting. “I meant the beer.”
He closed the fridge with two beers in his hand. “Well, that’s too bad.”
I struggled to maintain what little composure I had left. “Let me get a bottle opener.” I reached into the nearby utensil drawer. What was I doing? What the hell was I doing?
I felt the heat of Trace’s body move behind me. I froze, closing my eyes to gather what sanity I still possessed.
“When was the last time he touched you?” Trace’s breath fanned over my bare shoulders.
“What?” my voice quivered.
He placed the bottles down on t
he counter.
Ohmigod.
His hands landed on my shoulders. The warmth emanating from his touch seared my skin as his hands moved slowly down my arms. “You deserve to be touched by a real man.”
A delicious shiver rolled through me. Shiiiit.
“Growing up, you were in every one of my fantasies, Marin.”
Goosebumps scampered over my skin as I swallowed down my nerves.
His hands drifted back up my arms, slowly, possessively. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in the water.” He stepped into me, shifting his hips so his erection pressed against my ass.
The ache between my legs came hard and fast, nearly bringing me to my knees.
“Did you realize I could see your lacy bra through your wet shirt?”
“No,” I whispered because it was all I could muster.
“And that thong. That fucking thong,” he rasped. “Did you realize how badly you’d be teasing me?”
I squeezed my eyes, my body humming with want and need. I’d never felt so compelled to touch someone before. Someone I shouldn’t. The urge prickled my fingers, static electricity pulsing in the tips. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached over my shoulder letting my fingertips trail over the stubble on Trace’s jawline. My mind told me he was a kid, but his body and the way he carried himself so confidently—knowing what he wanted and exactly how to get it—was so damn masculine.
“Don’t start something you have no intention of finishing,” Trace’s gravelly voice warned.
“Just one more minute,” I breathed.
“One more minute and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs.”
A ripple rolled through my stomach. I believed he’d do it. I believed everything he said. He’d given me no reason not to. But I was getting in over my head. And regardless of how good he felt...and smelled...and looked, I dropped my hand and twisted away, rushing into the living room. “You should leave.”
“Leave?” Trace followed me into the room carrying the beers and opener. “I thought things were just getting good.”
I stopped at the front door with my hand on the knob. “Good?”
Ignoring me, he walked to the sofa and dropped down onto it. “Come sit with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” He opened the bottles then glanced up at me. “Can’t you trust yourself with me?”
“It’s you I don’t trust,” I assured him.
He laughed. “I’m not gonna touch you until I know you’re ready.”
“What do you call what just happened in the kitchen?”
“That was me making sure you knew where I stood.”
I shook my head at the absurdity of the whole situation. And only because I looked ridiculous standing at the door did I move to the love seat opposite where he sat on the sofa.
“Uh-uh.” He patted the spot beside him.
I wanted to stand my ground. To keep my distance. To be stronger. But my resolve was seriously waning when it came to Trace. And, shamelessly, I moved toward him, grabbing one of the beers and taking a long swallow before I sat down beside him.
Not only was I in the middle of a divorce, I was becoming a lush and serving a teenager alcohol. Forget hell, I was going to jail.
An awkward silence descended as we both sat there drinking our beers. What was I supposed to say now that I’d just stepped over some pretty major lines?
“I miss him too,” Trace said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
My eyes cut to his.
“And if it’s any consolation, you still have me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Says the guy who’s leaving town soon.”
“Not for another month.”
Exactly. A month and I’d be a distant memory. He’d be back on campus. He’d be traveling for football. He’d have his choice of girls. Girls.
“A lot can happen in a month,” he said, and it sounded a lot like of a promise.
I swallowed around the dryness in my throat as another silence descended upon us.
“I was serious when I said I want you to bring CJ to my home games.”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t hold him to it, but it was nice of him to offer.
“I get family seats right up front. I want to be able to see you guys cheering me on.”
I tipped back my beer, wondering how that would work. His mother would just love having me there so she could grill me for more information to pass on to her friends. “Do we have to wear your jersey?”
He laughed. “And paint my number on your cheeks.” He reached over and brushed his thumb over my cheek, igniting a path of tingles.
“We could do that,” I said, trying to steady any chance of a quiver in my voice.
“I don’t want you getting jealous. There might be quite a few girls with my number on their bodies.”
