by Lex Martin
So he didn’t call me much while he was away. I know work has kept him busy. He owns property all over Texas and commutes often between Dallas and Austin to manage a new housing development he and his family are building. I love that he’s motivated and on top of his shit. At least one of us is.
Jamie peels off his t-shirt, putting those gorgeous muscles on display. A sigh escapes me as he wedges himself between my thighs. His rough jeans scrape my skin, but I don’t care.
In the two point two seconds we’ve been in his bedroom, he’s managed to strip me of most of my clothes, except for my black lace bra and thong, which he eyes appreciatively before he presses himself against me.
“Missed you, sugar plum,” he whispers against my neck.
Warm fuzzies fill my chest. Of course he missed me. I knew he did.
The moment his lips touch mine, we’re in a frenzy to get closer, and the Jamie who makes me come undone is back. His hand fists my hair, and he’s sucking on my neck and grinding his cock against me.
I’m lost in a haze of lust until something slams down the hall. Was… was that the front door?
His whole body goes rigid.
“Jamie!” a female voice yells out. “I’m home, baby!”
It’s my turn to frown, especially when I see the expression on his face.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “Get up. Put your shit on.” He leaps off the bed like an Olympic runner at the sound of the starting gun and tosses my shorts and tank top in my face.
I’m still processing what’s happening when he closes the bedroom door, but yells, “I’m coming. Be there in a sec!”
“Who is that?” I didn’t hear the doorbell, and I doubt a contractor would waltz in like that.
Plus, it’s a woman.
He ignores me and yanks on his t-shirt.
With dread slicing through my veins, I open and close my mouth like a beached fish. “Are you…are you seeing someone else?” Holy shit. Is he dating that other waitress I saw him talking to last month? Is he cheating on me?
He buttons his jeans and motions for me to move off the bed. I stand up and slide on my shorts, my mouth still agape as I watch him smooth down the comforter. “Seriously, Jamie. Are you fucking someone else?”
Pushing his hands through his hair, he growls, “Not now, Tori. Just fucking get dressed.”
I wrestle with my tank top. “Please tell me that’s a relative in the other room, and that you’re not screwing around behind my back,” I plead, my voice low. Why I whisper, I have no clue. If he’s cheating on me, I should be screaming in his face and breaking out the crazy.
Footsteps sound down the hall, and a look of panic registers in his eyes.
And then he’s pushing me back along the far end of the room.
Back behind the dresser.
Back behind the teal ottoman.
All the way back to the walk-in closet, where he shoves me into the shadows and tells me to wait.
“What’s going on?” I ask, horrified. Why is he hiding me in the fucking closet?
His eyes clench, and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, okay? Just wait here and be quiet. I’ll explain everything later. Please do this for me. I promise to make it up to you.”
But I don’t have time to respond before he shuts the closet door in my face just seconds before that woman squeals with delight and launches herself in his arms. How can I tell? Because he slammed the closet so hard the sliding door bounced open, and there’s a one-inch gap.
And I can see everything. Her gorgeous black hair and designer clothes. Her lithe body and perfect tan. Those expensive black and red heels with the French name I can’t pronounce.
Then the kissing starts. She’s moaning and telling him how much she missed him. Telling him how she never wants to spend that much time apart again. Saying how much she loves their new house. How she’s going to make it their home.
Does she mean this house? Is this their house?
Nausea overrides my senses, and suddenly, I’m suffocating. Cold sweat breaks out on my body, and I swallow—hard—so I don’t throw up in that asshole’s new Nikes, which are sitting at my feet.
“Are those balloons in the living room for me?” the woman asks excitedly in between attacking his face.
No, bitch. They’re not.
“You know it,” the liar says.
“And the Ranger tickets too?”
He laughs awkwardly, and his body turns toward the closet where he can probably feel me holding up my two middle fingers. Because he knows I don’t have any money, but I spent what little I did on him. To make today special. Because I, Tori Duran, am a dumbass.
At least he has the decency to look sheepish.
He coughs. “Yeah, honey. They’re for you. Thought we should enjoy a game together for once.”
I wipe away the hot tears spilling down my cheeks.
She “awws,” and I want to stab them both with her expensive heels.
“I can’t believe you got me presents on your birthday. We’ll get a babysitter and make a night of it!”
He’s seeing a woman with kids?
Except my horror isn’t over yet. No, it’s when she chirps, “I tell my friends that I have the best husband in the whole world!”
Jesus Christ.
It starts to sink in, and my world tilts on its axis.
Because she’s not the other woman.
I am.
My stomach rolls, and acid lurches up the back of my throat. I slide to my knees and brace myself against the wall, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the nightmare unfolding in front of me.
She pushes him down onto the bed and nestles herself over his body, and he moans the same way he did a few minutes ago when he was touching me.
Except now?
Now he’s fucking his wife.
Tori
One year later
There are a lot of shoulds in this world.
Like…
I should clean this pigsty of an apartment.
I should eat at least one vegetable this week.
I should look for a better paying job.
