by JB Heller
My brows furrow. “Are you having a conversation with that thing?”
Dax lifts his gaze to me. “Yeah. So?”
“You know he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying? He just mimics stuff.”
“That’s what I used to think too, but Tia made me read some stuff that proves if trained properly, they do indeed understand. Like when he asks for food when he’s hungry or asks for cuddles,” he says, lifting his face to look at the bird. “Isn’t that right, you fluffy little fucker?”
“Huh,” I mutter, eyeing the feathered menace. “So, when I tell him I’ll pluck him if he touches my plants, he’ll get it?”
Dax shrugs. “He knows what the word no means, so I assume so. Doesn’t mean he won’t do it to piss you off though.” He chuckles to himself as he continues setting up the cage.
I narrow my eyes on the pair, but there’s not really anything I can do to get rid of either of them right now. So, wine it is! I go to the fridge, grab a fresh bottle of rosé and a stemless glass, then pour myself a healthy amount.
“Uh, you know you’re not supposed to fill it to the brim, right?” Dax says, having finished his task.
I scoff, “Pfft, people who think that are doing it wrong. Why would the glass be capable of holding half a bottle if it wasn’t supposed to? Hmm? Answer me that.”
He shakes his head, grinning as he takes the bottle back to the fridge for me, and grabs himself a beer. “You know, I’m not sure. It’s just one of those unexplainable things.” Dax wanders back into the living area then drops down on the couch.
Vinnie climbs off his shoulder and onto the back the seat. I glare at him as he paces back and forth along the upholstery. “If he craps on my couch—”
“I’ll clean it up,” Dax finishes. “Stop stressing already and come sit with me. We can order take-out and watch a movie. Maybe even throw in some snuggling…” he adds with a waggle of his brows.
“Fine, fine. I can do that. Well, I mean maybe not the snuggling part, don’t go pushing your luck, buddy.” I sit next to him, and he slings his arm over my shoulder, tugging me into his side as he brushes his lips over my temple.
We did in fact end up snuggling, all damn weekend. And I… I liked it.
We watched movies, ate popcorn, and kissed… and kissed and kissed.
Gah, I’m turning into a sap and it’s gross and disgusting. I should hate it. I should be doing everything in my power to put a stop to it. To stop all of this. But every time I think about doing just that, Dax goes and does something else sweet or downright sexy, and I forget I’m supposed to be pushing him away.
Weak. That’s what I am. Pathetic and weak.
He left for work ten minutes ago, and I’m lying in bed, pondering my patheticness.
If it wasn’t for those freaking sweatpants, I’m sure I’d be better at resisting him. I lurch upright as an idea forms. I bounce out of bed, then rummage through my closet for the small sewing kit I keep for minor repairs.
Ah-ha! I grab it and take out the unpicking tool, a thrilled smile curving my lips as I pull out a stack of his grey sweats from his side of the closet. Well, the side he’s temporarily claimed.
By the time I’m done, he won’t have any of these damn kryptonite pants left.
I need to end this sooner than later. It hasn’t even been a month, and my resolve is crumbling like a kid at fat camp faced with their favorite candy. Tonight, it has to be tonight. I’ll never last the full three months. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.
He’s planned to cook for me again. He made a big deal about it last night when he was telling me what he was going to make. If I do this right, it will be his breaking point.
Sliding the key into the lock, I turn it then push open the door to my apartment as quietly as humanly possible. Holding my breath, I tiptoe inside and gently close the door behind me.
I’ve resorted to sneaking into my own place like a freaking ninja because I’m shit scared of how Dax is going to react.
This was necessary, I remind myself. Him and his never-ending sweetness and understanding, his stupid grey sweatpants, disgustingly chiseled abs, and Ben Barnes good looks have brought me to this.
I stay frozen at the door for a beat, listening for any sign that he might still be up and lurking somewhere in the darkness. Only after I’m met with a full minute’s worth of complete and utter silence, do I breathe a sigh of relief. The apartment is pitch black, but that doesn’t stop me from strolling straight into the open plan kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.
