Who needs fairy godmothers when alcohol does the trick?
“Come on!” Her full lips spread wide into a smile that takes up most of her pretty face. Her glassy eyes tell me she’s way past drunk, but I already knew that. We passed drunk a couple of hours ago.
“We should go,” I say, taking a sip of my water. I haven’t touched a drop of the good stuff all night. Someone’s got to take care of her, and I don’t mind because clearly, she needed this more than me. “Bars are closing in an hour.”
And she’s going to feel like shit in the morning if she doesn’t slow down.
Her body shimmies, and she cracks another wide smile. I love this girl. And I don’t mean it in the way people say when they talk about baseball or craft beer or the best man at their wedding.
I love Magnolia Grantham.
A handful of years ago, the world was ours for the taking. She was my best friend. My number one. She called me out on my shit, and I gave everything to her straight. Friday nights were ours. The Chinese takeout spot on her block knew us by name, and everyone who knew of us assumed we were some married powerhouse couple. Our inseparability grew from an organic place, transforming somewhere along the line into a simmering codependence that never truly went away.
Functioning these last two years without Magnolia has been the emotional equivalent of losing a limb.
She takes my hand and threads our fingers, leading me out to the middle of the crowded dance floor where some pseudo-famous DJ spins handcrafted remixes of Top 40 hits. She lifts my hand above her, doing a spin, and then takes my other hand in hers, placing my hands on her hips as she sways to the beat.
Magnolia’s arms rise above her head, and her face turns side to side, her long, dark waves falling around her shoulders. She’s a sweaty, exhilarated bundle of energy who’s showing no signs of slowing down.
The southern beauty queen dances in time, but it’s all slow motion to me. I savor this like it’s all going to be gone the second I wake up tomorrow, because that’s the reality of the situation. I step to the beat, gripping her hips and pulling her into me inch by inch. It’s nice not having her hate me, even if it’s only because she’s temporarily too drunk to remember to do so.
The song ends, and Magnolia pulls sticky strands of hair from her face. I always liked her better with her hair down. Disheveled. Carefree. But I liked her boardroom persona too. She’s a fucking shark when it comes to cutting deals.
It’s why we were perfect together. It’s why we were this close to owning the Manhattan real estate world before we fell apart for reasons unknown.
“Let’s go.” The song ends, and I lead her by the arm toward the side of the dance floor as the next number begins.
She pouts, and I neglect to inform her that I don’t want this night to end either—though I’m sure our reasons differ.
I lead her outside to the shiny red Corvette parked down the street between a platinum Porsche and a snow-white Audi coupe, both with New York plates. The flashing marquee signs and the warm glow of the street lamps paint her in vibrant shades of gold and amber.
I could kiss her right now—a punishing kiss—one that injects years of all-consuming regret from my lips to hers without saying a word. I need to feel her gorgeous smile against my mouth, and I want to press her against me, feeling how my body fills the parts of her that curve and bend.
We walk to the passenger door, and I lean for the handle, unable to take my gaze off Magnolia and the way she radiates right now like every part of her is alive. It’s like I’m staring into a portal with a direct view of the past.
Living history.
This is the girl I fell in love with.
The girl I need to be with.
The girl who belongs to me.
“What?” Her smile fades. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I don’t speak.
“Xavier.” Her brows meet. “What?”
My answer doesn’t come in the form of words. It doesn’t need to.
I smash my lips into hers, my hands cupping her face and my fingers tangling into her soft waves. Our mouths dance in tandem, grazing, smashing, and barely coming up for air. My tongue slips past her lips, finding hers. Magnolia’s body tenses then releases. She’s not fighting the kiss, at least not physically. I can only imagine the war her head and her heart are waging right now, but it’s the least of my concerns.
I’ve craved those lips for years. I’ve missed that smile every single day. This girl, the one who makes all the others fade into the background, is mine.
I need her.
And she may not admit it, but she needs me too.
Millions of women live in the city, but none of them know me the way she does. None of them picked me up when my brother passed away. None of them nursed me back to health after a month in the hospital with a severe case of pancreatitis. None of them put up with my shit or knew how to put me in my place the way she did. Our industry is filled with social climbers and bullshitters. Magnolia is as real as they come.
She’s coming back. I feel it in the way my soul sparks when I claim her honeyed lips.
“Fuck,” I groan into her mouth, my fingers digging into her scalp. “Where have you been, Magnolia Grantham? Why’d you stay away so long?”
Her mouth hardens. Her palms press against my chest. Just like that, I’m losing her all over again.
We don’t float back to earth in some hazy, passionate stupor. We’ve been violently tossed from the fervent stratosphere that temporarily contained us.
“We should get going.” She climbs into the passenger side of the ‘Vette.
CHAPTER 5
MAGNOLIA GRANTHAM
WHAT THE HELL is wrong with me?
I press the window button as Xavier drives us back to the house. I need fresh air and a clear head, because right now, I’m beyond buzzing and my thoughts say one thing while my body does another.
