What Once Was Mine

by Krystyna Allyn

  “I own it.” I keep my expression blank to test her reaction and I’m surprised by her eyes widening eyes. It’s then I have a thought, more like a sinking sensation in my gut.

  Does she not realize I’m a resident?

  My suspicions are confirmed with her follow-up question, her words forcing me to reconsider my initial reaction toward her on Wednesday.

  “When did you purchase the business? This month?”

  “No,” Taylor interjects, laughing. “His family has owned Alexander’s Hardware Store for years. I’ve known Cody, I mean Cole, forever.”

  “Alexander Hardware,” she mutters, her gaze going from left to right and then back to me. “Like your last name?”

  “Yep,” Taylor says brightly. Marley mentions my last name as if finally coming to a realization. “Now that we all know each other, Marley is in need of some shades for her place and I’m here to help.”

  “Right,” she agrees, studying me.

  “What color were you thinking?” Taylor asks, guiding Marley to the mini blinds section. Frowning, she takes one last look at me before following Taylor. There’s more for us to say, but with mixed company, this isn’t the right time. Luckily my ex-hookup didn’t bring up our past with my most recent one, complicating an already tricky situation.

  “Woman trouble, huh? Which one?”

  Lenny is not, nor has he ever been, a stupid man. Still, I keep my mouth shut, staring at Marley and Taylor as she points out several different types of shades we carry.

  “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You know whatever this is will blow up in your face, don’t you?”

  “Yup,” I admit. “But I’m hoping the damage is limited.”

  “Pfft,” is all Lenny says, shuffling the remainder paperwork.

  “I’m off to—”

  “Hide in your office? I’d do it too. Don’t worry, Cole. I’ll tell you when they leave.”

  “Thanks.”

  About thirty minutes later, Lenny yells the all-clear. I’m not going to lie. I was sweating bullets the entire time. I picture both women bursting through my door, one holding a pipe and the other a baseball bat ready to take me out. This situation is my fault, but how was I supposed to predict Marley moving to the same damn town.

  My heart skips a beat at the thought. I’ve had time to process her reaction from seeing me today and the one from Wednesday night after we were together. She honestly had no idea I was here. There was no ulterior motive on her part to torture me. Confirmation isn’t required, but damn if it isn’t necessary. There’s a small part of me who wants to believe otherwise, but it’s also the same side of my personality who prefers playing the field. I ignore the dickhead, giving into the sliver of hope this thinking brings.

  Perhaps this is our second chance. We had too many moments of connection that night for us not to explore something. Add to it the immediate urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her the next time we’re in the same room and I know what to do. It’s the same sensation I felt the first time I saw her sitting in the bar with her friends, the take-what’s-mine-and-never-let-it-go notion I pushed to the back of my mind like an idiot.

  I forgot ...

  I forgot her shy lip twitch that made me hard, the no-holds-barred sexual attraction, the delicious taste of her, and I will do everything in my power to have it again.

  “Why did I hide in my office like an idiot?” I mumble low.

  “Because you are,” Lenny responds, materializing from somewhere. “But I covered for you by using the good old food poisoning excuse.”

  “Thanks, but next time,” I give him a gentle swat against the back of the head, “don’t help.”

  “You say that now, but what if I had a message from a certain woman? Would you deny my assistance then?”

  “From whom? I grab him by the shirt and he laughs.

  “Chill out, Cole” I quickly let go of him.

  “Sorry about that. What did Taylor want?”

  “I didn’t say it was Taylor.” Lenny waggles his eyebrow.

  “You’re not a very good wingman.” I gently scold him, though inwardly I’m thinking, tell me now or I will make your death a slow one.

  Grinning, he waives a folded piece of paper in the air. I reach for it and the bastard jerks it back.

  “The new girl in town left this for you. I will hand it to you on one condition. I have to know the story behind you two. I promise I won’t tell anyone, and—”

  “Deal.” With speed possibly quicker than Superman, I snatch the paper out of his hand. When I read the words written in a beautiful cursive, my dreams of mending fences shatters.

