by Melissa Blue
Worthless, useless, sentimental pish. That was everything she needed and was used to, but she'd scraped the bottom of the barrel with him. He tried harder to scoff and sneer at it, but that would mean sneering and scoffing at Joce. Nothing about her was worthless and useless. Not even her asinine questions to force him to talk, push him to be more of a man.
Lexxie whined louder at the door. Ian cursed in as many imaginative ways he could think of and slapped off the water. He ripped a towel off the rack. Fluffy but well-worn, comfy. Not at all like he was used to.
Fucking Joce.
He yanked the door open, brimming with anger, not sure if it was more at himself or at Jocelyn, and Lexxie looked up him, eyes wide and sad. “Don't look at me like that.”
Her ears lowered and she shrank back. He blew out a frustrated breath and softened his tone. “Are you hungry? Do you need?”
She shuffled forward, looked up at him and plopped on his foot. He sighed. “What the fuck are you going to do when I'm not here? 'Cause I won't be. I'm leaving.”
She shifted, covering his foot up to the ankle so the only way he could move was to push her off, which they both knew he wouldn't do.
He said the only thing that would get her to move, “Food.”
Lexxie popped up and toddled to the kitchen. He went to the room and got dressed, took his time too because a dog wasn't going to rule him. A ball of fur wouldn't make him softer in the heart than he already was. But, when Ian went to the kitchen to get himself something to drink and eat, she was there.
He stopped and glared at her. She grinned back, wagging her tail at him. She, at least, waited until he got himself something to eat before sprawling on his foot again.
“Fucking Lexxie,” he muttered and ate standing up at the island with a dog on his foot.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jocelyn's boss, ecstatic with the impeccable exhibitions, didn't blink an eye when she asked for a week off. She came home that first afternoon after her and Ian's second non-argument and found a note. He'd dropped Lexxie off at her sister's. Nothing more to the note.
She'd expected him back before the opening to change his clothes, but he didn't come to her apartment. She caught glimpses of him later that night, but not once did he go out of his way to say something. She could—no, she couldn't have said or done anything to change their end date. Again, she'd expected him to pick up his stuff before leaving town. He hadn't.
But really what did she think would happen? He'd apologize for giving her a fair warning? A warning he gave more than once. They had a great ride. The end. Awkward moment filled with silence and unspoken needs and then he'd leave?
She wouldn't have minded if he just rolled through for a little while to have some of her birthday cake. The one she'd baked after reading the shitty note. No. He'd left, just like he said he would
And...okay. The bastard could have said goodbye, awkward or not. Cleared out his clothes so she could pretend the whole thing had been one of those wild dreams you wake up from and sort of wished happened. Like the shopping spree dream.
Nope. She ended up taking the cake to her sister's. Her niece and nephew ate most of it. Even when Jocelyn tucked herself into bed in the middle of the night, she couldn't get comfortable without a warm, decadent musky-scented man beside her. When Lexxie had toddled into the room, Jocelyn scooped up her dog and cuddled her close.
One day stretched into the next. There were only so many times she could play with Lexxie before her dog wore an enough-of-this-shit look. The pup seemed to be just as despondent, anyway.
Lexxie would perk up at every noise in the apartment's hallway. When no one knocked on the door, she'd melt back on her doggie pillow. Her puppy wasn't sick because she continued to eat her weight in food. No. She missed Ian.
And every time Lexxie would perk up at a noise, so would Jocelyn. They were locked in their own misery. Her dog would flop down and Jocelyn would scold herself for even thinking he'd come back. The truth, she hadn't been calcifying before Ian came into her life. What it took for flesh to turn into stone was a painful process. She'd researched it.
Slowly but surely everything that felt like every ounce of living she'd experienced the past thirty days, really the past two months, dried up. Hardened. That was calcifying and painful as shit, and only day two.
