by Stacy Lane
“Her shoes. We ran out, and I suggested we throw them in the trunk, which almost ended our friendship.” Jo’s dry sarcasm has the three of us smiling as we each take boxes and head inside the house. “Between her closet and her crafting supplies, it has me wondering why she keeps me around.”
“Because you’re my greatest muse. Your lack of creativity keeps mine going.” As we enter the foyer, Chelsea descends the stairs with a hop in her step. That tiny outfit I saw her in this morning while sitting on the terrace is shorter than I imagined. Then again, it could be the wedged heels on her feet extending the length of her legs.
My eyes roam the expanse of leg on display in the short shorts. Long, tan, and glistening in a waxy shine. An erratic need to familiarize my touch with the smoothness of her skin rushes through me. Her slim, toned limbs flex with each descent, balancing in those shoes. Only Chelsea would be packing up her old life and doing it in high heels.
Her hips sway, the flowery material in white, lavender, and yellow clinging in the side to side movement. The hem rides higher with every step-down.
Mother f—
Shifting my stance, I position the cardboard boxes in front of me.
Cam twists his head, eyeing the agony on my face and the placement of my hands.
“I think I just figured out why we are so good together,” Jo says, unaware of the brotherly faceoff happening behind her. “You’re the female version of Brooks. My complete opposite, obsessed with hockey, always smiling and talking, and owns a bigger wardrobe than me.”
Chelsea places a hand over her heart. “I always knew we had more than one soul mate on this earth.”
Cam nudges me with an elbow. “Alex, you think they are going to—”
“If you even hint at anything girl-on-girl related.” Jo turns a threatening look on Cam. “I will smack you.”
“Just direct me toward the shoes,” Cam concedes, following Jo upstairs.
“I’m going to get a box,” Chelsea says, pointing outside as she starts to walk past me.
“Here. Take this one. I’ll grab more.”
“Thanks.”
Cam, at the top of the staircase, peers down at us and calls out, “Are we going to find any murder messages on the mirrors?”
“What?” Chelsea and Jo question with equal confused glints.
Groaning, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“You know, a threatening lipstick letter across the bathroom mirror. ‘I hope she gave you the clap.’ Or maybe something darker like, ‘How’s that acid in your body wash feel?’” At the ladies judging scowls, Cam finishes, “I’m asking for Alex. He was worried you’d do something crazy.”
Chelsea spins toward me, eyebrow raised.
“The lipstick message was me. The acid was not.” My tone remains even, unbothered.
Her lips lift, rounding out her face with a sweetly evil smile. “I wear liquid lip. That’s far too much effort to leave a death note with.”
She leaves me standing in the foyer wondering what’s actually beneath the sweet and kind facade everyone else sees.
And also, what the fuck is liquid lip?
CHAPTER 4
CHELSEA
“DID YOU GET moved out?”
“Yep.”
“I bet you’re relieved. Now you can really move on.”
That’s the theory. Separate from the husband, leave the home you once shared, and start fresh.
Theory is crap.
It conceives an expectation, a hopeful result, but until living out the actual events, it’s one giant game of Guess Who? Divorced edition. Will I be Rachael who left her husband in the middle of the night and wiped out his bank account? Am I lucky enough to be Sarah who dumped her ex, went on a cruise, and fell madly in love? Will I go off the rails like Megan who plotted out her husband’s murder only to get caught before acting on it? Maybe I’m too screwed up like Emily and every relationship from here on out will be doomed because of mental abuse.
I moved out, that was expected. I hoped with all the weight in the boxes I carried out that door yesterday, the burden of feeling trapped would lift. My belongings were the final string attaching me to that home. To my marriage. I’ve centered all my contempt on a concrete structure as if it were the source of my liberation. Cut it loose and I would be free.
That was the theory.
My evaluation was wrong.
Eradicating my presence from the house didn’t represent freedom. There was a lot more to figure out and learn before I felt free.
My belongings may be gone, but my mind was still back there. Not reminiscing or wistful of those few good memories, either. My heart was ready to move on, but my brain needed the extra time to catch up.
If this were a game of Guess Who?, my heart would be Sarah, but my head would be Emily.
This wasn’t something I could explain to my sister or any of my sisters, for that matter. They were going off theory. I was living the real life. And in my game, Chelsea put on a smile and played happily through the split. Because underneath the veneer, I was actually scared and damaged.
I exposed pieces of my marriage to friends and family in the past. I put on a brave face like nothing could knock me down. The details were pesky weeds popping up in a beautiful garden. But the harsh facts were rooted deep and too personal to dig up.
“Which is why you should come home,” Mel prattles on to explain, pulling me back from far away in my mind. “All that’s left is to sign the divorce papers, and that can be done here.”
“I will come home, Mel. But not right now.”
“Are you seeing someone new?”
“No,” I spit out with a laugh.
“Then what could possibly keep you in the states,” she says with exasperation.
“My friends. A job.”
“Job? What job?”
If we weren’t on FaceTime, my eyes would be rolling so hard they would be in the back of my head.
