White Widow

by Kaitlyn Cross

  “Oh,” I smile, blushing from ear to ear. “I’m sure it will be amazing.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to swing by later and find out.” Releasing my hand, he trades a smug grin with Paula and Jase. “This place isn’t going to know what hit them tonight.”

  “That’s what I want to hear, Lincoln. Let’s roll these motherfuckers up,” Jase says, slapping hands with him.

  “Jesus, Jase,” Paula says, rolling her eyes. “Take it easy, will ya? This isn’t Twin Peak’s.”

  “What? I’m just amped.”

  Lincoln shoots a hand into the air and snaps his fingers. A tall, thin man dressed in a black bowtie lumbers over, a pitcher of ice water in one hand and bushy eyebrows climbing his expansive forehead. Lincoln waits for him to bend down before speaking in a low voice. “Someone turned all the center pieces face down. Can you go fix them up for us, Ned?”

  “Yes, Chef,” Ned replies, giving Lincoln a royal bow before disappearing into the sea of humanity chomping at the bit. Everyone is drinking on an empty stomach and bursts of laughter are starting to pepper the room like fireworks, bouncing off the walls.

  “Goddammit!” Jase angrily shakes his head. “I told you my dad was messing with the tables.”

  Paula watches him follow Ned into the crowd, biting back a smile. “His dad is such a rascal.”

  “I should probably get back to the kitchen.” Lincoln tips his head to me like Paula doesn’t exist. “Enjoy your meal.”

  His warm smile steals my breath and I have no words. It’s all I can do to force a weak smile and I feel like such a fool. Paula gives me a weird look before turning to watch Lincoln disappear into the kitchen.

  “What was that?” she asks, clutching a glass of champagne to her chest.

  “What was what?”

  She turns back to me, pointing between me and where Lincoln was just standing. “That!”

  “That was nothing,” I confess, blood creeping into my cheeks.

  “Uh-huh,” Paula mutters, face brightening when a handsome man in a black sports jacket bends to kiss her on the cheek.

  “You look amazing,” the man says, looking her up and down. “Wow! And so does Proof. This place is beyond words, Paula. I love it.” His eyes flick to me, making my heart flip.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” Paula gushes, gesturing at me with her glass. “I want you to meet my good friend, Sienna. Sienna, this is Jack.”

  Staring up into his icy blue eyes, I give his hand a firm shake because I’m no wet noodle. “Professor McConnel,” I say, feeding his grin.

  “I see my reputation precedes itself,” he says, holding my hand while sharpening his gaze. “Modern Religion and Culture.”

  My heart jumps. “Monday, Wednesday,” I reply, desperately trying not to trip over my words. My breath comes faster because I can’t believe he remembers me. There must be over two hundred people in that lecture alone and God knows how many others he tackles on a weekly basis. I’m glad the lights are low because I can feel my face turning beet red. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve fantasized about fucking him six ways to Sunday and it always begins with me staying after class.

  Finally freeing my hand, he cheers me with a scotch on the rocks, a coy grin brushing his lips like he’s reading my dirty little mind. “Here’s to Monday, Wednesday.”

  Clinking my glass against his, I drink in the champagne and his sexy eyes all at the same time.

  Smiling, Paula’s tight gaze bounces between us. “God, Jack,” she laughs, setting a hand on his forearm. “What’re you going to do? Send her to detention?”

  We share an awkward laugh because I don’t know what that means. Jack and I stare at each other over our glasses, butterflies tickling my insides like I’m seventeen all over again.

  Chapter Four

  Tornado of Chaos

  Present Day

  That was all it took. Just one look and my whole life changed. I brought home three business cards that night – one from Lincoln, one from his brother Jack, and one from some middle-aged pet toy salesman whose name I don’t recall. I had a 33.3 % chance of texting the right person and I screwed it all up because that’s what I do best. Unfortunately for me, Lincoln ended up working late that night and I ended up fucking Jack in his convertible Corvette under a blanket of stars out by the lake. The following Monday, he fucked me on his desk after class. A year later, we were engaged. Twelve months after that…just married. What can I say? I was young and dumb and the rest is cringeworthy history.

