Honey, When It Ends: The Fairfields | Book Two

by Lennox, Piper

  The alcohol lurches back into my esophagus. I swallow.

  “I’m just saying, don’t feel like you have to rush out. Especially if the only options are places like South freaking Clover.”

  “Thanks,” I laugh. “I still want to see the place in person, but...but I guess that’s good to know.” From behind my hair, I see him smile down at the drink menu. “That I’m not driving you insane.”

  “Oh, you are. Just not so much I want to kick you out.”

  I pinch some spilled salt off the bar and flick it at him. He smiles again and orders another round.

  We’re about to tap the glasses together, my gag reflex already knotting itself into a pretzel, when he freezes. His eyes track something across the bar.

  Nope. Someone.

  “Is that your ex?” I ask. I recognize the sleek ponytail and crinkling eyes from my casual glances at Levi’s social media pages. Between her stunning makeup job (I can’t help but notice) and form-fitting Tommy Hilfiger sweater, I don’t blame Levi for staring a little.

  Then his eyes shift to the guy she’s clinging to like a fucking sloth on a branch.

  “Is that who she…?”

  “Yeah,” he says softly, snapping to when his shot drips onto his fingers. “The second time.”

  “She’s looking at us. Don’t look up yet,” I mumble.

  “Are you sure she sees us?”

  “Yep. She’s pointing and whispering to the guy. Definitely knows it’s you.”

  Levi’s sigh pushes through his lips. “Fuck.”

  This must be killing him. Spotting the ex in public is awkward enough. Add in the fact she looks amazing, and that her new guy is the same one she cheated with? Levi will definitely need more alcohol.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They’ll probably leave now that she’s seen you.”

  As soon as I say this, she shrugs off her purse and picks up a menu.

  “Or...not.”

  “Fuck,” he says again, and puts his head in his hands.

  “No, don’t do that. You need to look...you know, not pathetic.”

  “Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

  I lift my eyebrow. “You want the upper hand or not? Look, she’s staring—wave.”

  “What?”

  “Wave. Just look right at her, dead in the eye, and wave. Don’t smile. You’re acknowledging her existence, not inviting her over.”

  Levi sighs again, but squares his shoulders. He drags his eyes to Lindsay and gives a small, motionless wave.

  “Okay, good. Now look away.” He does. “Take your shot. Act like she was just some random person you happened to know, and now you’re back to your regular life. Forget she’s there.”

  Our glasses clink. We throw them back effortlessly.

  While I sip some rapid breaths to cool the burn in my mouth, he swivels toward me. “If you’re such an expert in these things, what do I do now? Should I go say hi?”

  “No, fuck that.” I wave my hand, then rearrange my face so I look enthralled by him. “Now you talk, and I pretend this is the best conversation I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “This is so stupid,” he whispers, but laughs.

  “It is.” I laugh, too, playing it up. “But it’s the way sexual politics work, so deal with it.”

  We force conversation for a while. I look past his shoulder at Lindsay and her shithead boyfriend. To be fair, he might actually be a decent guy; maybe he didn’t know Lindsay was married when they hooked up. But I want to hate both of them, so I will. Especially her. She didn’t even have the courtesy to leave once she noticed Levi here.

  I could forgive that, though, if she weren’t still hanging all over the guy. If she’s going to stay at this one bar on a street with six others, the least she can do is keep the kissing and cuddly bullshit to a minimum.

  “Let’s just leave.” Levi combs his hair with his fingers. “We can duck out the back way again, like we did when my cousin was here.”

  My eyes slide from him, suddenly exhausted-looking, to Lindsay. She’s moved from simple cuddling to full-on fawning. The fucking nerve.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I tell him, and reach up to wrap my fingers into the hair at the base of his neck.

  His inhale is sharp. “What—”

  “Play along,” I whisper, right before I pull him close and press my mouth to his.

  18

  At first, Levi’s entire body feels stiff. I slip my tongue into his mouth, actually grateful for that kerosene he made me shoot with him: my breath is guaranteed fresh.