I’m falling right back into his trap, and that’s the last place I need to be. I’ve come too far to end up right back where I started.
Xavier doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t turn the radio on. We ride in silence, together yet alone with our thoughts.
All I know is I loved him once. Maybe a part of me still does. But he hurt me in the worst way and at the worst time. I didn’t come here prepared to have to think about what it might feel like to be kissed by him again, but it happened. It’s done. And now I have to wrap my head around it and make sense of it.
Xavier pulls into the private drive ten minutes later. Crashing waves highlighted by moonbeams make for a wasted romantic view.
Nice try, Mother Nature.
He parks in the garage, and I climb out and head inside. I step out of my heels once I’m inside and pad across the hardwood toward the bottom of the stairs.
The door shuts.
I feel him behind me, a heaviness that won’t go quietly into the night. My heart bangs inside my chest, clarity seeping into the corners of my mind by the second as the drunken buzz subsides.
I slowly spin to face him, the man who broke me. And then I ask him the question. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you?”
“Magnolia.” His voice is low, his stare heating me with radiant intensity. “What are you talking about?”
I shouldn’t have asked. Not here. Not like this. Not at nearly two in the morning. And certainly not after years of estrangement and a night of drinking.
Our history is rich, spanning years and going deep. We at least owe it to ourselves to inject this conversation with better timing and a bit of respect.
“Forget I said anything.” I take the first step.
“You were good enough for me.”
I stop. My heart almost breaks all over again. He’s telling me what I want to hear, just like he always did. It’s a strength of his. Something I never could master.
I spew truths straight up, no chaser. He glazes everything with a thick coat of honey and a dimpled smile.
“Jus
t . . . stop.” I grip the bannister and take another three steps. “Don’t do this.”
“You are good enough for me.”
I listen for his footsteps. They don’t come. He’s not chasing after me. He’s not going to make a show or a grand gesture. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I’m not sure how I’d react.
“I’m tired.” Fatigue blankets me. I take another step, then two more. Facing away from him, I lift my fingertips to my lips. They still tingle where he kissed me. “Goodnight, Xavier.”
“Did you have fun with me tonight?” he asks once I reach the top of the stairs.
I shuffle across the catwalk toward my suite, watching him. From up here, he looks so harmless, so sweet. He doesn’t look like the guy who ripped my heart to shreds with a handful of words once upon a time.
The word “yes” nearly escapes my lips, but I’ll save it for the morning, when I have a clear head about things. Maybe in the morning, I’ll feel like talking some more. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get some answers.
For now, I don’t want him thinking we’re friends again. A new friendship with Xavier is a gateway to dangerous places.
That much I know to be true.
CHAPTER 6
XAVIER FOX
SWEAT DRIPS DOWN MY FACE, trickling behind my ears and into my eyes. I’m running, my lungs expanding as windy gusts of warm, sea-salted air blast my face. My feet shuffle in the sand.
I slow down, approaching the grass path to the beach house. With hands on my hips, I catch my breath and mentally pat myself on the back for not drinking last night. Running with a hangover isn’t exactly fun.
I take the steps up to the house, which is eerily quiet when I get inside. Magnolia is still sleeping, which is good. She needs the sleep after all the fun she had last night.
After a quick shower and change, I veer toward the kitchen and whip up a breakfast fit for a king.
Magnolia sleeps through all the clinking and clamoring.
I’m tempted to check on her, but I resist, opting to plate her food and cover it with some plastic wrap. A certified peace offering.
I dine alone, at the head of a long table lined with the kind of chairs you keep around for family and friends. Addison and Wilder must have a lot of those. I met Wilder years back, when I was just starting out selling real estate and he’d just started his property investment firm. I tipped him off on some SoHo apartments and we clicked. He never ended up hiring me as his agent—he already had someone—but we kept in touch and became friends.
Funny how the first place Magnolia went when she decided to have nothing to do with me was the Van Cleef Agency. She knew damn well Wilder and I were friends, and Addison had been itching to bring us on.
The whooshing of water through pipes preceded by light footsteps upstairs tell me Magnolia is awake. I finish my breakfast, rinse my plate, and put it away.
“What’s this?” She asks a minute later, appearing at the opposite end of the kitchen island. She points at the covered plate.
“Your breakfast.” I head to the fridge and grab a carton of orange juice. “You had quite the time last night. You need to eat.”
I’m sure she’s cursing me inside for telling her what to do, but there’s something oddly satisfying about taking care of a woman who refuses to be coddled. It usually comes in small rewards, like the tease of a smile she fights or the glint in her eye when she doesn’t want me to know she secretly likes it.
Only this time, she looks past me, her lips straight. She wears exhaustion, rubbing her temples and squinting as her eyes adjust to the light-filled kitchen. I lean against the counter, arms folded, as she takes a seat and scoots in.
“Thank you for this.” She unwraps the plastic and picks up a fork, picking through the scrambled eggs and overturning a piece of bacon.
Still picky as ever.