  Shining a flashlight between Jack’s prized ’57 Corvette and the garage wall, Lincoln straightens up and switches off the light in his hand. Turning, he runs into me and startles. “You mind?”

  “Sorry,” I whisper, giving him some breathing room. “See anything?”

  His eyes gravitate to the workbench glowing beneath a recessed light, seeming to unearth some deeply buried memory. Good or bad, I do not know. He and Jack weren’t the closest brothers in the world but Lincoln helped him work on this damn car his fair share of times while I fetched them cold beers and chicken salad sandwiches cut diagonally. Always diagonally. “Nothing,” Lincoln breathes, setting the flashlight on the bench. “No sign of excrement or nesting either. It looks clean.”

  My gaze is sucked back in through the open doorway leading into the kitchen, getting swept up in a whirlwind of explanations because I definitely heard something last night. “Then what…”

  “Probably just a raccoon crawling around up on the roof, or maybe something fell over in here.” He gestures to a golf bag leaning awkwardly in one corner.

  Nodding, I bite my tongue because he’s probably right. More than likely, I was hearing things. After all, my husband just died and my mind has been spinning out of control ever since. My senses are heightened. Everything is louder, closer, warmer. “Well, thank you for looking.”

  Lincoln glances at the black show car with red leather seats gleaming beneath the garage lights, reliving some memory of he and Jack on a wild test ride to grab more transmission fluid or cold beer. This was the one place where they connected. Right here in this garage. Even then, I remember some heated words when parts didn’t quite fit right or something got lost, especially when Jack was tired and hungry. He could be a dick, no doubt about it.

  “You want it?”

  Lincoln’s eyes jerk to me and thin.

  “Hang on,” I announce, passing Jack’s black BMW in the far stall and going back into the kitchen.

  Lincoln follows, stopping abruptly when I snatch a set of keys from a hook next to the door.

  “Take it,” I say, dropping them in his hand.

  Looking up from the Corvette emblem, he hands them back. “No thanks.”

  Forcing his fingers around them, his sweet-smelling cologne fills my lungs, making my heart beat faster in my chest. “Please, he would want you to have it.” Suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m talking about the car or me.

  Lines forge through his forehead in the dim light spilling over the farm sink, a brooding look hardening his eyes. “I don’t want anything of his.”

  My heart sinks with his words. Patting his hand, I speak in a soft whisper. “Then I want you to have it.” I smile and turn to the fridge. “I’ve got enough on my plate trying to get rid of this house and everything in it.”

  Loosening the knot in a black necktie, he undoes the top button of his shirt. “So, you are moving then?”

  I pull two water bottles from the fridge and pass him one. He declines me again, so I set it on the island between us. “Well, I can’t stay here.”

  His eyes gravitate to the French doors overlooking the dark backyard. “Yeah, I guess not,” he says, tossing the keys on the island. “But I’m still not taking the car.”

  “You could sell it and buy your food truck. After all of the times you came to my rescue, you deserve it more than anyone. Plus, you built half the thing.”

  In a blur, he rushes across the room and steps into my face. Glaring down at me, his m
uscular chest heaves beneath his silky suit and when he speaks there’s no hiding the disdain in his voice. “I didn’t help you for money.”

  Shrinking into my dress, I can only draw enough breath to mutter four short words. “Then, why did you?”

  His chest swells, hands balling into fists, and for a moment I’m afraid of him. Even though he was adopted and doesn’t share Jack’s tainted DNA, I can’t help feeling it will happen again. No one ever hit me before and it changed me. Sensing the fear in my eyes, he backs off and lowers his voice. “Because you deserved better than my brother, that’s why.”

  “It wasn’t your responsibility to clean up after Jack’s tornado of chaos swept through my life every time, Lincoln.”

  “I know it wasn’t.”

  “Then, why?”

