Bitter Exes

by Addison Moore

  Seth calls it a wrap and offers us both a congratulatory slap on the back. “We’ll see you Saturday for your date.” He nods to Lane. “Petra says you gave quite the list of specifics.” He gives a wink my way because Seth is such a tease. He leans in and looks to the two of us. “Now tell me. Was that really the first kiss you’ve shared since you’ve been reunited?”

  Reunited sets a small earthquake off inside of me until I realize that he’s right. Lane and I have reunited. It’s as if it snuck up on us the way the holiday season does. One minute you’re prepping for fall semester to begin and the next you’re tangled up in wrapping paper with far too many naked gifts staring up at you.

  “Well?” Seth digs his fists into his hips as he awaits his answer.

  “This might have been the second,” I whisper.

  Lane picks up my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Or the twentieth, or the thirtieth.”

  I can’t help but give a giddy laugh as the interns buzz around us blowing out candles and collecting the props. “But only the second occasion, we promise.” I look to Lane and meet up with those glowing poltergeist eyes. “It still very much feels shiny and new.”

  Lane’s lids hood heavily as his lips twitch with a wicked smile. “And there are so many more shiny and new milestones to cross.”

  We take off together, driving back toward Leland in his truck, ready to cross them all.

  * * *

  Lane makes a beeline for his apartment with the radio blaring sappy love songs. We’re so focused on getting into that oversized building and into his oversized bed that we hardly share two words. Once we hit the parking garage, Lane picks me up and carries me to the elevator, then all the way to his apartment until he’s successfully bolted us inside.

  He sets me down on the floor carefully, my heavy boot the first to hit the ground. I left the crutches in his truck because I know firsthand I won’t be needing them.

  Lane wraps his arms around me as the moonlight pours into his apartment. He gently lands his forehead over mine, his eyes casting their alien light over me. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Good. That means we’re going to have a pretty busy evening, and we’d better get started right away.” I strip him of his flannel and the T-shirt he has on underneath it. I give his jeans a quick tug. “These had better go, too.”

  A dark laugh rumbles from him. “Your wish is my command.” He fumbles with his button and zipper until he’s standing there in his boxers—his shoes, socks, and Levi’s have all vacated his body. He warms my arms with his hands. “I should have a fire going. I should ply you with wine or cheap beer. I should have at least bought you a lobster.”

  “I’ll hit you up for the prostitution tax another time.” I pull him to me by his cheeks and smear a hard kiss over those pillow soft lips. Lane’s mouth has been an erotic arena all its own for as long as I have known him, and his chest rumbles with a laugh at my words. That’s what I used to call those luxurious dinner dates that ended with me in the missionary position, his tongue buried inside delicate places in my body.

  Lane helps pull off my sweater, the two tank tops underneath, and the sports bra that has more properties that coincide with an obnoxiously tight rubber band than they do women’s lingerie.

  “What the hell is this thing?” he gasps, struggling to get it over my head, and I think I just lost a good chunk of hair in its rubberized webbing.

  “It’s one of those thing-a-ma-jigs. You know, for running. It holds the girls tight so they won’t go zigzagging all over the place.”

  “Well that thing-a-ma-jig just sprained my left wrist.”

  “Oh my God!” I struggle to free myself from the contraption and send my bra flying across the room like a missile. “Incoming.” I laugh as I land against him, bare chest to bare chest, and there is no greater feeling. My skin drinks it in, and I can’t stop looking up at Lane Cooper’s glowing eyes. “Can I kiss it?” The words come from me softly.

  His lips pull back as he wipes the stray hair from my eyes. “Wow, Vi,” he flatlines as that hard protrusion at the base of his hips touches over my stomach—“you’re all about getting right down to business tonight. And I will be the last to protest.”

  I smack him over his steely arm. “I meant your wrist.” I tilt into him, biting down over my lip. “But since you’ve been so nice to me, I’ll give you a twofer.” I give a little shrug. “Who am I kidding? I’m kissing every last inch of you tonight.”

