by Colet Abedi
I turn off the car and grab the flowers I purchased for Lianna and walk to the front door. Trevor’s home is in Marin County and can only be described as Hamptonesque. They bought it years ago, hoping to fill it with a dozen kids, but after trying for so long to no avail, they almost gave up. But just when they were contemplating adopting, Lianna got knocked up. Tara had her first birthday last month.
I ring the bell, and Lianna answers with her usual giant smile. Her dark-brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail, back away from her beautiful face. Her father is from Brazil and her mother is English, so Lianna’s looks are a gorgeous mix. Trevor fell for her hard and fast, and it’s no wonder why he’s still head over heels in love with her.
Not only is she lovely, she’s also easygoing, calm, and takes everything in stride. She manages Trevor’s hectic life like a pro. Nothing ever seems to get to her.
Trevor and I have marveled over this miracle of hers for years. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen her lose her shit. And to put up with Trevor and all that comes with the territory of being a famous basketball player’s wife, well…she’s a goddamn saint.
“Ian!” Lianna throws herself in my arms and gives me a giant hug. “We missed you!”
“I’ve been busy,” I say.
“You can never be too busy for family.” She nods at me pointedly, her voice admonishing. “Are those for me?”
“They’re definitely not for Trev,” I reply, handing her the roses I picked up at the shop for her.
She takes a deep breath of the flowers. “They’re gorgeous.”
“Like you, beauty.”
We walk into the house and, as usual, make our way into the kitchen.
“You need to find your own woman to take flowers to!” Trevor shouts to me, having overheard our conversation.
I give him an innocent smile. “I’m hoping Lianna will finally take me up on my offer and leave your ass one day.”
I have to laugh.
Trevor Garnett, one of basketball’s toughest players, is standing at the kitchen island, spoon-feeding his baby girl. He’s got as much of Tara’s food on his shirt as she does on hers. The visual makes me smile in disbelief. He is as domesticated as they come.
“You are so shit out of luck when she gets a license.” I kiss my goddaughter on the head as she coos at me with that bright smile of hers. It can literally light up a fucking room.
“Between the two of you, I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere.” Lianna hands the flowers to one of the women who help them out and moves right back to prepping for lunch.
She’s set out a whole assortment of appetizers, and I move through them with a vengeance.
“Hey.” Lianna shakes her head. “There’s a lot of food, so save some room. The steaks Trev got look amazing. And I’m making cacio e pepe with collards and Swiss chard. I found this new recipe I want to try out.”
“I’m not worried,” I respond dryly.
“Since when does Ian have a problem with food?” Trevor asks. “He can eat like something I’ve never seen.”
“I’d have to agree.” I walk to the fridge and pull out a beer.
“So how have you been?” Lianna asks as she cuts up the greens.
“Fine.”
“Any fun stories to tell me?”
“No.”
“Any trips planned?”
“No.”
“Can I get more than a monosyllabic answer?”
“Everything’s great,” I say with a shrug and throw back some beer. “What else do you want me to say?”
“God, you can be annoying.” Lianna shakes her head and pulls the steaks from the fridge.
“I second that.” Trevor looks amused. “Whatever woman ends up with this guy is going to be in for quite a ride.”
I smile wickedly. “That’s what they say.”
“I walked right into that.”
“Yes, you did,” Lianna says. Then she voices the question that comes out of her mouth every single goddamn time I’m around her. “Give me some good news and please tell me you’ve finally met someone.”
On cue, I think about Kerri.
Shit.
I hate myself for missing her, for wanting to pick up my phone and send her a text—to call, really, but I think her voice might be the end of me. I need to stay the hell away from her for as long as I can. I have to. It’s better for the both of us.
I guess I must have some fucked-up, pussy-whipped look on my face because Lianna and Trevor look at me as if I’ve suddenly grown three heads.
“What. The. Fuck.” Trevor is the first one to speak.
Tara coos, “Dada,” laughing in delight.
“Language,” Lianna says, scolding her husband, then stares at me with a look of incredulity. “Oh my God, you met someone.”
Goddammit.
I look at them as though they’re crazy and shake my head, trying to play it off. “No—”
“Ian, you’re so busted.” Lianna shakes her head. “I have known you since you were prepubescent. You think I don’t know your different facial expressions?”
I try to sound neutral. “You don’t know everything.”
“I’m sure I don’t know everything because you definitely are a man of mystery,” she says with a smile. “And I’m sure I probably don’t want to know everything. But most of the time, I can read you pretty well.”
“Am I going to have to leave?” I sigh, dreading an afternoon of Lianna poking and prodding about Kerri.
Trevor finishes feeding Tara and picks her up. “He definitely met someone.”
Trevor shakes his head in disbelief, then hands me the child. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile right back. This little angel always makes my heart melt.
“Your mom and dad are crazy, Tara,” I whisper, smiling. “Lucky for you, you’ve got me for a godparent. I’ll make sure you don’t end up like them.”
She pats me on the face, as though she’s pleased by my comment, and makes some gurgling noises. Just as I’m about to rub her little cheek, she promptly throws up.