Very early the third morning, she reached for clothes and pulled out Ian's Cambridge shirt. She wasn't going to be picky. So, she put it on and went to her sister's house.
Kimberly opened the door, one eye squinted. “Wow. You don't wear depression well, do you?”
She tugged at Ian's Cambridge shirt. The ratty sweats and tennis shoes were hers. “I brushed my hair and teeth.”
“Eh. You were always finicky about that even as a little kid.”
Jocelyn huffed. “And I never had a cavity. How are the wooden dentures?”
“Oh, we've reached bitchy. Come in. I need coffee.”
Her niece and nephew waved. They stopped getting ready for school long enough to cover Lexxie in nothing but love. What was she? Chopped liver?
Kimberly cinched the robe tighter and led them to the kitchen. As usual the house was a bit messy but nowhere near filthy. She slumped into the closest chair and waited for her sister to stop muttering and slamming things around to make the coffee. Kimberly brought two cups to the table, held up her hand before Jocelyn started to talk. After three sips, her sister rolled her hand as though to say go for it.
“He left,” Jocelyn said.
“You knew he would.”
“I know.”
Kimberly inspected the shirt. “He left his clothes, too. Shitty of him.”
“I know.” Her voice tried to crack, but she held it in. Barely.
Kimberly waited and then said, “When are you going to stop wearing them and throw them out?”
“Don't know.”
Her sister made a noncommittal noise, eyes closed as she sipped some more. “So, you're walking around like Raggedy Ann and he didn't care enough to take his clothes when he left. Why?”
“Don't know.”
Kimberly opened her eyes long enough to shoot a steely glare in Jocelyn's direction. “Don't make me say it for you.”
Jocelyn sighed, tried to say the words and chickened out. “I cared for him.”
Her sister coughed and it sounded like “bullshit” before taking another sip of coffee. “You cared. Fine. I met someone the other day who I think would help you get over Ian. School teacher. Really nice guy.”
It was possible that a guy—likely her niece or nephew's teacher—who read Goodnight Moon during the day could be into having sex in a semi-public place. He'd have that kind of adventurous sex because it revved Jocelyn's engine.
Her sister's husband was an engineer and from the way her sister lit up when the man came within breathing distance, he was probably a little dirty. Spice. Something Ian had said even married couples needed.
Ian.
Ugh. She laid her head on the table. Her sister patted her on the shoulder.
“You could call him,” Kimberly said.
“I can't.”
“You can. If you care about him, you'll put your heart on the line. For real this time. Not any half-assed, you-guys-were-both-lying-to-yourself kind of shit. Remember, he came with you to get your dog. I wasn't wild before I married, but I did my fair share of sleeping around.”
Jocelyn perked up at that news and rolled her forehead on the table to look at her sister. “Really?”
Kimberly pffted. “You don't go into details like that with your baby sister.”
She perked up a little more. “Now I must know.”
Kimberly smiled. “Can't, because I do most of that now with hubby.”
“Eww,” she said and tried to smile back. She managed only a twitch of lips but it was close enough.
“Yeah. What I'm saying is, a guy that just screws you does not give a crap about you needing to pick up your dog. A man who dicks you doesn't ma
ke that voice to your dog unless he's head-over-heels in love with the dog.”
She swallowed and pushed the words out, “He leaves things that he loves so that's not a good barometer.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
Jocelyn looked at her sister, eyes narrowed. “What is?”
“Why?”
“Doesn't think he's good enough.” She blew out a frustrated breath.
“And you think he is?”
He was a bastard for the note and for not saying a proper goodbye. Completely and unequivocally. “At the moment? No. Not feeling too charitable about him leaving.”
“Fair, but when you aren't so butt hurt?”
Did it make a difference? She'd shut down cold. Why would he think she gave half a crap if he stayed or went? She'd checked him off her to-do list. Yeah, she was hurt, deeply, but there was shame for how heartless she'd been. That woman existed within her and she didn't like it. Didn't like that Ian spurred that kind of response. She didn't know how to process that part yet.
