Pretty Ever After (Chicago Nights Book 3)

by Tabatha Kiss

  “Yes.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” I take a quick sip from my coffee. “I was there with some buddies from... whatever crap job I had at the time. She was there doing research for a book. Soulmates in Sixty Seconds. You read it?”

  “No,” he answers.

  “You should. It’s great. Anyway, they shuffled all the guys into this room with all these booths set up all in a row. After a few rounds, I noticed that every single guy leaving booth number seven had this look on his face like he’d just had his balls ripped off with a bone saw.”

  Clive subconsciously shifts.

  “Already, my curiosity was piqued. I thought, what horrific travesty could possibly be sitting at booth number seven? I don’t even remember saying a word to booths four, five, and six. I just had to get over to seven.”

  “And it was her?”

  “I sat down...” my chest flutters, “and there she was. Melanie Rose, man. I still remember the outfit she wore, what her hair looked like, what color nail polish she had on. The whole package.”

  Clive shrugs. “So, what’d you do?”

  “I took her home with me. We spent the next three solid days... well, you know. Come to think of it, that’s how I lost that crap job I had, but it was worth it.”

  He smiles. “So, when did you get married?”

  “Nora hasn’t told you?”

  “Nora’s way too clever,” he says. “I grill her about marriage — any marriage — and she’s going to figure out why.”

  “Smart.” I take another sip. “Well, at that point, we were inseparable. We got along great. We had the same goals, same outlook on the future. The sex was fantastic. Her friends liked me. Her parents loved me. It was smooth sailing for about six months, or so I thought. Turns out a perpetually unemployed alcoholic with no car doesn’t live up to dating material standards.”

  “Then, why did she marry you?”

  “Same reason any woman marries the wrong guy. Because she thought he’d change for her. It’s not like I didn’t try. I did, but I loved that bottle just a little more.” I bite my lip. “I asked her to marry me on our one year dating anniversary.”

  Clive nods slowly. “That’s romantic.”

  “Oh, sure is. And I’m sure Melanie still remembers it that way, but...” I breathe a laugh, feeling pathetic. “She was gonna leave me. I could tell she was one second away from kicking me out and slamming that door for good, so I said the first desperate thing that came to my mind. She thought I remembered and planned it all out... but I couldn’t even have told you what month it was, let alone the date or the day of the week.” I swallow. “To this day, she doesn’t know. I never told her. I just let her believe in me because that felt better than telling the truth. We got married a few weeks later. It was small, perfect. Just us, Nora, and Trix; her parents; her little brother, my little brother.” I stare at the table between us. “I really thought I could do it, you know? I thought I could change. Be the man she wanted me to be. I was wrong.”

  Clive looks at me, his eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Does that answer your question?” I ask.

  His lips twitch. “Not sure.”

  “Well, at least you got free coffee.” I shrug as I pick up my cup. “I should get home. I’ve got some work to do.”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” he says. “Sorry if I kept you.”

  “You didn’t. I’m happy to help.” I stand. “Look, man, don’t over-think it. If she’s the one, you’ll know it. If she’s not, you’ll figure that out eventually, too. For what it’s worth, I say go for it. Nora’s happy — happy in ways I’ve never seen on her before. She deserves you.”

  Clive exhales with relief and smiles. “Thanks, Rob.”

  “But if I find out you’re playing her again, Trix’s mafia brothers won’t even have time to kill you. Do you understand?”

  He pauses, slowly nodding. “Yeah, I got you.”

  I grin. “Tootles.”

  I exit the shop, leaving Clive looking a little green, but he’ll live. I love second chances, obviously, but I’d die for these girls. I expect the same from their men.

  What can I say? I’m a big romance fan.

  Nine

  Melanie

  I take another sip from my drink as I wait. Seriously, how long does it take for a man to read a few chapters? Then again, this is Robbie we’re talking about here. He doesn’t just read my words; he studies them like an archaeologist and some old, sacred text.

  I always appreciated that, though. His critique is honest, sometimes brutally so, but it made me a better writer.

  He told me he’d get to them after he got off work. Assuming he got off at five, then he’s only been home for forty-five minutes tops. He also works construction, meaning he probably hopped right into the shower to wash the dirt and grime off his tight and toned…

  Focus, Melanie.

  I pull my laptop closer. No reason I can’t use this pent-up emotion to hammer out a few more scenes before Robbie comes through.

  Assuming he does.

  Come on, Melanie. This is Robbie Wheeler we’re thinking about here.

  Remember Robbie?

  Like, really remember Robbie?

  The guy who lied to you constantly?

  Who ripped your heart out and stomped on it?

  Why are we trusting him again?

  I let out a groan as I slide deeper into the couch cushions. Is a sweet smile on a chiseled jawline really all it takes for me to forget everything wrong with Robbie? Getting sober was one huge step forward, but one step forward is a small thing on a road of step backs.

  Whatever this thing is with Robbie right now, it’s professional only. I’m asking a reader to beta read my writing. That’s it. I’ll find some way to compensate him for his time that doesn’t include getting naked and saying sweet hello to that amazing jawline.