  I trace the shapes of his teeth. His tongue retreats, dodging mine like it’s skittish.

  But when I use my other hand to grab his collar and pull him even closer, he relaxes. The heat of his mouth doubles when he lets his tongue graze mine and, finally, kisses me back.

  It all starts simply enough. Just an act. Nothing but a tool to show his ex-wife she’s not the hot shit she thinks she is.

  Okay: she is hot. Even I have to admit it. Point is, if she has the balls to flaunt how she’s moved on to bigger and better things, the least I can do is help Levi pretend he has, too.

  Somewhere during our little play, though...things change. I don’t know what, or when. Maybe it’s when Levi puts his hand on my knee and runs it up my thigh, and the buzz I feel between my legs rolls into earthquake territory. The tingle on my skin evolves, too: I shut my eyes and lean into it, into him, while a current ripples through me.

  “Good…um, good job,” I manage, when the kiss breaks. I have no idea which one of us did it. “She’s looking.”

  Levi doesn’t tear his eyes away from mine. No glance beyond my head or sudden subject change—just a piercing, unflinching stare. My stomach flips itself inside-out.

  “I don’t care.” He lifts his hand, cupping my face to draw me back in.

  My sex pulses in time to our breathing, a train clicking over its tracks while a single thought chugs through my head: I want him. I want him, I want him, I want him. And I want him now.

  For all I know, though, this is still the script. Levi might just be that good of an actor.

  We pause and stare at each other, faces less than an inch apart. I feel his breath envelop my face, and know he must feel mine.

  “Levi?”

  The little bit of space between us opens to the rest of the world; we remember, at the same moment, we aren’t alone.

  “Hi,” he says coolly, before he bothers looking at her. She’s got her beau by the wrist, and clearly had to drag him over here to say hello. At least one of them has good sense. What the hell is she doing?

  “I didn’t know you came to this bar.” She turns that orthodontist-portfolio smile on me and sticks out her hand. “Hi. I’m Lindsay.”

  “Mara.” We shake. My smile and tone are meant to mock her, which she doesn’t catch. Levi, judging by his suppressed smile, does.

  “So.” Lindsay looks at her guy, who watches the TV overhead and pretends this isn’t pure torture. She looks back at me. “Um...I’m guessing Levi told you about me?”

  Automatically, my eyes narrow. Her question isn’t innocent: I can see that from a mile away.

  She’s trying to ruin his new relationship by throwing in a curveball, banking on the fact he hasn’t told me about the divorce yet. Well, as far as she knows.

  I take the mocking a step further and drape myself on Levi, holding his arm the way she keeps holding her guy’s. “Actually,” I say sweetly, “he did.” I set my jaw and pull my eyes across both of them. “He told me everything.”

  In about two seconds flat, her face goes from that perfect tan to bright pink. Serves her right.

  “Can we get our tab now?” I call behind me. While Levi, baffled and silent, signs the slip, I slide off the barstool and flash another sickly sweet smile at Lindsay. “Wish we could stay and chat, but we’re on a date, and...well.” I laugh at myself and lean in, whispering like we’re girlfriends sharing gossip. “You know how h
e gets with a few shots in him. Can’t keep his hands to himself.”

  “All set,” Levi says loudly, his smile strained as he hops up and ushers me to the door. “Nice seeing you,” he mutters.

  They’re still in the same spot when I turn and wave. Levi’s broad, rushing frame pushes me through the doorway, his arms looping around my waist as we leave.

  “That was fun as shit, you can’t deny that.”

  On the street, I join in Mara’s laughter. “It was, actually.” After ordering a ride-share, I look at her. We’re both stumbling a little, but I can’t tell if it’s the liquor, or some lingering effect of the kiss.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, growing serious. “You, uh...you made that a lot easier.”

  “I had to. She was so rude, sitting there with the same guy she....” Her folded arms tense in frustration. “It’s just not right.”

  Her lips are red from our pretend-couple bit. I can still feel scratches on the back of my neck, where she grazed the skin with her nails until I was fighting every hormone in my body.