“Can't.” The single word was muffled by his shirt. The one that still reeked of decadence.
“Not sure what you want me to say then, if you won't do everything to convince him he's a dumb ass for leaving what you guys had.”
“I feel like the dummy. He told me the truth from the beginning. Then I got pissed when I realized he meant it. I couldn't hurt him, but I wanted to make him believe I wouldn't be heartbroken.”
Her sister snorted. “If that's what you have to tell yourself to get through this, then, honey, I'm not going to say different.”
Jocelyn lifted her head and banged it against the table. Hearing those words were frustrating beyond belief. Her heart told the truth though, and that meant he left. Left them. The sodding bastard. They both were, if she wanted to be fair and technical about it. She didn't.
That was pretty much day three.
And four.
And five.
But, by day six, she'd worked herself into a really good mad and started to pack up all his stuff to send to wherever the hell he was. Oh, she'd find him. If the mad kept rolling around like a pig in stink, she'd hunt him down and throw every piece of clothing in his face.
He'd made her unhappy. Her dog depressed. That wouldn't do at all. She needed some kind of confrontation that released some of the mad barely masking the hurt. She'd get it all out, because he'd ruined her. Rage wasn't the norm for her at all. The first few days of being depressed, exactly like her, but this uncivilized flash flood of pissed off...no. A part of her, the primitive part, embraced the honest emotion and had no shame for feeling it. And she, all of her, kind of liked it too. It felt real, alive. More so than she had since he'd left. More like how she'd felt when he was around.
Yeah, he'd probably stay gone, but they would end like they started, with a fire and fight until nothing but cinders were left. This would be the one rule they'd follow and then, maybe, she could move on.
Hopefully.
“Fucking Ian,” she muttered darkly.
*****
It took Ian three days at Stanford to work up to a really good temper. A town half full of preppies, the other half with hippies and neither side had a decent pub for him to get wrecked in. Without one, all he did was yammer at the same stiff-necked professionals with more money than sense.
Once the talks were done, it was meeting after meeting to drum up business for his company. He should have been over the moon and back. Dixon Langston, the owner of the small museum, had kept his word. Doors that had been closed previously, swung open wide and the stiff-neck professionals on the other side welcomed him in.
By day four, his consultation business was booked through to the next winter. He was a success.
By day five, he didn't just have a temper but was spoiling for a good fight. The kind that broke some furniture. Maybe not, but some decent sex bruises because fighting should involve angry sex, at the least. Ian always had the name of the person he wanted to fight with right there on the edge of his mind.
She should be only a passing thought. No. Always. Right. There. Something would remind him of the way she laughed. The dewy feel of her skin after a shower. Her hair spread on her pillow while her nails dug into the soft cotton. Her. Just her. And the ever present thought of her drove him mad as a hatter. So much so, he finally did lose his mind.
Day six and Ian glowered at the first floor flats from his car window. He took a pull on the water, because he could taste her again. He hadn't been able to get the memory of her taste out of his mouth since he'd left. It tasted bitter twenty-four hours in. By that time he'd come to grips she wouldn't miss him.
She had his phone number. Not one shite voicemail yelling at him about leaving and not bothering to pick up his stuff. Not a single angry text message that the last exchange between them was a note about dropping off Lexxie.
Dead silence.
At that, it dawned on him, like dropping an anvil on his head. She'd been serious when she said they were done and she wouldn’t be heartbroken. Then his thoughts turned to her doing that dripping-with-sex hip sway in a bar for someone else. Joce didn't care for him at all and had walked away first. Ach. Made him ache; made him mad. In cycles.
He'd come to the conclusion that if they were going to break up it was going to be ugly and very final. El Fin. Nothing but a complete understanding on both sides that they were done. Not cool tones that left his heart twisting in his chest.
Since he couldn't take the slow slide into insanity anymore, he'd left Stanford and went to the only place that made sense.
