“He shows them his bank account.”
It really was the only thing that made sense. No woman in her right mind would look at his pattern of chronic infidelity and think, Oh, yeah, husband material.
Liv downed the rest of her wine. “She’s thirty-two.”
“Who?”
“Our new stepmother-to-be.”
Thea’s mouth dropped open. That was only six years older than her. “Oh, Mom is going to love that,” Thea said with a snort.
“Speaking of our lovely mother,” Liv said, “she called me twice today.”
Thea straightened. Neither she nor Liv had talked to their mother in months, each for their own reasons.
“I haven’t called her back,” Liv added.
“Think she knows about the wedding?”
Liv shrugged and took a drink of water. “No idea, but I am not going to be the one to tell her.”
Thea winced. Yeah, that wouldn’t be pretty. But neither would the alternative explanation. “Maybe she heard about Gavin and me.”
“Doubt it. She would’ve said something about it in her voicemail.”
“Or called me directly.” Nothing would have made their mother happier than the failure of Thea’s marriage.
All your years of judging me, but you’ll see. You think you’re so in love now and that nothing will ever go wrong. But someday he’ll break your heart, and you’ll have to apologize to me.
That had been her mother’s advice on Thea’s wedding day.
Thea let her head fall back against the cushion, eager to change the subject. “How’s Alexis coming with the café?” Liv was helping craft the menu for a friend who was opening a cat café and coffeehouse.
Liv gave her a knowing look but played along. “Good. She’ll be open sometime in late January, I think.”
“Have you decided if you’re going to let her use Gran Gran’s sugar cookie recipe?”
“Not yet. Part of me still wants to save them for . . .” She shrugged. “You know.”
Her own restaurant. It had always been her dream.
Well, always was a stretch. There were several years when the only thing Liv dreamed about was finding new and inventive ways to rebel. Bad grades. Bad attitude. Bad boys. Liv reveled in them all during her teenage years. Restless like a man chasing a worm with a bell on it, as Gran Gran used to say. Which, honestly, Thea never quite understood but figured it meant Liv was in search of something that didn’t exist.
And that was really something to which Thea could relate. Neither one of them had emerged from their messed-up childhood unscathed. They’d just hidden from their scars in different ways.
But no matter how much Liv wanted to open her own business, she had repeatedly turned down Thea’s offers for a loan. Liv did things on her own or not at all, even if it meant enduring the hellish abuse of her tyrant boss.
“Thank you for being here,” Thea said, rolling her head to look at Liv.
“You don’t have to thank me. You were there for me more times than I could ever repay you for.”
“That was my job. I was your big sister.”
“You were a child.”
Thea finished her wine and then stood with a sigh. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Liv caught her hand as she walked by. “Everything is going to be fine, Thea.”
“You and me against the world, right?”
Liv smiled softly and squeezed her hand.
Upstairs, Thea crept into the girls’ rooms to check on them. She bent over Amelia’s bed first and smoothed her hair back to drop a soft kiss on her forehead. Then she crossed the room to Ava’s bed and repeated the gesture, but she lingered over Ava. Even in sleep, she was more serious than Amelia. She clutched her favorite stuffed animal tightly against her chest, and her tiny pink lips formed a tight line. It was as if the one-minute age difference between them officially made her the big sister with all the big-sister responsibilities.
Thea crept back out of the room and shut the door. With a soft snap, she called Butter to follow. She changed quickly into a nightgown and then went into the bathroom to do the nightly face-teeth-hair thing. On the way back to the bed, she stopped at Gavin’s dresser. A tug of regret pulled her heart from its normal rhythm. He’d left almost everything here—most of his clothes and shoes, his collection of baseball caps. On the top of the dresser was a small dish full of the myriad things that he’d emptied from his pockets—loose change and gas receipts and a pack of orange Tic Tacs.
Thea brushed her fingers over the container. She could almost taste them, the hint of them ever-present on his breath when he’d brush his lips perfunctorily over hers before leaving for yet another road trip with the team.
So unlike the kiss he’d dropped on her today.
Thea picked up the Tic Tacs and threw them in the trash. Then she flipped off the light and slid into bed. Butter jumped up, circled several times, and then plopped down on Gavin’s side.
Except it wasn’t Gavin’s side anymore. He’d left. And no amount of begging and apologizing on his part could change that now. Because, really, who the hell did he think he was? He didn’t get to march in here and kiss her like that after all this time. As if she’d just melt and forget everything that happened.
Which, okay, she did for a brief moment. It just had been so long since he’d kissed her like that—like he used to kiss her, back before she got pregnant, when they were falling in love like maniacs. Back then, she would never have believed that the man who could barely stand to go a single day without tearing her clothes off would morph into a man who was almost apologetic when he reached for her at night. Who began to reach for her less and less. Who didn’t even pay enough attention to her needs to notice that she was left frustrated time and again.
Until that night, that is. The night of the Big O-No.