  I need a drink.

  I roll off the couch and make my way across the apartment toward the kitchen. A few sips of old whiskey should be enough to calm me down.

  I pause, standing still in the refrigerator’s light with the bottle in my hand. All those nights together with Robbie, getting drunk on wrinkled bedsheets.

  Just one more drink.

  Just one more time.

  Fuck it. Let’s go all night.

  But he’s sober now. He has a real job. He looks more handsome than ever.

  He’s getting better one day at a time because I’m not there to enable him anymore.

  I put the bottle back and close the door. The force of it knocks a magnet off and I watch as the ribbons tumble to the floor. I pick them up, thinking I should probably find another solution for these. It’s getting too heavy for one magnet to support alone.

  I run my fingers through them, and I think about him. Him. I still don’t even know his name. I don’t know what neighborhood he lives in or what car he drives or what he does for a living, but butterflies attack my stomach regardless whenever I think about him. It’s new and exciting. There’s no expectation or baggage.

  It’s nothing like Robbie.

  I latch onto the feeling as I shuffle back to the couch in search of my phone. Maybe, just maybe, tonight is the night I’ll finally hear from him again.

  I tap out a quick message to my mystery man.

  Hey. Is everything all right? Been a while…

  My thumb hovers over send for a moment before I give in and tap it. The message pops up on the screen, wrapped in a bright word bubble, and I wait. I stare at it, hoping for something, anything that’ll tell me he’s still interested in… well, me.

  I keep waiting. I wait until the screen turns off on its own.

  I exhale, disappointed.

  Well, shit.

  Maybe it is like Robbie.

  Ten

  Robbie

  Roger stares at me across the table at Moira’s Cafe. He slowly leans forward and sets his elbows on the table, bringing his fingers together in a steeple in fr
ont of him.

  Judgment teems from his eyeballs. “Robbie,” he finally says, “do you know what emotional manipulation is?”

  I laugh. “Oh, come on.”

  “Do you?”

  “I am not emotionally manipulating Melanie.”

  His face screws up. “Aren’t you, though?”

  “Maybe it looks that way on the surface, but no one knows Melanie Rose like I know Melanie Rose, all right? This is necessary.”

  Roger sits back, arms crossed. “Why?” he asks.

  “Melanie needs to be pushed,” I say. “The best way to do that is to show her multiple paths and gently nudge her in the direction you want her to go in.”

  “So, you’re nudging her in your direction?”

  “Gently.”

  “By making her fall… for another guy?”

  “Yes!”

  He squints in confusion. “Nope. You’ve lost me again.”

  I sigh. “This secret admirer is brand new. He’s simple and suave and he always knows exactly what to say — but! — someday soon, this guy will go distant on her. The flowers have already stopped showing up. Flat-out ghosted, you know what I mean?”

  “I am familiar with the term.”

  I part my hands, signaling a fork in the road. “Suddenly, that path isn’t looking too great, but the other path…” I point at myself. “This one? This one looks familiar. This one’s great in bed and very, very charming.”

  “And sober,” Roger adds, feigning a gasp. “And employed.”

  “This path ain’t looking so bad anymore for Melanie Rose. This path is endgame. It’s happily ever after and destiny and all the other fantasies she writes about every day.”

  Roger chews his lip. “Question.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “What part of that isn’t emotional manipulation?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but exhale hard. “You just don’t get it.”

  “Robbie, and I say this as your one and only friend…”

  “You’re not my only friend, Rog.”

  He chortles. “Yeah, right. Robbie, as your only friend, I mean it with love when I say that I look forward to the day when all of this blows up in your face.”

  I laugh. “You’re such a good sponsor.”

  He raises his mug. “I’m the best.”

  “Hey, Rob!”

  I instinctively flinch as I hear the familiar voice.

  Val.

  She stands over our table, smiling from ear-to-ear as she stares at me with wide, crazy eyes.

  “Oh. Hey, Val,” I say. “How you doing?”

  “I’m doing great,” she says. “And yourself?”

  “I’m good. What brings you to this neighborhood?”

  “Oh, just doing a bit of shopping,” she says, casually flipping her long, blonde hair. “Meeting a few friends for lunch, too. Saw you over here and just had to say hi.”

  I glance around. Not a single gaggle of college girls in the joint. No shopping bags, either.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Roger kicks my shin beneath the table. I glare at his wagging eyebrows.

  “Val, this is my friend, Roger,” I say under protest. “Roger, my neighbor, Val.”

  “Enchanté,” he says as he extends his hand.

  She places her fingers in his and smiles as he kisses the back of her hand. “C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Monsieur Roger,” she replies.

  Roger gasps with delight. “Your French is exquisite,” he says, looking her up and down.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I just returned from a semester in Paris.”

  “You don’t say,” I mutter from behind my mug.

  “Really?” Roger says. “I just love Paris. Most beautiful city in the world, I say.”

  Val giggles as she quickly turns back to me. “Speaking of which, have you thought about my party?” she asks.

