Moments of Disarray: An Alex Kennedy Story

by Megan Hart

  “I hope the thought of never touching me again makes you want to die,” Anne had told him that night, but he would die rather than hurt her again. Of all the things in his life he’d fucked up, he would never forgive himself for what he’d done to Anne Kinney. Even if she forgave him for it.

  A year of talking to Madeline had helped, but it hadn’t taken away everything. He would always love Anne Kinney in some small, dark and secret region of his heart. Even if he’d managed to move forward, she would always be in his past.

  On his back, beneath the weight of blankets warm enough to keep the room’s chill from making him shiver, Alex stared up into the dark and tried to sleep. He should have found it easily enough — booze, weed, food, a blowjob. It ought to have been the perfect prescription for collapsing into dreams, but instead he found himself thinking again of the watching woman.

  What had she been doing out there on the porch? A slow surge of arousal filtered through him, remembering Evan’s grasping hands and wet mouth on his cock, knowing she’d been watching them without saying a word.

  For a second, Alex hated his betraying cock for always being ready. Hated himself for always using sex as a way to forget what a bastard he was. A rascal, he’d called himself to Anne. It seemed forever ago, their summer by the water.

  The memory sent another raw wave of arousal through him. He had stopped thinking of her all the time. He didn’t want to be thinking of her now. He rolled onto his belly to bury his face in the pillow and slid his hand into the Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. He gripped his cock. A few strokes and he could sleep.

  Again, he thought of the mystery woman. He pictured that lush mouth. Her dark eyes. That fall of gorgeous black hair, styled in the myriad of braids. His cock got thicker.

  But after a moment or so, he rolled onto his back again and took his hand away, almost like a punishment. He’d gotten off hard earlier, more from knowing the mystery woman was watching than from Evan’s overeager and sort of sloppy beej. That had seemed fine at the time, or at the very least, it had felt like she was a willing participant.

  This, though…fuck. He groaned and writhed for a moment in the bed, fisting both his hands in his hair and pumping his hips against the covers before going still. This was using her to push away bad memories. She’d never know about it. He was unlikely to ever even see her again. Even so, he couldn’t do it.

  He might be an arrogant bastard, a rascal, a rogue; he was definitely an asshole. But just then, Alex decided that he was done being the guy who used other people, with or without their consent. With or without their knowledge.

  At three in the morning, epiphanies always seem profound, but in the light of morning will fade. When Alex woke, however, far earlier than he’d expected to, he still felt the same way. He was done. Finished. Kaput. Turning over a new leaf, yadda yadda yadda. The gods of hangover relief must have taken this decision as an offering, because despite last night’s indulgences and the too-few hours of sleep, Alex had never felt better.

  At least until he headed downstairs to Patrick and Teddy’s kitchen, meaning to stuff his face with some breakfast. He pulled up short at the sight of a distinctly female backside protruding from the fridge — but not short enough, because she turned so fast that she almost ran into him.

  It was the woman from last night.

  Her container of pot-stickers hit the floor and bounced. She screamed. Loud. Taken aback, stunned, but now totally sure that the gods of something or other were definitely smiling down on him, Alex smiled.

  “Damn you’re pretty,” she said so matter-of-factly he couldn’t be sure she’d meant it as a compliment.

  He blinked, his smile getting wider. He crossed his arms over his naked stomach. “Thanks.”

  Alex looked at the container by his toes, then at her. He bent to pick it up, but slowly, a thrum of tension building inside him at the idea of being at her feet. It would be a good place for him, he thought.

  “Thanks.” She took the container and eased past him to put it in the microwave. She looked over her shoulder. “Want some?”

  He laughed and shook his head and took a step back. Uncomfortable. Last night it had been hot to know she’d been watching him get off, but now, in the light of morning…shit, he wished he was wearing a shirt, at least. Things were certainly changing for him, if he could feel embarrassed.

  “I’m Olivia,” she said.

  Her name was Olivia, and she was going to change his life.

  Afterword

  This novella takes place after Tempted and Everything Changes but before Naked. It includes an alternate version of the events Alex talks about in Vanilla.