I scoffed. “I think I can handle it.”
He raised his brows as he slid his arm around the back of the sofa and dropped his hand on my shoulder, easing me into him. “Come here.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, relishing in the way it felt.
“So what are we gonna do while CJ’s away?”
I closed my eyes on a sigh. How did he always know? How did he always know the right thing to say, and exactly what I needed? Charles never knew. He never considered me. I could see that clearer than ever with Trace in our lives.
“He never let me drink beer.”
“What?”
“Charles. He never let me drink beer.”
He pulled back and looked me in the eyes, disbelief written in his features. “No shit?”
“Nope. He said wine was more sophisticated.”
“What an asshole.”
“He never let me eat in bed,” I continued.
Trace balked at the ridiculousness that had become my life.
“Or jump on the bed. CJ and I used to do it just to tease him and he wouldn’t even crack a smile. Can you believe that?”
“I can’t believe him not wanting to have fun with his wife and son.”
I pulled in a deep breath. How had I been so blind? How had I settled? “Oh, and he hated ice cream. Who hates ice cream?”
“A douchebag.”
I laughed.
“What the hell were you doing with him?”
“I have no idea.”
* * *
My eyes cracked open. Sunlight filtered into my living room through my front window blinds. I jolted up. The blanket that somehow ended up on me dropped to the floor. My head twisted around my living room. My empty living room.
A mortified pit formed in the deep recesses of my stomach. What had I done? What had I let happen? What had I been thinking touching Trace?
His words came rushing back at me all at once. I’d been in his fantasies. I dropped my face into my palms. Oh my freaking God. What woman wouldn’t be flattered by that? Yep. That’s what made me touch him. It was the only reason I would’ve done it.
The hum of a lawnmower floated into my living room. It was close by. Really close by. I stood and walked to my French doors, peeking out at my backyard. A shirtless Trace pushed a lawnmower in perfect lines from one side of my yard to the other. Talk about a lawn boy fantasy. As if he heard my thoughts, his head turned and our eyes locked. I shrugged, as if to ask what he was doing. A cool smile slipped across his lips and he held up his finger. I glanced around, realizing he was just about done.
I walked back over to the sofa and dropped down, wondering what the hell I’d say to him now that the darkness was gone and all we had was the clarity of sunlight.
Outside, the hum of the mower switched off and Trace’s footsteps resounded up the deck steps. “Morning,” he said as he pulled open the door.
“You didn’t have to mow my lawn.”
He wiped off his grass covered feet before walking into the living room. “I wanted to.”
My eyes zoned in on his shirtless chest. God, it was even bett
er in broad daylight. I just wanted to touch it before I went to hell. Just once.
“Marin?”
My eyes jumped to his.
His easy smile told me he liked me looking. But as the adult in the room, I knew better.
I shook my head to somehow clear my thoughts. “Did you sleep here?”
He crossed his arms. “I did.”
Sudden fear grabbed hold of me. How much had I drunk? Did I pass out or fall asleep?
He stifled a smile, though I could see the wheels turning as they played out across his face.
“What?” I asked.
“I was just wondering how long I can go on making you think something happened before I have to tell you the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?”
“I slept right there.” He pointed to the loveseat.
A breathed whooshed out of me.
“Relief is definitely not the reaction I get from only sleeping at a girl’s place.”
I cocked my head. “Probably because there’s not a lot of sleeping going on.”
He laughed. “Okay, so maybe I don’t struggle getting girls’ attention.” He paused. “Except maybe one girl’s.”
Quivers hit me deep in my core. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
I closed my eyes, needing to resist his damn charm while not looking at him shirtless and sweaty in my living room. “Don’t make me feel things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things I haven’t felt since I was a teenager.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
I opened my eyes, unable to tell up from down with him in my house. In my space. In my head.
He ticked his head toward the front door. “You want me to go?”
“I don't know what I want.” I scrubbed my hands up and down my face as if that would bring me some clarity. “I almost can’t be trusted when you’re around.”
His face lit up. “I like where this is going.”
Exasperation emanated off me. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“But it could,” he countered.
“And I could be arrested.”
“Stop it, Marin.” His voice became annoyed. “I’m legal. I’m a senior in college, not high school.”
“What are you even doing here? You have girls lined up for you. Girls. Not some lonely mother whose husband cheated on her.”