“You overfed her.” Lianna shakes her head at Trevor, then walks up to me and takes the baby.
“I’m not afraid,” I say as I wipe up the mess she left on my shirt. Most of the goo is running down her chin and onto her clothes.
“We know nothing scares you,” Lianna says, “but I’m going to need to change her.”
I reluctantly hand her Tara, and the two leave the room. I walk over to the sink and start to wash the puke off my shirt.
“So who is she?” Trevor asks the second his wife is gone.
I knew this was coming. I try to blow him off. “Just someone I met.”
“At the club?”
“No.” The club didn’t bring Kerri into my life. My sister’s death did. For some reason, I don’t want Trevor to have any bias or think less of her. Not that he would, but I don’t want to take the risk. “At a restaurant in LA.”
He watches me like a hawk.
“It’s nothing. We’ve seen each other only two times.”
My friend crosses his arms and cocks his head. “Huh.”
“What’s ‘huh’?” I question, annoyed. “What does that mean?”
“She’s definitely affected you,” Trevor states matter-of-factly.
She has, but I remain quiet.
He asks, “When are you seeing her again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Why do you care?” I ask.
“Because this has never happened before.”
“What’s ‘this’?” I know I sound defensive, but I don’t really care. “I’ve seen her twice. There’s really nothing more to say.”
“You haven’t slept with her.”
My gaze flickers toward his in icy displeasure. He gives me a big-ass smile.
“It’s complicated.” I fold my arms and stare him down.
“Complicated?” Trevor looks at me as if I’m some
alien. “I need to meet her.”
I down the rest of my beer and walk to the refrigerator to get another. At this rate, my driver is going to have to pick me up. “I’m done with this conversation.”
Trevor says with an evil grin, “But I’m not done yet—”
“Listen,” I say in warning, “there’s a lot between us, a history she doesn’t even know about.”
“What kind of history?” my friend asks with narrowed eyes. “Did you sleep with her sister or mom or something?”
“No.” I have to laugh. I wish it were as simple as that.
“Then what could be so bad?”
Trust me, brother. It’s bad. I don’t even know what Trev would do or say if I told him everything.
“It’s Thanksgiving this week,” Trevor starts his lecture. “Give thanks that some woman has made you feel something in your hard-to-please heart.”
“Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. Give thanks that someone’s thrown you off so much you actually look unsure, which is something I never thought would happen. And then, after you give thanks, take her the fuck out.”
“Goddammit,” I curse, and give another warning. “If you want me to stick around, you will stop talking about Kerri.”
“Kerri?” Trev smiles knowingly. “I might stop asking, but my wife sure as hell won’t. When Lianna comes back down here, she is going to twenty-question the hell out of you. And I dare you to tell her you’ll leave if she doesn’t stop. I fucking dare you.”
He’s right. Lianna might be petite and chill, but she is fierce and relentless.
“I’m done with this conversation, and I’m going to go watch the game, if you want to join me.” I make my way toward the couch.
“I think you should take her out,” Trevor says again to my utter disbelief.
I stare him down, knowing he can see my anger and annoyance.
He throws his hands in the air and laughs. He looks pleased. God, he’s annoying. “That’s the last thing I’m saying about Kerri. I promise.”
“Her name is Kerri?” Lianna takes that moment to pop back in the room. “Oh my God, I can’t wait to hear everything.”
I curse loudly as Trevor bursts out laughing.
****
That night when I’m alone in bed, staring out at the jetliner view I have of the San Francisco Bay and all I can think about is Kerri, my resolve weakens. I think about all the facts.
She’s an adult.
We have crazy chemistry.
We want each other.
Badly.
Maybe if we sleep together, the energy that moves between us will go away. Maybe it’s just lust. And that’s all. Fuck it.
I text her.
TROUBLE: When can I see you?
Chapter Nine
Kerri
Trouble doesn’t text me for seven days.
Seven. Whole. Days.
So when I get the message saying he wants to see me, I’m more than slightly pissed and frazzled. Definitely frazzled. My heart falls through the floor and my body gets hot with desire, as though I’m somehow alive again. One text and my world changes from dark to light. How sad is that?
I manage to find superhuman resolve and push aside my emotions and think back on my awful week of having no word from him. For seven days, I’ve moped around. Yes, moped. I didn’t really talk to anyone or eat a decent meal—only sugar and fast food, which I find helps when I’m depressed. I’ve been kicking myself that I told him my story, that I scared him off with my intensity. I played out every scenario in my head. He was so into me before and then…
No. Trouble was into me afterward too. I could feel the emotion radiating from him.
I know in my heart the reason he’s stayed away is because he didn’t want to hurt me. He’s a playboy and, from what I can deduce, extremely wealthy. He’s also smart and a dream to look at. He’s young too—I’d guess in his early to mid thirties. This is not a man who wants a relationship, and I’m pretty sure he believes that’s what I’m after now.
So this text from him after a week of silence kills me. Like makes me want to gorge myself into a sugar coma kills me.
I walk into the kitchen of the house I share with Tony and Wylder and can’t help but feel sad that the place is so empty.