I’m reaching for the glass I keep on the sink when a bright light flicks on, temporarily blinding me. My hand lifts to shield my eyes until they can adjust, then I slowly lower it.
Dax is sitting in my favorite reading chair, the tall lamp beside him illuminating his scowling face. And damn it, he’s even hot when he’s pissy. Come to think of it, that’s probably contributed to how I ended up in this mess…
I swallow hard and grip the edge of the counter to stop my hands from shaking, but he just sits there, staring at me.
His strong jaw works under his stubbled skin as he reaches a hand up to run through his messy dark hair. It’s obviously not the first time he’s done that tonight. “How nice of you to finally come home, wife,” he drawls.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine then reach for the glass again, this time managing to pour myself a cup of water before taking a delicate sip. Raising a brow at him, all fake bravado, I ask, “So, what… you’ve taken to skulking around in the dark, waiting for me to walk in the door? That’s not at all creepy.”
He tilts his head as he leans forward, linking his hands together between his spread knees. “Did your cell battery die?”
I furrow my brows. “Umm, no…”
“Hmm, that’s weird. Because I didn’t get so much as a text saying you couldn’t make it for dinner tonight... again.”
I bite my lip. “Sorry, must have slipped my mind.” I’m a liar and he knows it. He’s all that’s been on my mind since we woke up married in freaking Vegas. All day. Every day. Dax, Dax, Dax. That’s it and it’s only getting worse. Each day I let this continue, the weaker I become.
“I see,” he murmurs, pushing to his feet. “Well, you can tidy the dishes since I cooked. I’m going to bed; I have to be up in a few hours to get ready for work.” He turns away from me and stalks to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
I can’t help but watch those buns of steel as he stomps away from me. A completely unintentionally dreamy sigh slips from my lips. Why does the man have to be so insanely sexy? Why?
Dropping my head, I massage my temples with my thumb and forefinger before wondering over to the light switch and flicking it on. A lead weight settles in my stomach as my gaze settles on my small dining table. It’s set for two, a small posey of fresh flowers in a vase that sits in the center, a glass of wine positioned at each place setting. My eyes lock onto the gorgeous, green, crystalline pattern of the vase. He definitely didn’t find that here; he must have bought it for me.
My throat swells until I can’t swallow anymore, and a sob lodges in my chest.
Why does he have to be so damn sweet and try to do this kind of stuff for me? I sure as hell don’t deserve it. I keep treating him like shit, but he just rolls with it and acts like I’m not a mega bitch.
The relief I felt at revealing my secret to him is long gone, replaced by regret. He knows just how broken I am inside, and all it’s served is to make him even more determined to be with me. What kind of psycho wants someone with as much baggage as I have?
Hopefully, my behavior tonight, or lack of it, has shown him that he’s wasting his time. That no matter how close we get, I’ll always have too many issues to be what he needs me to be.
Swallowing down my emotions, I take yet another deep breath—pretty sure I could teach one of those deep breathing yoga classes at this rate—then go about tidying off the table.
It’s official. I’ve
turned into a disgruntled housewife.
I took off from work early today and spent hours perfecting Amá’s famous Chili recipe. I nailed all the essential elements of the cornbread. Soft? Check. Sweet? Check. And most important, buttery? Check. It took me an hour to pick out the perfect bottle of wine to accompany it, and what do I get in return for all my hard work? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
All I wanted was to have a nice meal with her. For us to sit down together, eat some great food, drink some wine, and talk about our day. Like. A. Normal. Freaking. Couple. Like we’d done on the weekend, which was damn near perfect in my book.
But apparently that’s all too hard for Adley. She couldn’t even be bothered sending me a simple text to let me know she wouldn’t make it home for dinner. Yet again she disappeared without a word. Just like she did with sushigate, but this time I didn’t bother calling Trixie’s to find out if she was there.