Mel was the worst at overstepping, but all of my sisters were overprotective. It usually didn’t bother me too much, I’m not the kind of person that lets many things get to me. But I am a person who has been in a relationship where I had to report every little thing I did or was going to do. So my sister sounding put off by the idea of me taking a job that she knows nothing about got to me. In a maddening type of way.
“A friend of mine got me a job waiting tables.” My selective answer specifically left out two major parts. The friend is one of the Labelle triplets, and the place of my future employment is a hockey bar. “And I have a visa. I’m allowed to work here, so don’t bother going at that angle to convince me otherwise.”
“Look, I’m all for that. I think every person should wait tables at least once in their life. I did it throughout college.”
My eyes wander up to the ceiling. That’s as close to an eye-roll as I’m going to get.
Mel’s about to approach a new angle on why I should come home. She’s a lawyer, it’s programmed in her brain to spin the topic in her favor with every discussion.
So I wait for it.
But she’s no longer talking.
I drop my gaze down to where my laptop is sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Mel insisted we chat while I was in the middle of making lunch.
With an expectant look, she spits out, “I ask again. Is there a new guy in your life?”
“Oh my God, Mel, no.” My head falls back, heavy with exhaustion from her insistent assumptions.
“Then why is there a naked man behind you?”
My head snaps up. I stare back at her smug face—brow raised, lips pursed to one side.
In the small window on the upper right side of the screen, I stare back at myself. Beyond my shoulder, pacing the living room with a cell phone held to his ear is a shirtless Alex.
He wasn’t supposed to be home. I was out on the terrace with my coffee this morning when he left. We didn’t talk. I was watching him move around the kitchen when he suddenly raised his head and gave me
a two-finger salute.
A see-you-later salute. And I never heard him return.
Alex was undoubtedly more clothed when he left the apartment.
Eyes flicking to Mel again, I stand stock still. She sits on the counter near the refrigerator, propped up with a clear view of the living room at my back.
“It’s hard to see much from here, but based on those abs alone, I’d be staying in Florida too.” She moves side to side as if that will help her see around my body.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“There’s not a naked man in your apartment?” She states it like a question, but I know better than to presume she wants a response. Her focus drifts away from Alex temporarily, tapping at her keyboard.
Bending forward, I snap in hushed tones, “Please tell me you are not screenshotting him.”
“He would make a nice screen saver. But no.”
With horror, I watch as two windows, more extensive than my own, pop open inside FaceTime.
“Where’s the naked man?”
“Who’s the naked man?”
It was dreadful enough witnessing this disaster unfold, but hearing the voices of my other two sisters, Lillian and Addy, had me freaking the fuck out.
“Why did you call them?” I whisper-shout at Mel, closing the space between them and me and hovering over the laptop to block out their vision of Alex entirely.
“Because there’s a naked man in your apartment,” Mel responds as casual as if we were discussing Florida’s fine weather.
“Yeah, now move it,” Lill says, waving arms like she’s directing traffic.
“You sure did move on quickly, Chels,” Addy says, sitting behind her fancy desk in her fancy office drinking a fancy glass of wine at one in the afternoon.
“I’m hanging up.”
“No!” Lill all but shouts. “Just mute us. He’ll never know we’re looking.”
“Did you get a decent shot of his face, Mel? I can scan it for recognition in a new program I’m working on.”
“I tried, but she’s been blocking my shot. I was a little distracted by his muscles, too.”
“I wanna see his muscles,” Lill whines.
“Only his muscles?” Addy smirks. “Those are an added bonus, but what really matters is what he’s packing below the belt.”
“Except, there was no belt because Chelsea’s new guy just walks around her place in his birthday suit. I’m jealous, little sister.”
“He’s not naked,” I ground out. “And he’s not my new guy.”
Addy lets loose a haughty laugh. “Oh, our baby sister has moved onto randos. Nice.”
I open my mouth to correct her, or just tell them all to shut the hell up, but not to my surprise they keep prattling on.
“Is he a one-night stand?” Mel asks.
“Are you having trouble getting rid of him?” Lill follows with soon after. “I have a solution for that. First, I need to be able to see him to gauge what kind of straggler he is. So move out of the way.”
I almost laugh at her craftiness.
“Must have been terrible in bed if you are trying to get rid of him,” Mel muses.
“I’m not getting rid of him. I’m trying to be rid of all of you.”
“One peek, and I’ll hang up all on my own,” Lill says.
A throat clears behind me.
Right. Behind. Me.
Startled, I spin around. Alex stands—shirtless still—in the kitchen, two feet away.
“You know I can hear the entire conversation right?” he asks in a flat voice.
Not allowing my eyes to drop below his chin is a new level of restraint. And I’ve recently had to give up shopping, so that’s saying something.
“I was hoping you were still on the phone.”
“I was. They are very loud.”
“Dear Lord, do you hear his voice? I could come just from that.” Lill whispers now like it helps the situation.
I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes it’ll block out sound too.
“That throaty voice may have been the only way she came. Sad. Some men have the whole package on the outside, but just don’t know how to operate it,” Addy says.