I wish Wylder were here so she could take my mind off of it all. We could gossip and have some much-needed girl time. But ever since she started dating her annoyingly handsome and talented director, she’s never home. When she is home, all she talks about is how perfect he is and their amazing love. Honestly, it makes me want to throw up in my mouth.
What can I say? I’m not feeling the whole happily-ever-after thing right now.
I pull out the leftover Hanson’s red velvet cake from Tony’s birthday. There’s a good amount left, so I pick the box up, grab a fork, make my way to the couch, turn on the TV, and dig right in.
It’s hard not to want to obsess about Trouble’s text. First of all, it’s past midnight, so what does he think I am, a booty call? After not reaching out to me for seven days, texting me this late in the night kind of…sucks. I know I basically told him I’d be fine with just sex, but the fact he hasn’t reached out in so long is kind of an asshole move.
Of course, he might very well be a giant asshole. I don’t know him at all.
I just don’t think he’s at total jerk. But then, what do I know? I don’t even know his last name. Or his first name for that matter. I’m just going by my feelings and my gut. What does that even mean? None of the conclusions I’ve made about Trouble are based on any type of reality. They’re all assumptions.
All this percolates through my head while I’m eating this big-ass piece of cake…and stoned. As fuck.
My little habit started when I weaned myself off Xanax. I had a low-dose prescription after the assault to help me sleep when the nightmares got too crazy. Now I smoke pot when the going gets too tough. It’s California, after all.
Tony takes that moment to walk in the house, looking like a guy who just got some good sex. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair mussed, and he’s definitely got the look of love—or at least lovemaking. God, he’s as annoying as Wylder.
I know. Bitter, party of one, your table is ready.
“Are you eating the rest of my cake?” His eyes are wide.
“You have a problem with it?” I ask as I take another bite.
“I don’t, but your thighs might.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” I say childishly.
“Save me some, will you?” Tony ignores my comeback, which means he’s definitely on a high from all the sex. “I’m just going to grab a fork and plate.”
I don’t know if I really want to share his birthday cake with him, and I think my look says it all. I really need this sugar fix right now.
“Yes, you are giving me some,” Tony shouts over his shoulder before returning with a plate, fork, and a knife. He takes the box and cuts himself a generous piece before handing it back. “Why aren’t you out at that deviant club, having all that sex people seem to be having there?”
For the first time in my entire friendship with Tony, I feel myself blush.
“Oh, dude.” Tony shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you Wyld, part deux? Did you fuck some famous director there too?”
“Hardly,” I mumble.
“An agent we work with?”
“You’re insane,” I snarl. “Completely certifiable, and I have a lot of proof to back this up.”
“Stop. You’re scaring me.” Tony’s voice is deadpan. “Seriously, did you meet some poor asshole who will inevitably have his heart broken and frozen by the ice queen, a.k.a. you?”
That’s funny. I’m pretty sure that if any heart is going to be broken, it will be mine, which is completely insane. Why am I even subjecting myself to this?
“Not talking about it.” That’s the best comeback
“That’s a yes.” Tony’s astute gaze misses nothing. “Definite
ly a yes.”
I put on a horror movie, hoping Tony will stop.
“Honestly, Kerri,” he says in that annoying voice of his, “do you think I’m completely oblivious? You’re home on Saturday night, up at one a.m. You’re alone and eating almost an entire red velvet cake—which by the way serves twelve, so you might want to be embarrassed by your behavior. And not only that, you look forlorn, slightly stoned, and dare I say sad. That would of course imply you have a soul, and you know how I feel about that topic.”
“Who are you, Inspector Gadget?”
“I prefer Sherlock Holmes.”
I snicker. “You wish you were that cool.”
Tony sighs. “So do you want to talk about it or not?”
What I should do is come back at him with stinging retort, but for some unknown reason, I suddenly find myself actually wanting to talk about Trouble.
Which. Is. Crazy.
But here I go…
“First, I didn’t meet him at the club,” I lie. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to tell him.
Tony doesn’t look as if he’s buying it. “Where did you meet him?”
“At a restaurant. And what does it matter? Do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Tell me.”
“This guy I’m kind of into…” My voice sounds unsure and small, and I get even more frustrated with Trouble. It’s all his fault. “He’s blown me off for over a week and just texted now…and it’s completely thrown me.”
I’m afraid to even look at Tony and see one of his sarcastic smiles.
“So you like him.”
My gaze flickers to him. Since it’s probably written on my face, I don’t deny it. For once, he doesn’t look as if he’s waiting to make fun of me.
“It was a total dick move,” he says with a nod. “Not calling you. Not cool.”
“So what’s your advice?” I ask, pleased he agrees with my assessment.
“Give him a taste right back. Guys love to chase. We also hate when we’re ignored. Hate. If you want to get under his skin, put him on ice.”
I think about it. “What if he never texts me again?” I put another giant forkful of cake in my mouth.
“First of all”—Tony shakes his head, sounding worldly as hell— “he shouldn’t be texting you. He should pick up the phone and call your ass. It’s the right thing to do. And you deserve it.”