  I know.

  Don’t ever talk to me again.

  10

  I Hate You

  Affirmation #37

  It's vital to forgive others despite their wrongs. This does not apply to men named Cole.

  Marley

  “What do you think about blue?” Taylor asks me, but I don't answer. I’m still reeling at seeing Cole, who snuck back to his office like a coward. Was he that pissed at me he felt the need to avoid me at his own place of business? Speaking of which, he freaking lives here.

  “Marley?” Taylor waves her hand in my face. “Are you still with me?”

  “Uh-huh,” I mutter, fingering the material of the curtain in front of me. It’s pale gray, like Cole’s eyes, with a paisley design lining the bottom.

  “So, gray?” She motions to the one I’m holding, and I nod.

  “Why are you so quiet? Did Cole annoy you with his questions? He can be an ass sometimes.”

  “He was fine.” I’m a glutton for punishment, and I have to know. “Are you two seeing each other or something?”

  Taylor is silent for a beat, her expression contemplative. I get it. I'm the new girl, and despite she and I becoming close in a short period, my question is still personal.

  “Cole and I have a complicated history. There isn’t enough time for me to give you all the gory details. What I can say is he and I are working toward a consensus of sorts.” I prickle at her longing expression. The phrase he was never yours plays on repeat in my head. I remain stoic while my heart hardens against this man. “He truly isn’t a bad person. He only makes bad decisions and never thinks about the consequences of his actions.”

  And there it is.

  He’s not only taken but apparently a cheater since he and I were together a couple of nights ago. Taylor should know the duplicitous nature of her boyfriend. The sisterhood code demands I be honest, but I chicken out instead, saying, “He sounds like a commitment-phobe and I think you're too good for him.”

  “Don’t I know it, girl.”

  Thankfully, Taylor ends the Cole discussion switching back to my shades selection. I ended up choosing cream-colored rolling shades and navy blue sheer panels. The hue of my couch is neutral, so the color scheme will complement it.

  After paying Lenny, I rush home to drop off my bags. I have an evening appointment with Dr. Hughes and, if I’m not careful, I’ll be late. I try my best to always be on time for appointments. I’d prefer to be seen as dependable and not a slacker.

  Arriving in the nick of time, I greet his assistant and am called to his office.

  “Hey, Dr. Hughes.” He gives me a scolding look. “I mean, Don.” I sheepishly correct myself.

  He motions for me to sit on the couch facing him while he rests in the leather seat across from me, the same spaces we occupied seven days prior.

  “How has your first week in Falls Village been?”

  “Great. Work has been fantastic and I’m meeting new people each day. Pretty soon, I’ll be like Lenny and know the names of all five thousand occupants.” I garner a chuckle from Dr. Hughes.

  “That’s good. And you’re adjusting to the new surroundings? Often, people from larger cities tend to go stir crazy in slower environments.”

  “It’s to be expected.”

&nb
sp; “What does that mean to you exactly?” His brow furrows and he scribbles a few things on the notepad I hadn't seen sitting in his lap. I know therapists must record their sessions, but the action still irks me.

  “I’m not sure why I explained it that way. What I mean to say is I’m fine. Living alone is hard, but I’m surviving without access to Thai at three in the morning.”

  I thought he'd laugh at another one of my little jokes, but he doesn’t, his tone becoming serious.

  “Hmm. You know, Marley”—he taps his pen on the corner of the book—“not once did you use the word happy.”

  “Oh, I am.” I quickly respond. Folding my arms across myself in a protective manner, I lean back in my seat. “You’ve seen the notes from before, Dr. Hughes. I was in a dark place back in New York, my mother adding to the emotional drain. When I arrived here, it was like a weight lifted from my shoulders.”

  “Yes, I reviewed your file; however, I prefer gaining firsthand knowledge from the patient. I find it interesting you mention your mother in relation to your mental state. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  I’m starting to dread this line of questioning. It’s like he’s in my head and I don’t like it at all. Still, I answer his questions. When I first began therapy, I promised myself I’d be honest with my medical provider no matter what.