  His lids lower a notch more, and I’d swear on all that is holy, the light in the room dimmed by half. Turns out, the moon isn’t illuminating the room as much as I thought.

  “Funny you should say that.” His voice hits that lower octave. “I’ve got about eight solid inches I’m about to give you first.”

  “Eight?” I balk, amused at his mathematical error. I’ve memorized Lane’s body, and eight is the wrong number entirely. I hitch my thumbs in his boxers and send them sailing to the floor, pulling back to do an informal inspection, and my heart drums in my chest as I swallow hard. “Honey, you’re short selling yourself by a miracle mile. NASA couldn’t miss this if they tried.”

  His chest rumbles with a laugh, and I feel it right through mine as my body melts over him once again.

  Lane peppers my face with kisses that grow increasingly wild and heated by the second. “You are wearing way too many clothes.” He fumbles with the button on my jeans, and I jump back with a squeal in my throat. “I have a surprise for you!” I turn around and take off my left boot, my beloved Sorels—and then finally that hideous boot-legged prize I scored on that black diamond run, and I lift to launch it with all my might and hit a hard obstacle no less than a foot away from me—the family jewels and that walking stick he was about to impale me with.

  “Shit!” Lane howls so loud the windows rattle before doubling down, holding that mile miracle I was about to indulge with a kiss. He groans so loud, so powerfully strong, it sounds animalistic and primal, well past the bounds of human pain tolerance.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I bleat as I fall to my knees, struggling to keep up with his rolling and moaning. “I swear I didn’t see it.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t miss it!” he thunders, his body swiveling from side to side as if trying its best to ditch me.

  An entire arsenal of words bottles up in my throat and I gag on them. “I thought you were behind me, and it’s so damn dark in here! Why is it so darn dark in here?” I wail right along with him.

  He slaps his hand over the floor three times hard, and it sounds as if someone just thumped over it with a jackhammer. His head arches back as he roars into the night, and then, just like that, he falls flat on his back, eyes opened as he stares at the ceiling.

  Oh my God, I killed him. I killed Lane Cooper with orthopedic shoe wear! “Are you dead?”

  A hard knock rumbles over the door.

  “I’m not dead yet. Would you like to finish me off or see who that is?”

  “I think I’ll get the door.” I scamper over on my new light feet, and there’s no peephole, so I open it just a notch to find some disheveled boy with his hair going wild in every direction.

  “Dude, what the hell is going on in there?” He pokes his head in and rakes me over with his eyes, and the fact I’m doing my best impression of a topless dancer hits us both at the very same time. I scream and slam the door in his face, bolting it once again to be sure Mr. Bedhead doesn’t come in for a second look.

  “I just exposed my boobs to some dude who happens to be having a very bad hair day.” I trot back to the spot where Lane lies lifeless, the girls zigzagging like they just don’t care.

  “That was Danny from next door. He’s really going to like you.”

  I make a face as I get down on my knees and help him to a sitting position. “Let’s get you to the bed. The floor is freezing.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he says as we stand together, a partially naked mess, me wit
h my jeans still hugging my body. “I now feel comfortably numb.” He pulls me in and lands a kiss over the top of my head. “You still up for kissing inches and going the full mile?”

  “If you’re not afraid of me.” Hell, at this point, I’m afraid of me.

  He gives a dull laugh and wraps an arm over my shoulders as we limp our way to the bedroom.

  “I still need to ditch the jeans,” I say it low like a confession as Lane lands on his elbows over the mattress with a hard wince. The windows in this room are fully exposed, and not only is it bathed in moonlight, but the streetlights illuminate it with their peachy glow. Lane’s bedroom is the size of my entire dorm and bigger. The warm scent of his cologne lingers thick in the air, and something about the decidedly testosterone-based environment has me sexually heightened.

  “How about a strip tease?” he says in that heated lower register, and it feels as if we’re back in business. “Over there.” He motions toward the window a safe distance from his bed, and I’m quick to oblige him. I swivel my hips with the best of them, shimmying down my jeans until they tangle in a knot at the base of my ankles, and then try to skip right out of them like some delicate little nymph, only to trip and stumble until my body flies over the mattress like a pro female wrestler, and Lane lets out a harrowing cry as I land right over him.