Frustration bubbles in my veins, locking my muscles tight with tension. Instead of getting in bed like I’d intended, I move to the little attached bathroom. After stripping off my clothes, I turn the faucet to boiling then step under the spray. My head drops forward, resting against the cool tiles as the water pounds into my rigid neck and shoulders.
I knew going into this that she wasn’t going to make it easy for me, that there’d be good days and bad. The girl has serious issues when it comes to men and I’m grateful I know why now, but I honestly thought this would do the trick. I was positive moving in would convince her of what we can be together.
Problem is she runs whenever we fall into a natural groove.
My head snaps up at that thought, and Plan B begins to form as I wash myself off then climb out of the shower. I’m ninety-nine percent sure my grin is maniacal as I snatch my towel from the rack and dry off. But I don’t give one single shit because Plan B is where it’s at.
I’m well aware that her running and acting like she doesn’t give two shits about me is her way of putting a wall up between us and trying to push me away, but that silly woman has no idea just how far I’m willing to go to woo her and make her mine, permanently.
I crawl in between the sheets as naked as the day I was born, enjoying the feel of the Egyptian cotton against my skin. Now that I know what my next move is, sleep comes easily.
I stroll into the office with a smile on my face despite the late hour I got to bed last night.
“What’s with the pep in your step, bro?” Arlo asks, turning from the direction he was going in to keep stride with me.
He’ll eventually specialize in family law, but luckily for him my firm was looking for an errand boy or the like, so I spoke to HR and put in a word for him like his old man asked. Arlo had to do the rest though. In my opinion, it’s never too early to get your foot in the door at a reputable firm.
“None of your damn business.” I chuckle, knocking my elbow into his side. “How you settling in, anyway?”
He shrugs. “Fine, I guess. It’s not exactly rocket science. I’m basically the office bitch boy.”
“That you are,” I agree, grinning as we enter my office and I take off my suit jacket, slinging it over the back of my chair. “How’s Kinsley doin? Still no baby?”
“Nope,” he says, popping the P. “Little sis ain’t showing any signs of wanting to make an appearance Earthside anytime soon. Poor Kins can’t even get off the couch on her own anymore she’s so fuckin’ huge.”
I cringe. Thankful—not for the first time in my life—that I’m not a chick. “That sounds awful.”
Arlo nods and slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Tell me about it.”
I drop down into my seat and loosen my tie a little. I’ve gotta be comfortable when I’m working, otherwise I sit here fidgeting and dicking around for hours instead of helping people like I should be.
“You need anything? I was actually about to do a little bitch boy coffee run when I got blinded by your morning glow,” Arlo says, waggling his brows.
I ignore his jab with a roll of my eyes. “Americano.”
“On it, boss.” He salutes me and turns to leave.
“Aren’t you going to write it down?”
He pauses in my doorway, looking back at me over his shoulder and tapping his temple. “Not rocket science, remember. It’s all in here.”
The rest of my day runs smoothly, and I get a shit tone of work done, which feels amazing. I’ve been so distracted the last few weeks with Adley shit that my work has been suffering.
I’m just packing up for the day when my cell chimes with a text from Tia.
TIA: Why has Vinnie been threatening to “Pluck” me all day?
A laugh bursts from my chest. I’d been too wrapped up in Ads to teach him any new naughty words. But, apparently, Ads had threatened him enough that he still picked up on something from our shared weekend.
DAX: You can blame your—
Oh shit. I stop typing abruptly. Tia has no idea about Ads and me. I can’t tell her Adley is the one responsible for teaching him his new catch phrase. Fuck. I scrub a hand over my face. I’m tired of hiding. I’ve never lied to my family about anything. But omitting the truth of my relationship with Adley feels like the same damn thing, and I don’t fucking like it.
I delete the text. And retype.
DAX: He was being a shit stirrer. I may have told him a time or ten that if he kept it up, I’d pluck him…
I hit send before the guilt of lying to my baby sister can set in. I need to put an end to all the secrecy. And to do that, I need to convince Adley we’re solid and I’m not going any-fucking-where.