Nope, can definitely hear them.
I peek one eye open.
Yep, he’s still there.
Unperturbed, Alex leans closer, dropping his shoulders and lowering his voice. “They know the speaker is on?”
I nod, wringing my fingers. “Sorry, we interrupted your call. I’ll talk to them in my room.”
Alex’s head cocks to one side. “I could have just as easily taken my call in my room, or outside.”
“Yeah, I know, but you must be taking some pretty important calls with everything coming up and I don’t want to bother you.”
“Chelsea,” he says with a command. Except, it lacks the condemnation I’ve dealt with before.
He’s going to say more when one of my crazy sisters interrupts again.
“Hey, naked man!”
“Lill,” Mel scolds her.
“What? They are totally leaving us out of their conversation. That’s rude.”
Finally, I give in and roll my eyes.
“You should leave while you can.” I remained leaning against the counter, blocking the camera on my laptop.
“Might make it easier on you if we prove I’m not naked,” he smiles, teeth flashing a bright white.
Whew, Lord. He should smile more often.
I may not have a credit card, but that’s what window shopping is for right?
My eyes scroll down the ripples in his abdomen. A light dusting of hair covers his large pectorals. I trail along that happy, happy trail below the belly button until I reach a loose pair of black drawstring sweats.
I’m not easily affected by the toned, taut bodies of hockey players as I’ve been with one for a decade. I’ve walked into their locker rooms quite often. Unfathomable to some, but a girl gets used to fit, shirtless men to the point it’s just another shirtless man.
But Alex affects me.
As do the low riding sweats.
There’s a constant hum buzzing beneath my skin, setting the hairs on my arms to rise and my ears to zone out anything other than that sound. The feeling, the noise, it’s hypnotic.
I could get lost in that sound. More disturbingly, I want to be lost in that feeling. It drowns out the constant voice in my head dictating every move I make.
Unfortunately, the vile voice always wins out in the end.
I feel more than see Alex move toward me.
“There’s that look again,” he mumbles, as if to himself.
“What look? I wanna see the look.”
Not so much to himself if they heard it.
I point a thumb behind me. “My sisters.”
“Sounds like a lot of them.”
“It’s all three of them.”
“I really don’t like being left out,” Lill says.
“It’s kinda cool. Like watching a movie with no picture,” Mel adds.
“Boring movie. Where’s the sex?” Addy yells.
“Oh good God,” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I take it they don’t know about your new roommate,” Alex concludes.
I shake my head, refusing to face reality with my eyes open. It’s bad enough, I have to listen to it.
“Is there a reason to not tell them?” Alex asks.
“Because they are them, and you are you.”
He’s Alex Labelle. A Labelle. They know everything about him, professionally speaking.
“Chelsea June, I am starting to worry now,” Mel scolds, turning on her momma's voice.
Alex lifts his eyebrows.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I mutter, stepping to the side.
My sisters take the fun out of a drumroll.
“Holy shit!”
“Alex Labelle is her naked guy!” Lill squeals.
“When Chelsea does revenge, she does it right,” Addy praises.
&nb
sp; Groaning, I swiftly correct any further assumption. “Alex is staying at Brooks’s apartment until he gets a place. He’s not my naked guy or my guy in any way. I didn’t tell you, because I knew you would embarrass me.”
Alex’s eyes drift from them to me, curious.
“We know all about you,” Lill grins.
“Are the rumors true?” Mel asks like a greedy little wench.
“If they are, can you fire Vic the Dick?” Addy asks.
“He’s not going to answer any of those questions,” I say with a side glance at Alex. He stands further back from the laptop than me, leaning a hip against the counter.
I forget about all conversation for a moment. What I now dub as the effect, is occurring again.
“You need house rules,” Mel pipes in. Tearing my gaze away from Alex, I see her analyzing everything.
“Rules are little toys for rebels to play with. Are you a rebel, Alex?” Addy asks with too much seduction.
“You’re such a slut,” Lill chuckles.
“Annnnd I’m hanging up now.” My hand latches onto the corner of the screen.
“Nice meeting you, ladies,” Alex drawls in that husky tone.
“Chelsea, we need to talk about—”
“Mel, let her have some fun.”
I slam the laptop close.
“Here I thought my brothers were bad,” Alex muses, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize for family. If that were true, there would be no use for any other words.”
I let loose a soft laugh, fading into me clearing my throat. “I was making lunch when Mel called. Want anything?”
“That’s lunch?” His skeptical gaze drops to the counter.
I laid out pickles, cheese, and a bag of chips.
“Yeah,” I shrug, smirking. “Or a snack before lunch.”
“I’ll pass,” he replies. Alex remains leaning on the counter, watching me wrap a slice of cheese around a pickle. I grin big after taking a bite, watching his face contort with disgust. “Um. I have some errands to run.”
“Okay,” I reply as he takes a step back. I raise a chip to my mouth, loud crunches covering a mewl I let slip past when the muscles in his back tighten and lurch with every step he takes.