by Crowe, Liz
Good Christ, what a mess.
He tugged his jeans back up and sat at her small table, trying to regain his equilibrium.
The whole thing—the push–and-pull, this-or-that, will-she-or-won’t-she—he’d been through made him ill. He had to stop it now before it killed him. He put his head in his hands, then stood and followed her into the bedroom, smiling at the sight of her, naked and lying face down on the bed. If Jack could see her now… he grimaced at himself, then eased her under the covers before climbing in himself, as far from her as he could get and still be in the same bed.
* * *
Sara woke, confused, head aching, mouth dry as a bone. After ascertaining she was naked and there was someone snoring next to her, she panicked and crept into the bathroom, the familiar ache between her legs the only clue she had about what had happened. Flashes of drunken memory—her kitchen, Craig, his lips, cock, harsh words. Tears pressed against her eyes.
What had she done? What had she said to him? Crap. Did they use a condom? Not likely.
She cleaned up, brushed her teeth, and tried not to puke up the water she gulped down in a way-too-late attempt at hydration. After determining the liquid would stay in place, she tiptoed back to the bed.
“Sara?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin but quelled the urge to tell him to get the hell out of her house and merely crawled back under her covers. She jerked her shoulder away when he touched her, embarrassed, unable to remember completely what had happened.
She’d not been that drunk in years. And she’d certainly never, ever had sex that drunk. But she recalled too much of it now. How she’d egged him one, encouraged him. Tears dropped onto her pillow as Craig eased up behind her, pulled her body against his and brushed his lips along the back of her neck.
“Craig,” she muttered. The unmistakable feel of his erection made her want to scream with frustration at herself. A hand cupped her breast. Fingers pinched her nipple.
“Shhh,” he hissed in her ear as he reached down to touch her clit, then slipped a finger inside her, making her moan. “I won’t stop. I am gonna fuck you again. And I think you want it, don’t you?” She sighed, arched her back and let her body take over, let the once-gentle, tender man take her again, rough, demanding and exhilarating, shutting out the clamor in her head. The voice that haunted her days and nights, that spoke one man’s name.
Sara groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, trying to force the exquisite hangover agony to cease. It didn’t help. She rolled onto her side into a ball. Maybe if she got really, really small, it would mistake her for someone else and spare her.
No luck. The sickening pounding in her ears matched her heartbeat. The sunlight sliced like a knife between her eyes.
She dragged herself up to a seated position, put a shaking hand over her face before having to lie back from dizziness. Nausea rushed up, forcing her from the bed and into the bathroom. After about ten minutes of losing everything in her stomach, and likely in the stomachs of all her former lives, she sat huddled on the floor, wishing for death. She groaned and pictured her calendar, realizing she had exactly two weeks to go until her period.
Okay. That wasn’t good, considering the three times she’d had sex in the last twelve hours, wholly unprotected. She hated not being able to take the Pill, but years of trial and error that yielded nothing but headaches and misery led her to be a great believer in the condom—that ones that currently sat unused in her bedside table drawer.
She rose, ducked under the shower and scrubbed off, rationalizing away the distinct possibility that she could be pregnant. By a man she was flat-out using to forget another. As she dried off and dressed, she heard Craig’s laughter, the lilt of his drawl, and realized he must be talking to someone back home. He always went full Southern when talking with people who had accents.
His words stopped her dead in her tracks, the brush frozen over her wet hair.
“Yeah, yeah, I beat the bastard at his own game this time.”
She frowned, hoping she didn’t hear that or at least had misinterpreted it.
“No, fair and square. The best man won, in a big way.” She dropped the brush with a clatter.
What the fuck? She leaned out, knowing she shouldn’t eavesdrop. It would only make it worse.
“Of course it’s a contest.” Craig moved around her kitchen. She heard coffee pouring, the sizzle of bacon in the pan. “Everything is with him. But I held fast, had my plan, implemented it and voila. Here I am!” He laughed again. “I had a plan. You have to when dealing with a guy like that.”
Sara’s knees wobbled, and she slid down her bedroom wall, hand over her eyes.
A contest? With a winner? And a prize. Yes, indeed. A prize.
Holy shit. She’d been played.
No, no, calm down. He’s only… what? Gloating about winning her?
Rage rose in her chest so fast she couldn’t breathe. Gulping and sputtering, she got to her feet and marched across the living room into the kitchen. The bastard stood there, towel around his waist, back to her, too-long hair damp from a shower.
“Oh, we’ll see, I guess. But rest assured, he’ll be hearing from me. It’s not a worthwhile win unless there’s… huh?” He spun around when she tapped his shoulder. His smile seemed so natural, unreal for a guy who’d just been caught bragging about beating Jack at the Sara game she didn’t know they’d been playing. She could barely hear as the roaring in her ears drowned everything out but the sound of her own voice.
“Leave. Now.” She crossed her arms.
“Hang on a sec,” he said into the phone. He frowned at her. “Why? I don’t have to be anywhere until—”
She grabbed his phone. “He’ll call you back,” she said, ending the call for him. “I heard you. Congrats on winning me. Now get the fuck out of my house.” He gaped at her, and then nodded, smiling.