“Salt and pepper in the eggs,” I say. “Turkey bacon. Ancient Grains toast with organic butter. Nothing crazy.”
She takes a bite of toast, and I bring her a small cup of apple juice. Conversation ceases. There’s no sound but that of silverware clinking on china.
“How are you feeling?” I ask a few minutes later because I can’t stand a minute of this awkward tension between us.
“Fine.”
I don’t buy it.
She takes a lady-like sip of juice, staring out the window at the restless waves crashing by the dunes. Funny how peaceful they were this morning. Now they seem stirred.
“You remember much about last night?” I ask.
“Not a thing.” She places her glass on the table with a steady thud, returning her attention to her plate.
I’ll gladly fill her in. “We kissed.”
“That didn’t happen.” Her words are monotonous, and she doesn’t miss a beat.
“How would you know if you don’t remember anything?”
I take the seat next to her, mentally willing her to lighten up, for fuck’s sake.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I kissed you last night.” I cut to the chase. “And you kissed me back. I’m not sure you know drunk Magnolia as well as you think you do.”
“You kissed me?” She winces, dropping her fork with a quick clink against the plate. Her eyes avoid mine and her head shakes. “Why would you do that, Xavier?”
“I had no choice.”
“You’re an asshole.” She shoves the half-finished breakfast away from her and stands up.
“Where are you going?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I’m not sorry for kissing you,” I call after her. “For the record.”
She stomps up the stairs, muttering something I can’t understand. I head toward the landing, smirking as she keeps walking.
“Are we going to talk about this?” I’m kicking the hornet’s nest good and hard.
“Nothing to talk about.” She stops when she reaches the top, turning to look at me. Her hands fly in the air as strands of her wild bedhead tousle around her face. “If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen. And shame on you for taking advantage of me.”
Still not sorry.
Wait. I am sorry.
I’m sorry she refuses to pull her head out of her ass and have a normal, adult conversation with me.
“What did I do to make you hate me, Magnolia?” I’m yelling now, because my insides are all fired up now. I want a fucking answer. A straight one. I deserve something. You don’t fuck your best friend all night long then cut off ties the next morning without saying a word.
Her jaw falls, her dark brows lifting as if my audacity shocks and appalls her.
I take the steps, two at a time. If she’s not going to give me an answer, I’ll come up there and take it from her. I sure as hell didn’t expect to see her this weekend, but I’m not about to spend the rest of my life kicking myself for not seizing the opportunity when I had the chance.
“What are you doing?” Her arms fold.
“Talk to me.” Each step I take toward her pushes her farther away until she backs herself against a wall.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” Her chin lifts, her flickering gaze settling into mine with stubborn tenacity. “You did what you did. We went our separate ways. End of story.”
“No.” My head shakes, and my hand clenches in the air because I need to choke something. This woman holds my heart between her teeth, frustrating the ever-loving shit out of me, but I refuse to accept this bullshit version of her story. “Something happened, Magnolia. I spent the night with you. I told you how I felt. We made love three times that night. The next morning, you were gone. Physically and emotionally.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I know what I saw. I know what I heard.”
“Magnolia, what are you talking about?”
A kiss.
A kiss would solve everything right now.
If she could feel the way I feel about her, she would know.
Maybe she’d reconsider.
&nb
sp; “We belong together.” I step toward her, only she recoils when I reach for her chin. “I don’t know what I did to hurt you, but you need to tell me how to fix it.”
“You can’t.”
I sigh, lowering my hand from her face and instantly missing the kiss I almost stole from her.
“What do you want me to do? Huh, Magnolia?”
“Just . . . leave. Please.” She ducks away from me, heading to her room.
I don’t back down easily, if ever. And I’m certainly not about to leave this exchange just as unsatisfied as I was going into it. At the very least, I’ll deposit my dignity at her feet, but I’m sure as hell taking the last word.
“You want me to leave? Fine. I’ll go. But you should know something.”
“What?” She won’t look at me, but her ear tilts my way just enough that I know she wants to hear what I have to say.
“You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved. Maybe that scares you. Maybe you don’t buy it. I don’t know. But this might be the last time I get the chance to tell you, and you should know that. There was no one before you, and there’s been no one since you.”
She turns her face away from me, tucking her chin against her chest and dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
For the tiniest moment, I’m sure she’s coming back to me.
I’ve broken through.
I’ve cracked that diamond-strength exterior of hers.
My breath suspends.
With her back toward me, she twists the handle to her door and disappears inside.
CHAPTER 7
MAGNOLIA GRANTHAM
I REMEMBER THE KISS.
I remember every single second of that kiss, from the way my fists balled and my body tensed to the way my toes curled and my resolve disintegrated. His tongue was delicious cinnamon, his hands in my hair declaring that I was his all over again. With his lips smashing mine, the past vaporized and the future became irrelevant. We were in that moment, he and I, and nothing else existed.
And then he spoke, and I came to my senses.
I knew he’d want to talk about it this morning, so I faked drunken amnesia and played that card to the best of my ability.
Bitter Rivals: a novella Page 3
