Gigi,
I’m so sorry. I’ll tell you everything. Call me. Max xx
“Is he begging for your forgiveness?”
Wordlessly, Gigi passed the card to Jen and swallowed the rest of her vodka. She coughed, but was determined to follow through with the getting drunk plan Jen had come up with. She poured herself another drink.
Jen turned to look at her now standing at the kitchen bench. “Are you going to call him?” Gigi shook her head. “Why not?”
“There’s no point. The whole relationship—if that’s what you can call it—was pointless. He’s leaving in a few months—maybe sooner.”
Jen frowned. “So, you’re just not going to try?”
“There’s no point,” she repeated.
Standing up, Jen walked towards her. “Does he treat you nicely?”
“Yes.”
“Does he respect you?”
“Yes,” she sighed, not liking where this line of questioning was going.
“Does he worship you in bed?”
Her breathing hitched, her body remembering just how well he had taken pleasure in her body. “Yes.”
“Well, if you ask me, which I know you are, you need to give that man a call.”
“You don’t even like him,” Gigi shot back.
Jen shrugged. “I don’t have to. You do.”
Gigi tried to find a hole in Jen’s logic, but she was right. Max made her feel like nobody had ever made her feel before. Perhaps she had overreacted, but he could hardly blame her. They’d just mutually masturbated in his bed only minutes before his wife, his supposedly dead wife, showed up at the door. She wasn’t afraid to admit that she was intimidated. The woman was stunning. She’d introduced herself as Chelsea, although at the time, Gigi’s mind was far from retaining that information. All she knew was the little world she had created with Max was beginning to crumble.
She should have heard him out. He was genuinely sorry for what had happened, but she was too embarrassed to even consider what he was asking her to do. The only thing she was focused on was getting away from him as fast as she could; her humiliation had been debilitating.
“So, what are you going to do?”
Gigi considered Jen’s question. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t have the strength tonight. Pouring herself another glass of vodka, she topped off Jen’s and picked up her drink. “We’re going to get drunk and then I’ll deal with it all tomorrow.”
25
Max hit redial and put the phone to his ear. Gigi’s voicemail kicked in straight away and he ended the call. He was tired of leaving messages he was pretty sure she was just deleting. It was after ten in the evening; she had to be home from school by now. She hadn’t called him back, which meant she had ignored Max’s floral apology. He dropped his phone onto the couch and stalked around the living room, running his hands through his hair.
Erin had gone down for the night a couple of hours ago, so he was effectively housebound. Thank fuck he didn’t have to make an appearance at the club. He was in absolutely no mood to deal with drunk people slurring their words and stumbling about the place. He went into the kitchen and opened up one of the cupboards, searching for what he hoped was there. When everything in his life was moderately okay, he didn’t usually drink anything more potent than beer. He’d drunk when he’d discovered Chelsea gone, and now he was going to drink because she’d barged back into his life and demanded he love her again.
Snagging the bottle of Grey Goose, he grabbed a short glass and moved back to the couch.
Setting the bottle and glass down on the table, Max sank into the couch beside his phone and picked it up.
No missed calls.
Big fucking surprise.
Leaning forward, he opened up the vodka and poured himself a double. As he sipped, he thought back to how the day had started off. It had been perfect. Watching Gigi come while she watched him watch her was perhaps one of the best ways to begin a day. Her skin had flushed with color the closer she came to release, and the little moans and groans she was making had made him impossibly hard. He hadn’t been directly responsible for getting her to make those noises, but he had been a damn unmistakeable part of it.
But it had all turned to shit with Chelsea’s arrival. After Gigi had left, Max had followed her, had tried to speak to her, but it didn’t do any good. Jen had blocked him before he even made it through the front door.
By the time he’d returned home, he had somewhat calmed down. Although he would rather be skinned alive, he realized it was time he talked to the woman who had abandoned him and their daughter to find out just what the fuck had been going through her head.
“You’re here now. You might as well just tell me why you left us,” Max said. He was too agitated to sit down. His mind was still replaying the look on Gigi’s face as she looked at Chelsea over his shoulder and told him she quit.
Patting the seat beside her on the couch, Chelsea said, “Come sit down. You’re awfully wound up.”
“Just tell me, Chelsea. Don’t try to fucking placate me.”
Her expression was pinched, but she nodded and crossed her legs. He was ashamed to admit that he watched the action. “I just couldn’t do it anymore, Max.”
“Couldn’t do what, exactly?”
“Be a mommy. Stay at home all day, look after Erin. Before I got pregnant, I could hold lunches and spend all day shopping if I wanted to.”
He ground his teeth together. Yeah, she’d do those things, and spend his money while she was at it. “Being a parent is about making sacrifices.”
“I know that,” she hissed. “I wasn’t ready to give up my freedom though.”
He bit his tongue. Although she was a former cheerleader and painfully vain, he knew she wasn’t stupid—no matter how hard people tried to stereotype her.
“You probably should have thought about that before you got pregnant.”
She shrugged. “I thought it would fix our marriage.”
He glared at her. “Where did you go when you left?”