  It was just an act, I remind myself. She’d even told me to play along. That’s all it was. Playing.

  “Those shots of yours were no joke,” she mumbles in the car, and rests her head on the window. After half a block of bumps and potholes, she switches, putting it on my shoulder.

  “I’m starting to feel them, myself,” I confess. The liquor was strong, but it’s this moment making my head swim: the heat of her against me, lips still buzzing from the kiss, and the soft growl of the engine as it carries us home.

  Home. It’s been over two years since I thought of it as anything but a house, one giant burden of junk and bills and memories.

  When we get inside, Mara kicks off her shoes and asks, “What’s with your face?”

  “Huh?”

  “You look...sad.” She shrugs off her jacket and grabs my chin to make me look in the hall mirror. “But you shouldn’t be. You totally one-upped her.”

  Instead of studying my reflection, I look at hers.

  I’m not sad about Lindsay. I forgot all about her during the drive here.

  What I’m sad about, I realize, is the fact Mara doesn’t think of this place as “home.” Tomorrow we’ll tour her new prospect. I’ll have to pretend the thought of her moving out doesn’t make my stomach hurt, knowing this home will turn back into nothing but a house the second she’s gone.

  “You’re kind of a mopey guy, though,” she adds, and pats my cheek before whirling away.

  “I’m not mopey.”

  “Yeah, you are,” she laughs. “You do it all the time. Your shoulders slump, you get all quiet—”

  “I’m not moping when I do that. I’m...deep in thought. There’s a difference.”

  “You know what your problem is?” she asks, ignoring me. Her hands shake out her hair, then point to the walls and ceiling. “This house. It’s got too many memories.”

  Defeated, I nod. She’s right on that point, at least.

  The arrogance on her face melts away. For the first time since she told me about her family, I catch another glimpse of the real Mara. Nervous, unsure, and a little lost, just like anyone else.

  “I know how to fix that.”

  Sure a joke is coming my way, I laugh through my nose. “Move?”

  The air changes. Mara puts up the walls again, back to tough leather and hidden scars. But I can feel the rest as she steps forward and slides her hands up to my neck. She presses the spot behind my ear. Like a secret weapon, it somehow makes me bend down and capture her mouth with mine. Maybe I was already doing it.

  “Fuck me,” she whispers, when we pull apart just enough to breathe. “In every room, in every spot, you ever fucked her.”

  19

  “You’re drunk,” he laughs, but doesn’t turn away. He kisses me again while I undo his belt buckle.

  “Not as drunk as you.” Truthfully, we’re both somewhere between tipsy and sloppy. But the liquor has nothing to do with this.

  I want Levi. I wanted him the moment we first met—wanted his rough hands on my hips, mouth ravishing the skin of my neck and collarbone, voice stretching my name into some beautiful, wild noise unlike anything I’d ever hear again.

  Tonight, I want even more.

  I want to kiss the man who used to climb buildings for fun, and who convinced me to trust him hundreds of feet in the air, when I wouldn’t trust my own flesh and blood to get me off a step-ladder. I want to see his scars. The kind you can’t see in daylight.

  I want to take what that woman did to him—not just the hurt, but everything that came before it, every smile and kiss that sprouted hope and plans for some happily-ever-after in this rattling, empty castle—and burn it to the ground. Then I want to salt the earth, so she can never do it again.

  His fingers touch my hipbones like they’re made of glass, until I drop his pants and caress him through his boxers; he grips them harder and pulls me close. My hand is trapped between us. I feel the throb of his erection in my palm and almost fall apart, right where I stand.

  “You’re serious,” he says, voice low and startled. Like he still expects this to be a joke, even with his dick in my hand like a gearshift.

  “Dead serious. Just tell me where.”

  “This is ridiculous. I can’t....”

  Doubt crosses his face. My heart feels flooded, and I can’t stand the silence that follows.

  True, I could just tell him to fuck me wherever. It would solve the hesitation in an instant. But this is a surefire move-on technique: replace old memories with new ones. Every time a guy dares to reminisce about sexy-as-sin times with his ex, with any luck, they’ll think of me instead. Then the girls that followed me, until the memories fade completely.