“Oh no, I wasn’t—” She sidestepped him. Men and their infernal excuses. She had no more time for any of it.
“I’m not kidding, Craig. Get out. I don’t ever…” She gulped, as the tears let loose. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He stood back, hands on hips. “You don’t know what you heard, Sara. Let me explain at least.”
She held up a hand. “Don’t even try.” Using every ounce of resolve, she left him standing there, slamming the door of her bedroom for good measure before flopping down on the bed and letting the sobs rip through her.
Craig’s jaw ached from clenching it, cursing himself for what he’d done and left undone. Driving on autopilot, he found himself sitting outside the large, imposing bungalow belonging to one Jack Gordon. He’d been there once before, back while Sara and Jack were still officially together, for a poker night with “the boys.” He’d be the first to admit it had been fun. The guy knew how to throw a party even of that size.
Staring at the porch light that still shone and a light sheen of frost that tipped the perfectly mown grass of the large front yard, he sensed his wild heart beat finally slowing. What in the hell he thought he’d do now, he had no idea, but the longer he sat, the calmer he got. The buzz of his phone made him jump and scrabble down into his jeans pocket for the thing.
“Hey.” Suzanne’s soft voice on the other end made him close his eyes, regret, embarrassment, and anger at himself nearly bowling him over.
“Hey, yourself.” He ran a hand across his rough jaw. “What’s up?” They had been talking a fair bit, but Craig held back the urge to do anything more, not even sure why. Until that moment. He spoke before he could talk himself out of it. “Can I come over?”
“Uh, sure, I’m not exactly—”
“I don’t care. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay, I’m at one nineteen Barton Drive.” She named one of the most exclusive streets in one of Ann Arbor’s old-money neighborhoods.
By the time Craig got there, he had nearly backed out of the whole thing, but the sight of her sitting on her massive front porch steps
—a small redheaded figure holding two cups of coffee—lifted his heart. He popped a mint into his mouth and got out, leaning on the truck door a minute. She held up one of the steaming mugs.
“I look like ten miles of bad road, sorry. Nice cottage.” He made his way up and took a seat next to her. She smelled clean, fresh.
“Yeah, I’m selling it. I’ve got a condo downtown already where I usually stay. But I come back here sometimes. Not sure why, really.”
Craig took a deep breath. “I’ve been a real shit in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, Jack has a way of doing that. He really is a nice guy but sometimes...” She leaned into him, making him feel better and worse at the same time.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll blame him for this one.” He took a sip and watched a squirrel make its way across her lawn. “I, um, she… oh fuck.”
She patted his knee. “Take your time.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m over her. I think.” Suzanne kept quiet, sipping her coffee and staring out into the yard. “But I was a complete shit to her in the meantime. And now I have to leave town for two weeks.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll calm down. She’s like her brother that way. They fly off the handle, spend about a day cooling off, then all is well.”
“No, you don’t get it. I was really not a nice guy.” He put his empty mug down on the step and stood, intent on leaving. She pinned him with her intense gaze, but her smile forced a refreshing relaxation through him.
“She’s pretty damn conflicted right now. You didn’t help, being such a nice guy and all—I mean, before yesterday of course.” She leaned back on one elbow, never breaking eye contact. He couldn’t move. His heart started pounding again. With his own action, he probably had driven her right back into Gordon’s arms. Suddenly that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
The craziness of the past months passed through his brain in a montage. Her lips, hands, laugh, sarcastic sense of humor—everything about her that had driven him for so long, started to fade as he watched the slight figure of the woman still sitting at his feet. He reached out a hand and pulled her to standing. She remained on an upper step, nearly at his eye level. She put a hand on his shoulder, the other against his cheek.
“Some people are meant to be together, Craig, no matter what. There’s no explaining it. I, for one, think those two are just such people. And I never, ever thought I’d say that about my friend Jack.” Her smile faded, her face taking on an almost regretful look.
He suddenly felt like a double shit. She’d probably thought the same thing about the man she’d married, the man who’d given her this mansion of a house. Without thinking, he pulled her up and into his arms.
“You’re amazing. I’m sorry to dump this on you.”
She leaned back, then into his ear. “It’s okay. You’re pretty amazing yourself.” The sudden touch of her lips, soft against his, brought a flush to his whole body. He made himself stop, cradled her face in his hands as he spoke.
“I don’t think—”
She put a finger to his lips. “Sometimes you shouldn’t think.” She gave him a quick squeeze before letting him go. “Have a safe trip. Call me.” And with that, she turned and ran back into her house without another word. Craig stared at the place where she’d just been, amazed and a little unnerved by the fluttery sensation in his chest.