“Back to Chase.”
He suddenly saw red when he blinked, and there was a ringing in his ears that had nothing to do with any external alarm going off. Back in the final weeks of their senior year, Chelsea had cheated on him...
With Chase.
Chase had been one of his best friends, but fucking his girl put an end to that friendship. It seemed that Max had been the last to know, and when he found out, he fucking lost it. He’d cussed Chelsea out in front of the entire school, swearing never to forgive her, or Chase. He held his resolve for about a month…
Until Chelsea came to him one day in tears. She told him she was pregnant and she didn’t know who the father was. Chase had sworn up and down that they had used protection, but according to Chelsea, the condom had broken. Facing the disapproval of her parents, Chelsea convinced Max that they needed to get back together and tell everyone the baby was his.
He couldn’t trust her after her betrayal, but he’d been raised right. If there was a possibility that the kid was his, he was going to do the proper thing and take care of it and Chelsea. As soon as they’d graduated, he stayed true to his word and he and Chelsea had a civil ceremony at city hall. Three weeks later, Chelsea had told him the truth: she had never been pregnant. She’d lied to him so they could get back together.
He should have gotten the damn marriage annulled as soon as she’d dropped the bombshell, but he had no intention of being a divorcee at the tender age of eighteen. Instead, just to spite Chelsea, he stuck it out. He didn’t think he could forgive her for going back to Chase a second time though. As soon as Max got back from New York, he was going to see his lawyer and get the divorce papers drawn up. He was also going to make damn sure she wouldn’t get custody of Erin. He was just thankful that his mother had insisted on there being a pre-nuptial agreement. It turned out his mom’s instant dislike of Chelsea from the beginning had been for good reason.
He’d thrown C
helsea out of his apartment, telling her to fuck off back to California and to expect to hear from his lawyer. He was immensely satisfied when the smug look she was wearing was wiped off her face as he slammed the door after her.
The high he’d experienced was short-lived. As soon as the sheen had worn off, Max was back to thinking about Gigi. He should have just let her walk away from him. It would be for the best. He was leaving in a few months. She hadn’t even wanted to continue a sexual relationship with him anyway. But…
But the thought of not seeing her, not kissing her, not making love to her every night made his whole body ache in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d never been in love before. He thought he had loved Chelsea, but since being with Gigi—no matter how short the time—he knew that’s what it was.
He loved her.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t try and get her back.
Picking up his phone, he called her again. He expected it to go straight to voicemail like it had every time before, so he was ready to just end the call. But then it connected.
“Max, you bastard,” Gigi said, her words slurring together.
He frowned. “You’re drunk.”
“Yup,” she replied, popping the ‘p’ then laughing. The sound was drowned out with a sudden burst of dance music, like a heavy door had opened and closed. “Where are you?”
Jen’s muffled voice said something in the background. “I’m not telling you,” Gigi sang, laughing again.
He ground his molars together in frustration. “I need to speak to you.” Talking to her while she was drunk was not ideal, but he would take what he could get.
“Well, I don’t want to speak to you, Max.”
He clutched his phone closer to his ear as if it was actually Gigi’s arm and he was trying to pull her to him. “Come to my apartment,” he demanded, his voice changing just slightly. She had reacted to it unconsciously before while they were fucking, and he was hoping his tone would punch through the alcohol haze.
“Okay,” she replied softly, after a beat. “Let me lose Jen.”
He hung up the phone and started to pace. He had no idea where she was, or how long it would take her to get to his place but he hoped like hell it wouldn’t be long. His feet ate up the distance across his rug, his eyes constantly returning to the clock hanging on the wall. Ten minutes went by. Then twenty. At the thirty-three minute mark, there was a buzz from the intercom. He pressed the button, not bothering to check who it was; it could only be one person.
Yanking open the door, Max stood in the entrance, waiting for Gigi to walk towards him from the elevator. When he saw what she was wearing, his eyes slid shut and he wanted to drag her inside, away from prying eyes, for wearing something so revealing out to a nightclub or a bar while he wasn’t there to keep an eye on her.
She was in a mini skirt and halter neck top that barely covered her beautiful breasts. She wobbled on too-high heels and was wearing makeup a lot heavier than he was used to seeing on her. Her red hair was unrestrained and curled, falling over one shoulder in thick ribbons. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her gaze on the floor. She weaved on her feet a few steps from him, causing her to stumble forward. He caught her effortlessly, holding her close to him.
She smelled of tequila. A lot of tequila.
“You need to drink some water,” he told her, guiding her into his apartment and closing the door behind them.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I just need to sit down for a minute.” He lowered her onto the couch and walked into the kitchen to get her the water she thought she didn’t need. He placed the glass on the table in front of her.
“Drink.”
Dutifully, she picked up the glass and brought it to her lips. She swallowed greedily, a little water running from the corner of her mouth. It dripped onto her shirt, leaving a dark patch on the fabric.
He took the glass from her hand, settling it on the table beside him. “Where did you get those clothes?”
“Jen,” she squeaked, staring at her feet.