  “A party?” Roger repeats. “You’re having a party?”

  “Just a little get-together with some friends,” Val answers. “Celebrating my return to Chicago.”

  “Well, that sounds like fun! Doesn’t that sound like fun, Rob?”

  I kick Roger’s ankle beneath the table, but that smirk never budges. Damn masochist. “Yeah, I checked my schedule, Val,” I say. “It doesn’t look like I can make it. Sorry.”

  “Nonsense!” Roger says. “That thing we had that night was canceled.”

  “You don’t even know when—”

  “Of course he’ll be there!” he says over me. “He wouldn’t miss it for the world. A girl only comes back from Paris once in a lifetime.”

  Val squeals. “Excellent! I’ll keep my door unlocked for you,” she says, winking at me. “Anyway, my friends are waiting for me, so…”

  “Okay, Val,” I say, glaring at Roger. “See you later, Val.”

  Roger grins at her. “Ca me fait plaisir de discuter avec vous,” he says.

  She blushes. “Bye!”

  Roger watches her leave, his eyes permanently glued to her ass as she scampers off toward the hostess station around the corner.

  Once she’s gone, he quivers slightly. “I want one,” he says.

  “No, you don’t,” I say.

  “She’s perfect. Get me into that party.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s barely legal, Rog.”

  “But legal.”

  “And my landlord’s daughter. He’s an ex-wrestler and very over-protective.”

  Roger groans with delight. “Potential daddy issues.”

  “And psycho. You realize she probably followed me here, right?”

  He bites his lip. “Don’t stop, Robbie. I’m almost there.”

  I laugh, but shut it down fast. “We’re not going to that party.”

  “Yes, we are,” he says.

  “It will be nothing but dumb college girls, man.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t see the problem.”

  “And booze.”

  “Oh.” He straightens up. A man of responsible authority. “I’ll be right by your side the whole time. Don’t worry about that. We shall not give into temptation. At least…” he smirks, “not with booze.”

  “I won’t need you by my side because we’re not going.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “No, were not.”

  He takes a sip from his mug. “Honestly, it sounds exactly like what you need to get over Melanie.”

  I frown. “I don’t need to get over Melanie.”

  “The divorce you finalized months ago says otherwise.”

  “We’re just taking a little break, that’s all.”

  “Really, dude?” Roger cants his head. “Really?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Good. Because I don’t.” He peeks around the corner, desperate for one last glance at Val’s rear end, but she’s obviously long gone now. “Look, at least go and wingman for me,” he says.

  I laugh. “You don’t need my help to get laid.”

  “You’re damn right I don’t!” He smiles. “But I do need you to get me through the door.”

  “Pass.”

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “Pretty please?” he says. “With shackles on top?”

  “Sprinkles,” I correct.

  “I said what I said.”

  I bite down to stifle my laugh.

  “Just get me through the door!” Roger says, chuckling. “Then, you can sneak back home and not have sex with your ex-wife ever again some more.”

  I scoff. Roger’s persistence has never been more annoying than it is right now. Might as well stop postponing the inevitable. I’m not getting out of this until I give him what he wants, but at least it’ll be easy to sneak out afterward.

  “Fine,” I say. “I will get you through the door.”

  Roger slams his fist once on the table. “That’s my boy!” he says.

  “But then, I’m out.”

&nbs
p; He deflates. “That’s your call, but I strongly encourage you to reconsider.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Robbie, I get it,” he says, putting on his serious face. “You love Melanie.”

  “I do.”

  “And you’re always going to. I don’t blame you, either. She’s an amazing woman.”

  “Exactly. Thank you.”

  “But she moved on.”

  My chest tightens. “No, she didn’t,” I say.

  “Think about it, Rob. Last night, she was alone in her apartment. She was working on her book, possibly on a very sexy chapter considering the genre she writes in.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, so?”

  “So… she’s a single woman sitting at home all alone, thinking about sex, and she texted a man who wasn’t you.”

  I raise a finger. “But it is, though.”

  “She doesn’t know that.”

  “On some level, she does.”

  Roger sighs at my desperation. “I think it’s time—”

  “No.”

  “— for you to consider the possibility that—”

  “Stop.”

  “— you and Melanie will never get back together.”

  I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  “Rob.”

  “You weren’t there the other night,” I argue. “The things she said to me—”

  “While she was wasted?”

  “In vino veritas. She wants to make it work. I know it. I just have to be patient and let it happen.”

  He swishes the coffee around his mug. “Well, buddy, I think you’re setting yourself up for a lot more of that big, dumb heartbreak and you’ll end up right back where you started.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I say, annoyed. “I’m not taking relationship advice from a guy who thinks choking is first base.”

  Roger sits back. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

  “That’s how it is.”

  “I’ll just go fuck myself, then.”

  “You do that.”

  “It’s certainly more action than you’ve gotten this year.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  We both fall silent. Our gazes retreat, avoiding each other for as long as possible. My anger simmers quickly, though. I was never mad at him.

  It’s the truth that bothers me.