He slammed out the car, stomped up to Joce's door and pounded on the oak. Lexxie let out an excited yip on the other side and he could hear her nails clacking against the wood, trying to claw her way through it to get to him. Some of the mad he worked up left. Someone loved him. Someone had missed him.
Her owner opened the door and shock crossed her features. Lexxie bolted around Joce and jumped around his legs.
But then her owner's gaze narrowed to slits on him. “Oh, Ian. Came to say goodbye?”
“Joce,” he barked back, but couldn't answer the question.
He hadn't seen her in forever. Looking at her now hit him between the eyes. She wore those silly boxers and had a jumper on. Sexy. Still. Ach. A lot of emotions crossed her face but only one stood out and it dug in his gut—lust. He'd lost himself while with her and forgot where most women wanted him—in their bed and not their heart.
Seeing that first and foremost with her had the mad roaring back easily enough. “Aye.”
Her eyes widened at his tone and her mouth opened and closed. “Are you seriously mad at me?”
“Aye,” he said again and walked past her into the flat.
The door didn't slam shut and that meant she was still levelheaded about the whole thing. Not even irritated that her discarded lover came over spoiling for a fight. He faced her and hadn't realized how close behind him she'd been. The deep, angry breath he took in dragged her scent up to him. The very definition of femininity. His fingers itched to grab hold of the jumper and drag her up to his mouth. Maybe the thought got through the anger because the lust deepened in her gaze.
“What were the rules, Ian?” The utter calmness in her voice punched him right in the heart.
“We'd fuck. You asked for your fantasies.” He didn't add the last one because it had been a rule he'd thrown out, back when he thought she still cared, could care for him. Without thought, he shifted closer to her.
“I didn't break either of them, but you're angry at me?” The lust, the fire and passion blared hotter in her gaze.
“Aye.”
“So why are you here? To fuck again?”
Ian looked away, trying to fight back the need he still had to touch her, but his dick had sprang to life the moment she'd opened the door. The cycle of ache started and added sex in to the mix. It was a wonder he wasn't in a loony bin. It felt like pure madness to be around her and worse when he wasn't.
Her breath caught and she trembled. His brain went on autopilot and, apparently, so did hers because she launched herself at him. He put out his hands to catch her and then buried his fingers in the soft jumper, pulling her closer.
No. No. Argue it out. End it. She didn't miss you; she missed your dick. But then she made a strangled, frustrated noise and lifted her arms. He yanked the jumper up, threw it across the room, and then froze. She caught his expression and whatever had propelled her to touch him vanished.
Her gaze went back to an emotion that refused to process in his mind as she stepped back. “Fine. You're angry with me. I've got some stuff for you.”
It was hard for him to breathe so he answered without thinking. “Do you now?”
She made a sound between a yell and a growl. The noise brought him up short and then Ian's gaze went back to the shirt she'd worn under the jumper and his heart tripped in his chest. Irritated to see him on her doorstep was one thing, but now he could hear it all. She sounded as pissed as he felt. Spitting mad. The kind where if you raised your voice above a certain decibel it would just turn into screaming, so you kept it low and calm. Joce was livid.
Lexxie had been sitting at the door, watching them but trotted over to him. He scooped her up. She wiggled in his arms and tried to lick his face. He pulled back, laughing softly and scratched under her neck.
“You missed me girl? I missed you. They don't make socks as warm as you.” He glanced up and Jocelyn swallowed, looked away and then moved over to a box near the kitchen.
Ian frowned though he wanted to grin like a sodding idiot. “What's in the box?”
“Your things.” Her words were clipped. “Was about to call you and ask you where I could send them.”
“So nice of you.”
She laughed. “I am, aren't I? My first urge was to burn them on the barbeque outside, but that screamed a little too much like She-Devil and I didn't want to come across crazy. Even though you drive me nuts sometimes.”