Max pursed his lips. Of course Jen had played dress-up. “Why have you been avoiding my calls all day?”
She looked up, biting her lip. “I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would have given in and forgiven you.” She put her hands over her mouth. “Crap,” she said under her breath.
She was being so candid, and he was going to ask her all the questions he needed to while she was in such a talkative mood.
“Why would you have forgiven me?”
She blinked at him slowly. “I doubted I could resist you if you looked at me like you’re doing right now.”
He was more than aware of how hungry his expression was. Seeing her barely dressed and pliant even when she was supposed to be angry with him was turning him on. If she had been sober, he wouldn’t have bothered asking her questions; he would have seduced her, knowing she would give in to him.
But she wasn’t sober.
She was rolling drunk, and Max would never take advantage of a woman while her mental faculties were compromised. He stood up, holding out his hand to her. He hauled her up off the couch, holding her close to the front of his body. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, the position exposing her long, lean neck to him.
“Come.”
“Where?” she whispered, her eyes lingering on his mouth.
“To bed.”
Gigi stumbled a little as he tugged her down the hallway to his room. She didn’t resist, and she didn’t voice any objections—all of which he was taking as a good sign. Softly closing the door behind them, he brought his hands to the waistband of her skirt, searching for the zipper in the back.
As he pulled the slide down, she didn’t take her eyes off his face. “Are you undressing me?” she asked.
“Yes,” Max replied, letting the skirt pool at her feet. He brought his hands to the hem of that miniscule halter neck. The fabric was stretchy, expanding and hugging each and every one of her curves. He pulled it over her head, her bare nipples tightening in the cool breeze.
“Are you going to make love to me?” Her voice was hopeful, but her eyes were glazed.
Touching the side of her cheek, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “No.”
Her brow furrowed. “What are you doing then?”
He stared at her, his eyes roving hungrily over every inch of her flesh. He wanted to press himself against her. He wanted to get reacquainted with her curves even though she’d only walked out on him less than twenty-four hours before. “I’m putting you to bed.”
Disappointment flittered across her features, lasting only a moment. “Are you coming to bed too?”
He pulled pack the quilt and motioned for her to get in. Her red hair fanned out on the pillow above her head when she lay down, giving her an almost ethereal look. He arranged the bedding back into place quickly, mainly to stop himself from ogling her perfect body and ignoring the stern pep-talk he’d just given himself. “Soon.” Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and walked from the room.
When she woke up, she would have a killer headache. Going back to the living room, he picked up her glass and refilled it, then went searching in the cabinet in the bathroom for some Tylenol. He put both on her bedside table, briefly looking down at her; she was fast asleep.
Max checked on Erin one last time, giving her a bottle and changing her diaper before going to bed himself. Stripping down to his boxers, he slid into the bed beside Gigi, turning on his side with his back facing her. Even though she had asked if they were going to have sex, he didn’t want her waking up in the morning and thinking that something other than sleeping had happened—especially if she was still holding on to some of that anger from before.
Just before he drifted off to sleep, he felt her arm wrap around his waist, her hand coming to lie over his heart.
26
Gigi’s mouth felt like every ounce of moisture had been syphoned out of
it. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she was pretty sure that when she opened her eyes, her lids would sandpaper her eyeballs.
Her fingers flexed involuntarily, meeting some unexpected resistance. Some warm, hard resistance.
Even though she knew it would hurt, she opened her eyes. It was still dark, thankfully, so the sensation of a railroad spike going through her temple wasn’t immediate, nor was it as sharp as she was expecting it to be, but it was still there and her eyes began to water. She did her best to focus on what she was touching. Her sluggish brain wasn’t joining her in the land of consciousness just yet, leaving her to puzzle it out on her own. Maybe I killed too many brain cells with all the tequila I drank last night, she thought miserably as another round of spike-through-temple assaulted her.
She inhaled sharply, the scent of warm skin and aftershave invading her senses and tickling her memory. She knew that smell. Realization dawned on her quickly, and her fingers flexed once more.
Max.
And she was being the Big Spoon.
Gigi let her eyes drift up, taking in the shock of hair she knew was more black than brown and the broad muscular back she had sunk her nails in to before. She licked her lips and tried not to move, trying to remember what had happened last night. Had she shown up on his doorstep and demand he fuck her? Had he actually done that? With the smallest movements possible, she tried to look under the sheets. She could feel the softness of the cotton against her bare breasts, but that would have been possible because she wasn’t wearing her—Jen’s—halter neck anymore. That was okay. She could deal with that. As long as she still had her underwear on…
“We just slept.” Max’s sleep-affected voice drifted between them. She knew he wasn’t shouting the words, but to her ears, it sounded as if he was announcing it through a megaphone. She groaned and tried to pull her arm from around his chest. He grabbed her wrist before it could slide free, holding her in place. “Leave it there, just for a little while longer.”
She couldn’t deny him. He felt amazing against her body, but after the way she’d left him the morning before, she wasn’t so sure about the status of their relationship. Swallowing her embarrassment, she finally asked, “How did I end up here?”
Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Page 144