  “Fuck!” he barks it out so loud my body shakes, and not in the good way I was hoping for on this mattress fun zone.

  My body freezes, and I’m petrified to move. “Are you okay?”

  His chest expands and retracts once again as his arms warm my back. “I’m okay,” he whispers, but in truth his tone lacked all credibility. “If that’s all it took to land you in my bed, then it was worth it.” He depresses his head into the mattress to get a better look at me. “We may not be able to have kids for a while, but I’m guessing that’s not a big deal.”

  A nervous giggle escapes me as I fill with relief. “That’s more than okay, but once it’s feasible again, I say we get straight to the task. Maybe a graduation present for me? Something cute in pink or blue?”

  He presses a heated kiss to my lips. “Sounds perfect. How about we practice for the next few years?”

  “I’m all for that.” I roll over, pulling him on top of me, and Lane and I get lost in one another’s eyes as the moment grows serious.

  “I love you, Vi,” he whispers, and this time he’s one hundred percent convincing. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I’m so sorry I ever hurt you.”

  My finger lands over his lips, and I shake my head as tears blur my vision. “I love you, too, Lane. I don’t think we need to say another word.” A part of me is very much onboard with sweeping the past under the proverbial rug. Who cares about what happened back then when we could have this now?

  My fingers sink into the back of his neck as I command his mouth to mine. “Can we start all over again?” I’m not sure if I’m talking about tonight’s carnal capers or our lives in general since both apply.

  Lane’s dimples dig in deep, no smile, a sober sadness veiled in his lust-filled eyes. “I thought you’d never ask. Now kiss me.” He gifts me a wild and wicked grin.

  Lane’s mouth falls sweetly over mine before ravaging me with the heat of a thousand bonfires. Lane Cooper kisses my body as if it were a racetrack course, doing three and four laps, lingering slowly in all the right places. Lane has my entire body jumping, bucking with pleasure as I grip the sheets, claw my nails across his back, bite his shoulder, bite my shoulder while soaking in the ecstasy only something as volatile as makeup sex with your ex can provide. Violent wave after wave of pleasure shakes me as Lane loves me with his mouth. Lane and I writhe in an animalistic tangle of limbs, clawing and biting as if those were our instincts. Lane loves me with wild abandon until the glow of the sun fills the room. The glow of our love already filling our hearts.

  Lane and I are together once again—no ifs, ands, or buts. We have become one in the most intimate way. We’re going to get married one day and have babies, perhaps out of order, but we’re going to get our happily ever after—in fact, we already have it. And all of that without ever mentioning the horrible past.

  But it still haunts me. Even with my eyes closed, I can still see us there that night. Unmentionable, unspeakable acts that refuse to stay under that proverbial damn rug.

  Lane

  Violet Hathaway, naked in my bed was just a fantasy up until the morning after we kick-started our relationship once again with a bang, literally. Too bad the boys downstairs had to take a hit for the team to do it. I’m still walking with a slight limp, and it’s well over forty-eight hours after the incident. But, man, was it worth it. Vi and I went round after round like seasoned pros, and we picked up right where we left off a year ago. Only this time there was an intensity, an electrified heat that you couldn’t run from. What happened in that bed was nothing at all like anything I’ve experienced before—not with Vi, not after Vi. I flinch at the thought as I head into the Underground.

  It’s Friday night, and Vi says Sophie and Ember begged her to see a movie with them, some chick flick that has an all-female cast and is supposed to be as raunchy as hell. I hope it is, if that’s what they’re looking for, and I hope they’re having a great time.

  A familiar face lifts an arm in the air and nods me over. It’s Rowen hanging out with a buddy, each with a burger planted in front of them.

  “Join us.” Rowen pulls out the chair next to him while whistling for the waitress.

  “Sure.” I take a seat and order a cheeseburger at the same time. “No girls, huh? Are you Ember’s plus one?” I look to the dude with dark hair and can’t help but think I’ve seen his face somewhere before.