* * *
After about an hour, a scalding hot shower, and sips of weak coffee, Sara felt compelled to pull up the photos she kept on her computer from her New Year’s vacation with Jack. The photographers had strolled around constantly, snapping pictures you could purchase. Jack had scoffed and kept ignoring them, but when presented with the proofs at checkout, he’d been speechless. She recalled looking over his shoulder at the screen, taking in the moments captured between them. She bit her lip, scrolling back through scenes of dinners, sunbathing, on a catamaran for the day. But the one that had made him purchase the entire lot of them still had the power to leave her breathless.
They sat together on the beach, the sun rising behind them, Sara with her arms and chin resting on her knees and a small smile teasing her lips. Jack had an arm around her shoulders and eyes fixed on her, lips near her ear. She remembered what he had said right then, too. She’d never forget it.
“You are my whole life. And that scares the shit out of me.”
She shuddered, recalling that she’d not answered him. Had been unable to process such an odd sentiment. Considering she couldn’t have said it better herself.
The photo captured it, forcing the memory of his voice deep into her brain. She shook her head. She had to erase it from her memory banks and that meant one thing. She swallowed hard and hit the delete button, as a single tear slid down her face. It seared her nerve endings, nearly made her scramble down to the tiny garbage can icon to retrieve them. But it had to be done.
She decided to go on a punishing run in the cold afternoon. The mental and literal purge of the man who’d haunted her life for over a year felt good, but not great. The ever-present sting of loss when she realized she couldn’t reach out to call Jack that night hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life.
After stumbling back into the condo, her eyes lit on the embossed black invitation to the downtown building opening party. November eighth. A week from now, and a week before the day they were supposed to be getting married. Now it was the day she’d face him, once and for all, in the building they’d worked so hard on, that represented so much of their months together. Wiping her eyes, she stood, still holding the invitation, and wandered into her bedroom to sleep off some of the overindulgence.
Chapter Fifteen
Sara stood in the office break room a few days before the big party that no one could stop talking about, sipping coffee and staring at the sales board. Squinting, thinking she must be seeing things, she saw the words: 1515 Hill Street, a plum office building listing next to “Craig Robinson.” Her hands shook as she put the coffee mug down on the counter.
Holy shit. That was Jack’s listing.
They’d been talking about how to market it the week before the tailgate, brainstorming the various businesses they knew who could put the beautiful old building to best use.
Oh dear God. Had she done it yet again? What did Jack call it? Yell first and ask questions later?
The words: “I beat the bastard at his own game,” and “You don’t know what you heard, Sara,” careened through her brain so fast she had to take a seat. At that exact moment, her phone buzzed with a text from Jack.
Did you like how the invites turned out?
She smiled at it, finally realizing what she wanted. That last strange night with Craig had sealed it for her. She didn’t answer the text.
He’d been sending texts, emails, and calling. But by then she’d become expert at Jack Gordon avoidance and knew what he meant, anyway. She’d designed those invitations with him, six months ago. She looked up at the sales board again and then sent a text to Craig, who’d left for Louisville with plans for a mini vacation back home before his brother’s wedding.
Two words.
I’m sorry.
She sent it. Then, feeling better than she had in ages, she went about the busy day ahead.
* * *
During that week, she ran twice a day to keep her head clear, didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, and got plenty of sleep every night. She closed two of the biggest transactions in her career up to that point as well. The amount of the commission checks astounded her, but she recalled Jack’s advice about such things as she put enough aside for taxes and the rest in her Roth IRA. The irony that he exercised positive control over her still, in spite of her resistance, made it tough to pass on the glass of wine after work, but she pulled on her running shoes instead.
As hard as she tried to shove him out, the man would not leave her thoughts. She decided she’d go to his party, the one she’d helped him plan all those months ago, and corner
him to talk, really talk. It scared and exhilarated her at the same time, and she determined not to lose her nerve. To have this long-in-coming chat once and for all.
By Thursday, she felt strong, alert, and in control of her emotions enough to handle what she knew would be a high-powered event. She’d had some late showings and pulled into her parking spot, already planning her evening of run, shower, salad, and bed and nearly fell on top of Blake, who sat perched on her porch steps, beer in hand. She frowned, realizing he was halfway to seriously drunk.
“What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” She took a seat next to him.
“He left.”
“Who?” But she knew. Her heart sank. “Oh, honey,” she put her arm around him. He grimaced and shrugged her off.
“Whatever. It’s my fault.” He put the empty beer bottle down and reached for another. She grabbed it out of his hand.
“Come inside. Let’s get some water.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No, Blake. I’m taking care of you for a change. Now get the hell up and come inside.”
He let her lead him in. “Jesus, it’s clean in here.” He glanced around before flopping down on her couch. “Can I stay? I can’t face the house right now.” Sara’s heart broke for her brother as she watched a tear fall from under the hand he had over his eyes. She sat next to him.
“We suck at this, don’t we?” She handed him the water. He drank it before groaning and lying down.
“At what?” He stared up at the ceiling.
“At love.”
He snorted and turned on his side. “Yeah, I guess. What’s with the extreme organization in here? Hire a maid?”
“No. It’s Jack’s influence. The weeks I spent living with him. Sometimes he brings out the good stuff, too.”