Thea threw an arm over her eyes and squeezed them shut to block the memories, but like an annoying song that had wormed its way into her brain, the memory wouldn’t leave her alone.
They hadn’t had sex in two months at that point and were barely speaking, other than the daily necessities of dealing with the kids and the house and his game schedule. She didn’t want to go to the game, but even in her newly woke who-the-hell-have-I-become state, Thea wasn’t that petty. She couldn’t miss a playoff game. Not with so much on the line. So like a good little WAG, she donned his jersey, posed for photos, sat in the family section, and pasted on her wholesomely pastel smile.
And then came the ninth inning. Bases loaded. Two outs. And Gavin was at the plate. He needed to hit just a single to bring in the tying run. A double would mean the win. It was the most important moment of Gavin’s career, and for the first time in a long time, it felt important to her too. She didn’t have time to explore why, because the minute he swung the bat, she began to sob. Thea knew just from the sound of the bat that he’d done it. He’d nailed a home run. And not just any home run. A walk-off grand slam.
Tears fell down her face as she watched her husband race around the bases, his arms in the air. His teammates waited for him at home plate in a screaming, celebratory melee. The crowd chanted his name. Del drenched him in Gatorade. The announcers called it a Hollywood finish. It was the kind of moment every player dreams of their entire lives but few ever get. And she got caught up in it as much as anyone else. She drank the champagne in the clubhouse. Let him lift her off the ground and kiss her.
By the time they got home, they were just like they used to be. Manic. Crazed for each other. They barely made it to their bedroom before ripping at each other’s clothes. And Gavin, oh Gavin . . . he devoured her like he used to.
There was a fierceness in his touch she hadn’t felt in so long. An urgency that excited her, thrilled her. And she returned the fervor, the madness. She was drunk on him, on champagne, on desire.
Her orgasm to
ok her by surprise, blinding her, making her shake and cry out. But then Gavin suddenly went still.
“Wh-wh-what was that?”
Thea laughed, joy filling her up and spilling out. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve done it, but did you forget what it’s called?”
Gavin planted his hands on either side of her body and raised his torso. “What the hell was that, Thea?”
The coldness in his voice sent a chill through her. “What do you mean?”
He pulled out of her unceremoniously. What remained of her pleasure began to fade, and the desire on his face had been replaced by a mask she couldn’t read but didn’t need to. Dread soured her stomach. He knew. Oh, shit. He knew.
“D-did you—” He cut himself off. Blinked. Swallowed. “Did you have an orgasm?”
Thea tried to smile but couldn’t.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, stumbling back. “You’ve been faking it.” A statement. Not a question.
Thea swallowed. “What? No, I haven’t.”
His face transformed into a mask of such hurt and betrayal that she reached for him. He stumbled away from her. “Don’t lie to me, Thea. How long have you been faking it?”
“Gavin . . .”
“How fucking long?” He yelled in a voice so un-Gavin-like that she jumped. Thea grabbed her jersey from the floor and pulled it back on. The shimmery illusion of the past couple of hours was quickly fading, revealing it for the mirage that it was.
At her silence, Gavin planted his hands on his head. “Have you always faked it?”
There was no point in lying. And dammit, she was sick of lying, anyway. Sick of wearing a fake smile. Sick of pretending things were fine. Sick of fucking faking it. “Always?” she snapped. “No. Not always. Just since the girls were born.”
“That’s our entire marriage!”
“Yeah, it is. How the hell did it take you this long to notice?”
He stared at her and, without another word, stormed into the guest room. He never returned to their bed.
What else was it that Gran Gran used to say? If a man wants to leave you, wave goodbye and lock the doors. You’ve got better things to do than chase a lost cause.
Thea did have better things to do. Like finish her degree. Rebuild the career she abandoned for Gavin’s. Raise strong, confident daughters. And never, ever again be so stupid as to trust her heart to a man.
CHAPTER FIVE
By Monday morning, Gavin didn’t think he could get any more depressed. But then someone knocked on the door of his hotel room at eight in the morning and he realized how wrong he was.
Because standing on the other side of the door was Book-Boner Braden Mack.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to talk to a friend who brings you coffee?”
“You’re not my friend. You’re a pain in my ass.” The coffee sounded good, though, so he stepped back and let Mack in. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m waiting for Del.”
“Why?”
“Because we have work to do.” Mack tugged a paper cup from the cardboard drink carrier he was carrying. “I got you a pumpkin spice latte. With cinnamon sprinkles. Seems like your speed.”
Gavin turned away with a grimace and an obscene gesture, but the need for caffeine overruled his pride. He flipped open the tab on the plastic top and took a sip. An explosion of flavor brought his feet to a halt and a moan from his mouth. Sweet holy coffee gods. This shit was delicious. It was a liquid pumpkin pie. Why the hell hadn’t he ever tried this before? No wonder women drank this shit.
Mack grinned. “Right? I love these things.”