  “Wednesday,” I respond shortly. Sensing his gentle scrutiny, I fidget in my seat, knowing full well I’m about to spill my guts. “We fought and I hung up on her.” My reply is dismissive, but he doesn’t call me on it.

  “Is that a normal course between the two of you?”

  “Only when she threatens to bring me home and enlists my bio dad for help. She’s visiting in September, by the way, in case you want to do brunch with the two of them.” I was a bit sarcastic with my remark but thinking about my mom upsets me. Like the well-trained psychiatrist he is, Dr. Hughes schools his features.

  “I see. And these future plans upset you?”

  I scowl at him, but really, my ire is directed toward my parents.

  “Damn right. She has a tendency to ruin my life when she’s feeling lonely.”

  Finally, placing his book on the desk, Dr. Hughes wheels his chair a little too close for comfort.

  “How else did your mother ruin your life?”

  “Dr. Hughes, her list of mistakes would take more than an hour to explain. Let’s just say, I have every right to be angry with her.”

  “Fair point. Give me one instance where she injured you and how you were able to overcome it.”

  “She kept me in her bubble of grief at my brother’s death for years,” I freely admit. “And to escape, I moved. Oddly enough, it resolved many of my issues with her.”

  “So, you ran away?”

  “I don’t see it as such. I moved on, leaving her toxicity behind.”

  “And knowing she’ll visit is threatening the new serenity you’ve found,” he surmises correctly.

  “You’re right. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to table this part of our therapy for now. I’ve had a stressful day.”

  “How so?”

  For a brief moment, I consider not saying a word. Then I remember I don’t have many people to confide in. So, I confess everything to Dr. Hughes, omitting Cole’s name.

  At first, he seems angry, which is weird, considering the doctor is supposed to be the calm one. Eventually, his usual calmness returns. His advice is to ignore any attempt by Cole to implant himself in my life. He was adamant about it, but it’s not as simple as he thinks.

  Something occurred between us that night—a connection I no longer want, but still have.

  For better or worse, Cole marked me, giving himself free rein over my body and soul.

  We end our session discussing the previous week's assignment regarding my daily affirmations and he requested I continue the course.

  By the time I arrive home, I’m wired. Whether it’s the therapy session or that I’m still seething from Cole, I need a release. It’s Friday and I’m in the mood for a drink. Taylor said if I ever wanted to go out to call her, but we just hung out earlier and I’m unsure if she’s up for it.

  Taking a chance, I text her and she readily agrees.

  Score.

  Courtesy of my makeover with Carrie’s assistance, I have a ton of cute club outfits. I don’t want to go overboard, seeing as I work with kids and small towns talk, so a tight mini is out. After tossing clothes everywhere on my bed, I finally decide on a tight pair of black leggings, the pant legs ending right above my ankles. The material is thin and smooth, which means possible panty line exposure. I could wear a thong, but I opt for a commando-style night. There’s the chance of my girl parts showing by way of camel toe, but I shrug it off, throwing caution to the wind.

  I have a nice pair of boobs and, typically, I’d throw on a low-cut top to show them off. Tonight, however, I take a different route, fishing out this sheer number that, a year ago, I would’ve considered scandalous. I finger the delicate sleeves, noting the intricate paisley patterns, but it’s not what’s makes this item risqué. The deep plunging V of the back is so low it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Luckily it blends seamlessly with the pants, keeping my ass covered. A single strap at the top holds it all together. Without that sliver of fabric, the shirt would fall from my shoulders.

  Thirty minutes later, I glance into my floor-length mirror, staring at myself. My hair sleeker, courtesy of the flatiron, the strappy heels giving me a little height, and each of my curves accentuated by my outfit in all the right ways. Looking all sexy, my red lips throwing a little sass in the mix, I feel like Catwoman, the one played by Eartha Kitt. I bet if a man touched me properly tonight, I’d purr.