Unsurprisingly, Ads is not home when I get back to the apartment. But that’s okay.
I put my shoes on the rack then head into the bathroom for a quick shower. When I get out, I run my hands through my damp hair a few times before putting on some cologne. Standing in the wardrobe, I pull on some underwear, grab on a long-sleeved black Henley, then tug it over my head before yanking on some dark wash jeans. After fastening my belt buckle, I snatch up my boots and leather jacket.
Sitting on the end of the bed, I put on my boots then slide my arms into my jacket. I give myself a quick once over in the mirror. My dark eyes gleam with determination. I look pretty fucking good if I do say so myself. I grab my cell, order an Uber, then find my keys and wallet so I can head out.
Trixie’s is a thirty-minute drive from the apartment at this time of day. My ride is waiting on the sidewalk out the front of the building by the time I make it outside, and I slide right on in.
It’s open mike night at the club tonight, so when I arrive, there’s a small line up outside the door. I cut to the front and greet Marco, the freakin’ huge bouncer, where he stands guard. “Marco, my man. How’s it going?” I ask, shaking his hulk-like hand.
“Dax, bro. Long time no see.” He eyes me up and down. “Lookin’ good tonight. Plannin’ on putting the moves on the boss lady, huh?”
I shrug. “I might be.”
He smiles and waves me in. “Good luck, she’s in a mood.”
“When isn’t she?” I shoot back as I pass him.
Entering the dimly lit club, I go straight to the bar where Perri is slinging drinks like the pro she is. I take up position at the end and wait to catch her eye.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually she sees me and lifts her hand in acknowledgement. “Just a minute, sweet cheeks,” she calls.
I nod and turn to face tonight’s crowd, leaning my elbows on the bar behind me. There’s a healthy mix of fully made-up Queens and average dudes milling around, filling tables with more spilling in by the minute. It’s going to be a big night by the looks.
“Here you go sugar,” Perri’s says behind me.
I spin around and take the Corona she slides across the bar to me. “Thanks.”
“She’s in her office upstairs,” she says, nodding in that direction. “But she’ll be down once the open mike starts. Why don’t you go wait at her table?”
“Will do.” I give her a wink then weave my way over to Ads’s table that’s cornered off inside the VIP section on a slightly higher level. I give the bouncer there a chin lift as I approach, saying, “Glenn.”
“Dax,” he returns, stepping aside to let me through.
Glenn is a beast of a guy, stoic and stern. Except for the sparkly, black, dress shirt he wears with a diamante-studded collar and the delicate thread-drop earrings adorned with gleaming pearls. And, of course, the matching double strand of pearls around his thick neck.
Taking a seat at Ads’s table, I knock back a few swigs of my beer and scan the crowd. It really is a full house, and that makes me a little edgy. I’ve never been a big fan of overly crowed, enclosed spaces. Being slightly separated in the VIP area helps a little, but my nerves are still on high alert.
Half an hour passes and Adley still hasn’t shown her face. I’ve finished my first beer and I’m well into my second, which serves to settle my nerves a little. Rocco’s voice comes over the sound system, announcing the first act for the night as a shorty in skyscraper heels climes to the stage.
My gaze flicks towards the staircase that leads to Adley’s office, still no sign of her. I tip back the last of my drink, place the empty on the table, then push to my feet. I pause behind Glenn, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns his head to face me, arching a brow.
“I’m going to go on up to her office,” I tell him.
He nods and steps aside.
I’m almost past him when he shoots out a hand, locking it around my bicep. “I don’t know what’s changed with you two, but I’ve never seen her life this.”
I eye him, not understanding what he’s trying to get at. “Okay…”
He shakes his head. “Just fix it. Or I’ll be forced to hurt you, and I don’t like doing that kind of thing anymore.”
My brows shoot up into my hairline, and I swallow hard. “I’m working on it,” I tell him. “In case you didn’t notice, she’s stubborn and hardheaded.”