The door vibrated with another insistent knock. It was Del, who barreled inside with an expression that said he wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. “You better have coffee for me,” he barked.
Mack pointed at the drink carrier. “Pumpkin spice latte, just as you ordered.”
Gavin’s mouth dropped open. “You drink these too?”
Del dropped unceremoniously into a chair by the window. “I love them, but I’m too embarrassed to order them for myself.”
Mack plopped down on the couch and kicked up his feet. “Don’t be ashamed for liking them. The backlash against the PSL is a perfect example of how toxic masculinity permeates even the most mundane things in life. If masses of women like something, our society automatically begins to mock them. Just like romance novels. If women like them, they must be a joke, right?”
Gavin blinked. “You sound like Malcolm.”
“I’m not just a pretty face, man.” Mack set down his coffee and stood. “Point me to your clothes.”
Gavin choked into his cup. “Why?”
“We have to pick out what you’re going to wear for the school musical tonight.”
“You’re here to pick out my clothes?”
“Among other things,” Del said.
Mack marched to the single closet across from the bathroom and yanked open the doors. “Dude, this is sad,” he said, shoving several hangers aside. “This is all you own?”
“No, shithead. Most of my clothes are still at the house.”
“Well, I can’t work with this. We might have to go shopping.”
“I am not going shopping with you.”
“Toxic masculinity,” Mack tsked.
Del let out a sigh like a beleaguered bus driver who still had three hours to go on a field trip. “I could be home making love with my wife right now.”
Mack and Gavin both whipped around with a yell.
Del shrugged. “She was willing. She tried luring me back into bed—”
Mack covered his ears. “Not in front of the children!”
“Then behave!” Del barked. He pointed at Mack. “Stop insulting his clothes and find something. And you.” He pointed at Gavin. “Let’s hear it.”
Gavin glanced around, as if Del had been talking to someone else. “Hear what?”
“What you’ve learned so far.”
“Learned?”
“From the book,” Del said, crossing his arms. “You have started reading, right?”
Gavin winced.
Del grew several inches. Or so it seemed. “Are you taking this seriously at all?”
“Yes—”
“Because we took a chance inviting you into this club.”
“You just gave me the damn thing on Saturday!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Del said. “Is there a more pressing issue in your life right now that requires your attention? Because I thought saving your marriage was your top priority.” He dragged a hand over his head and stared into space for a minute. Then he looked back at Gavin. “How much have you read?”
“The first chapter.”
“Christ,” Del muttered.
“Look, Del. I gotta be honest. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be getting out of this book.”
“That’s because you’re not trying. Go get it.”
Gavin trudged to the bedside table, feeling like a kid who’d just been sent to the principal’s office for not doing his homework. He pulled His Pissed-off Countess or whatever it was called from the drawer. Del took it from him and held it aloft like a preacher about to drop some gospel.
“We chose this book for you for a reason.”
“Because it’s about a man who fucks up his marriage. Got it.”
“Not just that.” Del opened the book and flipped a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for. He cleared his throat. “‘My love,’” Del read. “‘We are going to start over.’”
“So?” Gavin said.
“That’s exactly what you and Thea are going to do.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You’re going to court your wife again.” Del tossed the book onto th
e bed. “And we don’t have a lot of time, so stand up.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to work on your flirting.”
Gavin choked on his coffee a second time. “No, we don’t.”
“You screwed things up by going over there Saturday, so you really gotta work it tonight. Get her to soften up a little so you can press your case. Come here.”
Gavin backed up. “No way. Thea hates flirting.”
“What?” Mack snorted over his shoulder. “That’s bullshit. How’d you get her to go out with you the first time?”
“By not flirting.” Which was true. She even told him so once. She noticed him in the coffee shop where she worked precisely because he never trotted out stupid lines on her or tried to be overly familiar. He wondered if she would’ve found it so endearing if she’d known he was just terrified that she’d laugh at him, but hey, it worked.
Del let out another sigh. “Gavin, all women like to be flirted with. They just like different kinds of flirting. Some like dirty talk. Some like chivalrous overtures. Others like quiet, sweet gestures.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know what Thea likes?”
Mack turned away from the closet with an incredulous expression. “How long have you two been married?”
Del interrupted. “This is part of the learning-her-language thing.”
“I’m not going to learn it by tonight!” Christ, this was humiliating.
Del nodded some kind of unspoken message to Mack, who whined, “Why me?” before dragging his feet out of the room. He instantly returned, transformed. He leaned in the doorway, crossed his arms over his chest, and cocked a half smile. Then he winked.
Gavin looked over his shoulder and back again. “What the fuck.”
“You look amazing. I can’t believe I get to be seen next to you.”
“Um . . .”
“You should warn a guy before you walk out in a dress like that.” Then he did a long, slow up and down with his eyes. And then it was over. He shrugged and peeled away from the door. “Flirting is about confidence, man. That’s all it is.”
The Bromance Book Club Page 5