  Except....

  I swallow away the tightness gripping my throat. Except.

  Except, I don’t want any girls to follow me. Not with Levi. No replaceable roulette of faces and stories.

  I don’t want him to think of me after he thinks of his ex. Just me, right from the start.

  “Tell me,” I urge him, and slip my hand past the waistband of his boxers.

  He takes a breath. “The bed.”

  “Duh.” I roll my eyes. “Where else?”

  His tight smile and blush clue me in.

  “The bed. That’s it? That’s the only place you two ever.... Whose boring-ass preference was that?”

  “Both, I guess. I don’t know. We just didn’t consider anywhere else.”

  Something tells me Levi’s as embarrassed by this as I am shocked. I know people have vanilla sex, all bed-only and missionary and lights-off—but I so didn’t expect Levi to be one of them.

  “But,” he goes on, pushing my jeans down my hips, “I’m not opposed to the idea.”

  I smile. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.

  Mara’s skin smells like the color red, or maroon, if it had a scent: sweet and crisp like apples, deep and spiced like cinnamon. Her new leather jacket, embedded in her cells long after I undress her. The soap from my guest bathroom I used to use every day, but forgot about until now, when I kiss my way down her bare arms, then her hip.

  Her sex glistens. I tease my fingers along it and watch her thighs shake.

  My tongue sweeps over her parting lips. She gives a shuddering kind of sigh and shakes my shoulders. “No teasing,” she orders. “I’m ready.”

  I laugh and stand back up, kicking off my shoes and stepping out of my pants. She watches me closely while I remove my shirt.

  “How could anyone even make it to the bed? How could anyone see this,” she says slowly, running her hands over my chest and stomach, “and not beg you to fuck them in that very spot?”

  I give another laugh, embarrassed, but her compliment feels good. Incredible, really.

  She wants me. She wants me just as badly as I want her, and I can’t stop to care what happens tomorrow. It’s been too long.

  We kiss again. She hums a noise of pleasure when she
tastes herself on my mouth, then again when I lift her against me and carry her to the living room.

  “The couch is definitely in a better spot, now,” I tell her, and she laughs, the sound echoing through the house as I lay us down across the chaise.

  Her muscles quiver when I enter her. I try to be slow and gentle, but her ankles lock behind my back and draw me inside so fast, we each need a few breaths to adjust.

  “Oh, my God.” Mara’s breasts bounce with her gasp, and then in time to my thrusts. I wish I’d taken time to tease my mouth across them, but I remind myself we’ll get to that, sooner or later. We’ve got an entire house to cover.

  “You’re making the couch move,” she jokes, when we hear the screech on the hardwood; my thrusts have pushed her all the way into the corner of the chaise, and this half of the sofa clear off the carpet.

  “Looks pretty good here, too.”

  When she laughs again and tosses her head back, I duck my head and lick the salt from her skin. Collarbone to jaw, always staying below her scar, until she relaxes. Until she trusts me.

  “So,” I pant, “what are the rules?”

  “Rules?”

  “You know, when do we move to a new piece of furniture, or new room? Do we move after a few minutes...” I kiss her and drive as deeply as I can, feeling her thighs shake again. “...or after I’ve made you come?”

  “That second option sounds amazing,” she admits, breathless, “but I’m not sure you could handle it.”

  “A challenge.” I rock my hips, hard, and pinch her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. The cry she gives makes me smirk. “I accept.”

  I move faster. Harder. I play with her nipples and whisper filthy things against her mouth about how tight and wet she is, all the places in this house I want to fill her and taste her.

  “Levi,” she moans, legs tightening around my midsection, “don’t stop, t-tell me more, tell me everything....”

  “You’re already shaking,” I whisper. My mouth presses to her ear. “You’re so close—let it happen. Let yourself come.” I drive deeper with each thrust, until she can’t accept another millimeter. “And as soon as you’re done...I’ll make you come all over again.”