But my least favorite is the one my older sister mutters. “Tori, you should finish school.”
Ugh. Tell me something I don’t know.
I suck on the generic popsicle that tastes like diluted grape juice and slouch deeper on my ratty couch. Kat, on the other hand, sits as close to the edge of the recliner as humanly possible.
After I take another lick, I wave my purple ice pop at her. “You don’t look comfortable like that.”
She gives me a look. “I’m six and a half months pregnant. If I lean back, I’m never getting up again. Wait until you’re the size of a small buffalo and you can’t see your feet and your boobs are stretched like water balloons.”
I choke back a laugh. “One, that’s never gonna happen because I’m never having kids. Two, you’ve barely gained any weight.” So yeah, I’m lying a smidge, but she’s my sister, and I want her to feel good about herself. “And three, what’s going on with your boobs?” Aside from them being humongo. What I really want to know is if she’s sure she’s only having one baby. Brady’s a big guy—tall and muscular—but are his offspring really the size of a bison?
My sister sighs and rubs her belly. “Here’s something no one ever tells you in those pregnancy books. Your nipples, um, they get larger. It’s the hormones, I guess.”
Internally, I’m asking, What the fuck? But I keep my shit together because if I freak out, she’ll freak out, which sucks because she’s usually the picture of calm, and I’m the spaz. “So…they get longer?” Ew, please say no.
She shakes her head. “The areola expands.”
God, that’s just as bad. I try to keep my expression neutral. “And this grosses you out?”
She gives me the face, the one that says, What do you think, dumbass? Fine, she doesn’t ever call me dumbass, but I know she wants to sometimes. “And since when don’t you want kids? You’re great w
ith Izzy.”
Izzy is her seven-year-old adopted daughter, who is so precious, I want to gobble her up. But let’s get real—most kids are a pain in the ass, and patience isn’t one of my virtues. At least not these days.
I shrug, not wanting to rehash the whole Jamie fiasco, which was what finally got me to be realistic about my chances of finding someone I’d want to have a family with. I never gave my sister all the gory details about my breakup with Jamie, and ripping off that Band-Aid now would start the blood gushing again.
Besides, me? Have a family? I feel sorry for those hypothetical offspring already. I can’t even balance my checkbook, not that I have much to balance.
I don’t totally understand what’s going on in my head, because when it comes to doing something for my sister or family, I’d gladly crawl over broken glass, but when I have to do something for myself, I can’t seem to care.
“Kat, you’re lucky, you know that? Brady is perfect. Maybe if I found a guy I didn’t want to eviscerate within two minutes, I’d have a change of heart.” I don’t explain how the last year flying solo has given me a new perspective.
She gets that lovesick grin on her face that almost five years of marriage hasn’t dimmed. “Brady is pretty amazing.” Her head tilts forward, and she drops her voice. “I feel bad for him, though. With my morning sickness, which I seem to have constantly, not just in the morning, we never get to…you know.”
“Bang?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Bang.”
“So none of this?” I slurp my melting popsicle loudly before pretending to fellate it.
A snort escapes her. “Oh, my God. Stop that.” But she’s laughing, so I know I haven’t offended her.
Kat is seven years older and everything I could never hope to be. She graduated at the top of her class—all of them, from high school through college. She and her husband run a wildly successful lavender farm and beauty product company.
My sister and I are night and day. Our personalities. What we like. What we wear. How we talk. The only thing we really have in common is that when she’s not about to explode with an alien in her belly, we look similar with long, brown hair and hazel eyes.
She nudges her swollen foot against my ankle. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you did here, changing the subject.” Lowering her voice, she asks, “Do you need some money? Brady and I want to pay for half of your credits so you can graduate.”
I look down, hating that I should take her up on that offer. “Nah. I’ll get by.”
Thankfully, she’s never asked what classes I failed, and who wants to tell her Hispanic family she failed Spanish? Not me. But I didn’t grow up speaking fluently like Kat did. Still, it shames me.
Kat’s eyes flit around the apartment, and I know what she sees. The ripped carpet. Pizza boxes piled in the trash. Crumbs and empty soda cans forgotten on the warped coffee table. I’m not a total slob, but my roommates are. I might not be great at making my bed or folding laundry, but I’ve always tried to keep the rest of this place clean since I’m the one named on the lease. These last few weeks, though, I’ve sort of given up. I’ve gotten tired of trying to organize when no one else around here gives a shit.
It sucks having four roommates, but I can’t afford to move out on my own, not with my school loans and credit cards. Isn’t that the biggest kick in the head? I didn’t graduate so I can’t use that degree to get a better job than waiting tables and bartending, but I still have the loans.
Kat reaches up and twirls a long lock of her hair. That’s her tell.
I sit back and wait for her to spit it out. There has to be a good reason she drove an hour through Austin traffic to see me.
“Manita, I actually stopped by to give you a proposition.”