  Thoughts of Cole flash through my head and those mental purrs change to hisses, but I shake them off, grabbing lipstick and other accessories, tossing them into my tiny clutch. Quickly, I latch my silver hoops to both ears and finally head out the front door.

  Taylor said she’d bring a couple of friends along, but didn’t tell me who. This is great as I need to make more of them. In no time, I make it to a place called Sin Village. The name sounds like a strip club, but when I walk in, the clientele says otherwise.

  From the bartender to the couple sitting at the bar, everyone was dressed impeccably. Some wear suits and business attire, while others are dressed like me, ready to tackle the Falls Village nightlife.

  “Over here,” Taylor waves excitedly at a booth with two other women sitting across from her. One I recognize as Hannah, her long dark hair and warm smile welcoming. The other I’ve never seen. Even though I initiated the meet, I’m now reluctant to join them. What if I say or do the wrong thing? I prefer not to look foolish in front of my boss.

  “You’re off the clock,” Hannah says when I arrive at the table. “And I don’t judge.” Taking a sip of her red wine, she winks at me, and I relax a little.

  “Marley, this is Mallory,” Taylor motions to the petite woman sitting in the corner of the booth to Hannah’s right. “She owns the gallery aptly named Mallory’s Gallery.”

  “Great to meet you.”

  “Same here,” I give her a small smile. Then we dive into the whole getting-to-know-you conversation. With each new drink, I become a little more open than before. I learn about Mallory's boyfriend, Kevin, and the girl has an actual twinkle in her eye when she talks about him. I’m unsure how much time passes, our laughs and general conversation occupying us the entire evening. I haven’t had this much fun in a while and I hope I hang with these ladies again.

  The sense of calm I felt all evening is shattered upon the arrival of the waitress, in her hand, a glass of champagne.

  “The gentleman at the bar asked that you consider this drink as a peace offering.” We all glance over and I damn near gasp at the intensity in Cole’s stare.

  Oh, shit.

  “It seems Cole is trying to play nice tonight.” Hannah raises a brow, her comment directed toward Taylor. My c
onscience demands I explain the real reason behind this offer, but I’m too stunned to form any complete sentences.

  Taylor rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know why he’s still here?” She reaches for the glass. “If he thinks I’m falling for —”

  “Uh,” the waitress mutters apologetically, turning in my direction. “This drink is for you,” she pauses, “Sparkle.”

  Cole’s lackey sets the glass of champagne in front of me. I stare at it, not daring to look up. If I do, I’m certain three pairs of confused or angry eyes will be on me.

  Small towns are so trusting.

  All I had to do to gain entry to Marley’s apartment building was to wear the local cable outfit and shoot the shit about some sports team and the weather. Her doorman is an idiot for not only letting me in the building but leaving me alone to work on a problem I manufactured. In fact, he left for the evening without checking on my status. Had she still lived in New York, I may have made it into her building, but with the cameras in the hall, I wouldn’t have even attempted to enter her home. Good thing I’m in Falls Village

  It was easy as pie, picking her lock. The minute I step through the threshold, I smell her mouthwatering scent.

  “These will work.” I reach in her dirty laundry basket and grab the black pair of thongs lying on the top of the pile. Lifting them to my nose, I inhale her sweet scent and groan. Being this obsessed with her is wrong on so many levels, but I can’t help myself. She’s pretty—fucking beautiful—and there’s something about her plump and pouty lips that make me hard. My dick is like granite the moment I lie back in her bed. She’s out for the evening and based on the outfit she was wearing when she left, I figure I have hours before she returns. This gives me plenty of time to do what I came here for. First thing, I need to leave part of myself here, where she sleeps. It will ease me, knowing I’m near her in spirit when I can't be in body.

  Yet.

  With my head pressed against her pillow, pants halfway down, and my eyes closed, I drape her underwear around my length and begin to stroke. I imagine her mouth wrapped around my cock, my hand fisted in her hair to help her along. In no time flat, I come, my seed drenching my hand and the black material. I wipe the excess on my boxers. I consider the places I can leave myself without her notice and have the perfect spot.