  “This is Braden, Sophie’s brother. No one is Ember’s plus one. The girl doesn’t do relationships according to Sophie.”

  “Nice. She’ll be fun to watch next season.” I flash a quick grin. “What’s up? I interrupt anything?”

  “Actually”—Sophie’s brother straightens a moment—“we were just talking about you. So, you’re back with your ex, huh?” He winces. “Sounds pretty brutal. But Rowen says you’re working things out. I haven’t seen the show. After Sophie starred in it with this numbskull, I swore it off for good.”

  “Wise move.” I can imagine how much it would kill to see your sister sucking face with anyone, let alone knowing it’s broadcast for all to see. Wen pops in my brain, and I pop him right back out. I’m not dealing with him tonight. “And yeah, it was brutal in the beginning.” Heck, it was brutal two nights ago in my apartment or at least it started out that way. “But all the knots seem to be working themselves out seamlessly. It’s almost as if we’ve rewound time—only we’ve landed in a much better place than we’ve ever been.”

  “Sweet.” Braden inches back as if it were the last thing he expected to hear. “That’s not happening for my ex and me. So you must have had something special to begin with.”

  Rowen grunts as he swallows down a bite of his burger. “She’s over the cheating? Over those three chicks you slept with?”

  My stomach grinds as reality slaps me in the face. “I don’t know. We’ve never brought it up.”

  Braden shakes his head with a woeful look on his face. “You will, dude. Chicks never let you forget shit like that. It will all come out in the wash eventually.” He shoves his burger in his face, and I’m glad about it. My fist was starting to twitch.

  Rowen shrugs over at me as if he were apologizing. “He’s right. But don’t worry. Vi’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s able to see you’ve changed. And those three girls? You weren’t even together anymore. She can’t hold them against you.”

  “She can.” Braden nods over at me, and my fist starts pumping.

  Rowen changes the topic, and they talk football while my burger lands in front of me, and I can’t seem to take a single bite.

  Something tells me Braden is right. It will all come out in the wash. All of our dirty laundry has yet to properly
air itself out. But the TSE is far more interested in improving their couples’ ratio. I doubt they ever bring it up. Nope. It’s going to simmer on the backburner until it starts to boil over, and then Vi and I will truly be right where we left off, hurting and angry and wondering how the hell we got there again.

  * * *

  Thursday after practice—double the length of the usual practice—I hit the gym shower then make the long trek through the dark, icy campus. I’m half-tempted to head up to Canterbury and check in on Vi, hang out with her. But it’s eight thirty, dark as midnight, and the campus has already been abandoned for the night. And as starved as I am, the last thing I want is to wait on a burger at the Underground with all of its skull pounding music, the explosive bouts of laughter that would only feel like grenades going off in my ears. Nope. I want the solitude of my own living room, and considering the fact I have no food in the fridge, I opt to duck into Coffeeology for a quick sandwich and a decaf. I need sleep just as much as I need food. Not that the food at this place is anything to brag about, but I head in and let the thick scent of roasted beans fill my senses. No matter what time of day, I love heading in here. There’s something homey about the scent of fresh brewed coffee. Makes me yearn for simpler times. I pick up a turkey sandwich, a cup of hot coffee, along with a bottle of ice-cold water, and grab a seat near the back. This entire social experiment has given me a weird celebrity-like clout on campus, with girls asking to take pictures with me, and guys coming up and offering spontaneous high fives. I’ve gone from being comfortably invisible to being recognized by virtually everyone I see.

  I’ve been recording the show. Still haven’t seen a single episode myself. And I strongly cautioned my parents about it. I’m their only child, and I’m not sure they’re prepared to see me laying it all out on the line like that. Hell, I’m not prepared to see it. I was going to ask Vi to join me in watching the carnage once this six-week long party is over—next week to be exact. We could get pizza and have our own mini marathon. Might be fun. With Vi there, I know it will be. As the TSE has jammed down my throat, the odds are in my favor.