Here we go. When she breaks out the Spanish terms of endearment, I know I’m in trouble. “I haven’t resorted to stripping yet, so if that’s your concern, you should tell Mom and Dad they can stop lighting candles at church.” Not that I haven’t considered it.
“Brady has a friend—”
“You’re trying to set me up on a date? I already told you I’m not dating right now.” Because I, Victoria Duran, have sworn off sex, hot douchebags, and general debauchery for the foreseeable future. But my man-free diet only works because I do my best to avoid temptation.
“No, Tori, not a date. Brady’s friend Ethan Carter raises cutting horses down the road from us. He needs a nanny this summer for his two kids.”
I consider it for three seconds. “No.”
“What? Why?” She pouts.
“I don’t like kids.” It’s not entirely a lie. Kids remind me of what I wanted with Jamie, and Jamie reminds me that I’m a fool. And since that whole hit-and-run he played on my heart last year, kids sound shriller. Whinier. Like bigger pains than they’re probably worth.
“Not true! You love kids! I’ve seen you with our cousins and Izzy. You’re great with kids.”
“They’re family. I’m obligated to love those miscreants.” Look at me with the big words. I didn’t sleep through every class in college.
She fiddles with the hem of her blouse. “Think of it as a way to stay on the straight and narrow. You’re always so responsible and on your best behavior around children.”
This is about her thinking I’m still a party girl.
That’s the thing about a reputation. It’s hard to break and even harder to reinvent.
She shifts into her no-nonsense parental voice. “I really think you should consider it.”
“No.”
“Victoria.”
“Katherine.”
“I realize you’re in the middle of some kind of crisis that’s making you doubt all of your amazing qualities, but you and I both know you’re one of the few people I trust to babysit Izzy.” Kat is crazy protective of that child. I can’t say I blame her. “And she’s really only learned a few curse words from you over the years.”
I have a big mouth. I can’t help it.
My sister waves her hand at me. “You haven’t heard the best part. You’ll get free room and board, so you can save up and finish your coursework in the fall.”
“You want me to live on a farm? Are you out of your mind? That’s the middle of bumblefuck. How am I supposed to keep my bartending job at Wingman’s?”
“It’s called driving. You should try it.” She sighs. “Think of how much we’ll be able to hang out, and you won’t have to live in this hell hole with whatever random people your roommates bring home.”
That part is tempting. Except… “My car isn’t working right now.” The damn rustbucket coughed its last breath last week.
“You can borrow my truck.”
She knows that’s not a good idea.
“What about my lease?” I counter. “I can’t bail.”
“Sublet it. Get one more roommate to take your place. Please! This will be so awesome!” My sister juts out her lower lip. God, she really wants this.
“Stop with the puppy dog eyes.”
“You’d be doing Brady and me such a huge favor if we could work this out.”
I lift an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”
“The doctor said I’m high-risk because of my blood pressure, and this way you’ll be close by in case I need you.”
Every cell in my body stills.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having health problems? Jesus, you’re here for an hour and you’re just now telling me?” I’m always the last person to know anything in this family.
“I didn’t want to freak you out. I’m fine. Really. But it would give me great comfort to have you nearby. Just think! You could come for dinner all the time, and we could have a girls’ night once a week. Izzy would be ecstatic to see you so often.”
“Aren’t you laying this on kinda thick?”
“Are you considering the job?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “As if I have a choice.”
She claps and does this weird pregnant wobble on
the edge of her seat. It’s her version of jumping for joy, I think.
“Careful, Humpty Dumpty.” I hold my hand out to steady her. “Don’t want you to impair my niece or nephew.” I barely contain my own eye roll because Kat refuses to find out the sex of this child.
My sister grins at me. “I knew you loved kids.”
“I love your kids.” Pointing out this difference doesn’t seem to deter my sister’s exuberance. “But what if this guy’s kids hate me? Or what if they’re brats? What if they like to eat their boogers? You know I can’t handle creepy booger-eaters.”
“Trust me when I say you’re going to fall in love with the kids, their dad—the whole family. I promise. Plus, you love horses. I’m sure Ethan can teach you how to ride. And…” My sister pauses to giggle and fiddle with her hair. “Well, you’ll figure out the rest for yourself.”
What does that mean?
Before I can tell my sister this is a bad idea, that I’m probably not the wholesome individual some guy wants to raise his kids, she leans close and clasps my hand. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” Her eyes water, and she blinks quickly. “I know we spent a lot of time apart as kids, so having you close like this—”
She waves her hand in her face, a poor attempt to contain the emotion, but it’s too late because I’ve joined her in this walk down memory lane. My eyes sting, and all the shit I’ve crammed into my internal lockbox threatens to bust through.
“Fine. Let’s do this,” I choke out. “But if these kids are little assholes, I’m blaming you.”
A laugh escapes her, as do a few tears, and I realize I’d do anything to make my sister happy. Even if it means enduring the summer in the middle of nowhere with some stranger and his two annoying booger-eaters.
Ethan
“And she has experience with young children?” I ask as I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder while attempting to find the water bill in the mountain of paperwork on my desk.