  His brow folds. “Where will you go?” he asks, unable to hold back another second.

  I can tell he’s pissed and it makes me happy. I try not to smile because he does care, he just won’t admit it. And why would he? He’s my brother-in-law, for Christ’s sake. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Will you stay here in town?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  Faces just inches apart, I study him in the pale light, searching for more ways to avoid saying what I really feel. I want him to stay the night. I want to go back in time and do things differently, but I can’t. Lincoln steps closer, backing me up against the sink. “This family is here for you no matter where you go, and we will always be here for you.”

  “I know.” My voice comes out as a pathetic whimper, body trembling as if I’m cold. But I’m not. His cologne mixes with my perfume and I hate myself for loving it. His lips are so close, it would be easy to lean up on my toes and kiss him. I want to. In my heart, it seems like the answer to all my problems but, in fact, I know it’s the exact opposite. I have a penchant for making bad decisions I get from my mom. When I was four, my father died in a street race, so maybe I get some of it from him as well. If I were a superhero, that would be my kryptonite. Or would it be my power? The bottom line is: Lincoln’s family has been through enough.

  His breath washes over my face in warm waves and I can hear his throat click when he swallows. His heated gaze warms me all over and I know exactly what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too. I lean against the sink, fighting the flush of heat between my legs. A knot of need tightens in my gut when he bends to press his lips to mine. My entire body shakes. I’ve fantasized about this for so long and now that it’s finally happening, I can barely move. Lincoln passes my lips and kisses me softly on the cheek before whispering in my ear. “You should get some sleep,” he says, pivoting on his heels and walking out of the kitchen.

  Brain scrambling, the room spins around me in an unsteady blur. “Wait!” I yell without knowing why. No, that’s not true. I know why. I want more than a kiss on the cheek and hate myself for even thinking such a thing, but it’s too late, the seed already planted.

  Turning, he stares me down from across the room.

  It’s all I can do to keep from collapsing under the weight of those green fucking eyes. My breath is short and if it wasn’t for the sink, I’d already be melting into a pile of mush on the floor.

  His eyebrows go up.

  Swallowing thickly, I collect my wits. “Thanks again for the ride,” I pant, chest heaving beneath my black dress.

  He studies me for a few perplexed seconds, before smiling and walking away. The front door shuts behind him and I put two fingers against my cheek, collecting what’s left of his lips. Without moving, I listen to his car start out in the driveway. The engine revs and my heart races. Pulling my hand from my face, I stare at my fingertips, searching for the mystical Pixi dust that just turned my stomach inside out. In all of my years, I’ve never felt anything like that before and I want more. Much more.

  Chapter Five

  Mary, Mary

  One Week Later

  I thought people would be dropping off warm smiles and casseroles for the next two months. I was wrong. The house has grown as quiet as a monastery and I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad about it. I know people want to give me my space and, at this point, don’t know what more to say. After all, one can only say they’re sorry so many times before getting on with their lives. Just the same, I feel like I have a disease. Yesterday afternoon, I ran into one of my yoga regulars at Starbucks and hated the way she apologetically tap-danced around our shallow conversation while slowly edging closer to the door with a Unicorn Frappuccino sweating almost as badly as she was. I’m not a leper. I’m not contagious. Yet, no one will talk to me and maybe that’s for the best.

  Muting The Young and the Restless, I check my cellphone again and lean back into the couch. Lincoln hasn’t reached out since dropping me off after the funeral and I can only assume he’s gotten on with his life as well. I mean, out of all the guys in the world, I pick him to center my thoughts on and I couldn’t feel more foolish. For instance, I could be thinking about the tall drink of water in the Thursday morning yoga class I teach for pennies on the dollar. Kurt is handsome as hell and I’m pretty sure he’s only there to meet women. There’s never a ring on his finger and always an erection in his yoga pants. A few weeks ago, I caught him staring at my ass during a downward dog demonstration and when he offered to buy me a smoothie after class, I had to politely remind him I’m married while trying not to gape at the massive protrusion poking from his pants like a polyester ghost. I’d be lying if I said I never thought about grabbing it. I could be thinking about him and his giant boner right now but I’m not.

  I’m thinking about Lincoln and if he knew I sometimes imagined his face whenever Jack hurriedly buried his cock in me, I would die of shame. The thought of never seeing Lincoln again saddens me greatly even though I know it’s for the best. But who will I call when I need someone to help me put the pieces back together? No one, that’s who. This time, I do it myself. Besides, where could something like that possibly lead? It’s taboo, and why would I want to thrust that upon his family? I don’t, so I won’t.

  Bringing a steaming mug of coffee to my lips, I blow on it and try to recall the last time I had sex with a human. It was probably around two months ago when Jack came home drunk one stormy night and forced himself on me. I can still smell the scotch on his breath. Still feel the cold marble against my cheek as he bent me over the kitchen island and took me from behind like some two-bit street whore he’d never see again. That’s what our sex life had become. Faceless. Nameless. The doorbell rings and I burn my tongue with hot coffee.

  Setting the mug down, I hurry across the room, bare feet slapping against the hardwoods. “Shit,” I whisper, grimacing at my reflection in a foyer mirror and throwing my wild hair into a ponytail of submission. I look like hell and if Lincoln is at the door right now I will never live it down. I usually don’t sleep this… The doorbell rings again, pulling my eyes to the outline of someone standing on the other side of the frosted glass. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my Linkin Park concert tee and courageously pull back the heavy door.

  Mary frowns at my beleaguered appearance, dressed like she’s just come from work. “Did you just wake up?”

  “No,” I pant, trying to hide my disappointment that she’s not Lincoln. “I was just finishing up some yoga. Come on in.”

  Crossing the threshold, Mary suspiciously eyes the place over as if she’s entering a grisly crime scene. I shut and lock the door before following her into the sunlit living room where she takes a seat in the middle of the couch and doesn’t say a word. Just eyeballs me for a few long seconds that make me squirm.

  “Coffee?” I ask.

  “No thanks, I had enough at work.” Crossing her shapely legs, she straightens a yellow summer dress that compliments her long, red hair. “I went in at five to finish setting up for the new release of The Haunting of Campbell House 2 and I think I drank an entire pot of coffee.”

  “That comes out today?”

  Mary nods.
“Ran out of copies over two hours ago,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You know how this town loves their Lewis brothers.”

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  Patting the cushion next to her, she scoots over a little. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”

  I sit down next to her and she immediately takes my hand. Mary is a touchy feely type and I’m not. I want to take it back without offending her but don’t know how. Instead, I blow out a breath that flutters a loose lock dangling in my face. “I’m doing good. How about you?”

  Surveying the empty pizza boxes and wine bottles littering the coffee table, Mary wrinkles her tiny freckled nose. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Gently prying my hand from hers, I pretend to adjust my ponytail. “Not yet.”

  “You want to go grab something?” Leaning back into the couch, she picks a piece of lint from her dress and lets it float to the floor. “We were so busy at the library today, I barely had time to use the restroom let alone eat breakfast.” She stops swinging a mint-colored high heel through the air. “I could really go for something greasy.”

  “Greasy?” Tilting my head to one side, I frown because Mary is a certified health nut. “You?” She looks away and I know something is wrong. “What happened?”

  Dismissing it with a quick shake of the head, tears build in her eyes. “Nothing.”

  “Mary,” I say, shifting next to her on the couch. “What happened?”

  Looking up, she bravely meets my beleaguered stare. Her jaw opens and nothing comes out.

  I lift my brow, anticipation twisting my insides. Maybe something terrible happened with Lincoln. Maybe he moved to another state or hung himself after taking too many pills. “Out with it.”

  “I had sex with Weaver last night,” Mary blurts, slapping a hand over her mouth.

  Relief washes over me because Lincoln is safe; I’m just overreacting again. “Okay, is that a good thing or not?”