  Tempted

  I had everything a woman could want...

  My husband, James. The house on the lake. Our perfect life. And then Alex came to visit. The first time I saw my husband's best friend, I didn't like him. Didn't like how James changed when he was around, didn't like how his penetrating eyes followed me everywhere. But that didn't stop me from wanting him. And, surprisingly, James didn't seem to mind.

  It was meant to be fun. Something the three of us shared for those hot summer weeks Alex stayed with us. Nobody was supposed to fall in or out of love. I didn't need another man, not even one who oozed sex like honey and knew all the secrets I didn't know, the secrets my husband hadn't shared. After all, we had a perfect life. And I loved my husband.

  But I wasn't the only one.

  Excerpt:

  The telephone’s jangling interrupted the post-coital laziness to which we’d succumbed. The Sunday edition of the Sandusky Register, spread out on the bed, crinkled and rustled as James leaned over me to grab up the phone from its cradle. I took the chance to lick his skin as he did, sneaking a nibble that made him jump and laugh as he answered.

  “This better be good,” he said into the phone.

  A pause. I gave him a curious look over the Lifestyles section. He was grinning.

  “You son of a bitch!” James settled back against the headboard, his naked knees pulled up. “What are you doing? Where the hell are you?”

  I tried catching his eye but the conversation had immersed him. James is an intense butterfly, flitting from focus to focus and giving each his undivided attention. It’s flattering when it’s you. Not so charming when it isn’t.

  “You lucky son of a bitch.” James sounded almost envious, and my curiosity was piqued even more. Generally, James was the object of admiration amongst his peers, the one with the newest toys. “I thought you were in Singapore?”

  I knew, then, who disrupted our Sunday afternoon lassitude. It had to be Alex Kennedy. I looked back to my paper, listening while James talked. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting in the newspaper. I didn’t really care about the latest summer fashion or what cars were trendy this year. I cared even less about burglaries and politics, however, so I scanned the columns of text and discovered I’d been ahead of my time in painting my bedroom pale melon the year before. Apparently it was the hot new color for the season.

  Listening to only one side of a conversation is like putting together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box. I listened to James talking to his best friend from junior high school with only the barest comprehension and frame of reference to help me put the pieces together. I knew my husband as well and intimately as any one person can know another, but I didn’t know Alex at all.

  “Yeah, yeah. Of course you did. You always do.”

  The keen admiration was back, along with an eagerness new to me. I glanced at James. His face was alight with glee and something else. Something almost poignant. Despite having what could be a somewhat narrow focus on his own priorities, James was unafraid to be happy for someone else’s fortune. He was, however, rarely impressed. Or intimidated. Now, he looked a bit of both, and I forgot about the vapidity of pale melon altogether to listen to him speak.

  “Ah, get out, man, you’d rule the fucking world if you wanted.”

  I blinked. The sincere,
almost puppyish tone was as new to me as the look on his face. This was startling. A bit disturbing. It was the way a boy speaks to a woman he’s convinced he loves even though he knows she’ll never give him a second look.

  “Yeah, same here.” Laughter, low and somewhat secret, crept out of him. Not his usual guffaw. “Fucking-A man, that’s great. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Another pause while he listened. I watched him rub the curving white scar just above his heart. His fingers traced the line of it, over and over, absently. I’d seen him do that before, rubbing that scar like a talisman when he was tired or upset or excited. Sometimes it was brief, a passing touch like he was flicking a crumb from his shirt. Other times, like this, the stroke-stroke of his fingers took on an almost hypnotic pace. I could be mesmerized watching James run his fingers along that scar, which sometimes looks like the half-moon or a bite, or a frown, or a rainbow.

  James’ brow creased. “No. Really? What were they thinking? That sucks, Alex. Really fucking sucks. Fuck, man, I’m sorry.”

  From elation to sorrow in half a second. This too was unusual from my husband, who might move easily from focus to focus but always managed to maintain his stability. His syntax had changed during his conversation, reverting a little. I’m no prude about bad language, but he was saying “fuck” an awful lot.

  In the next instant, his face brightened. He sat up, bent knees going straight. The sunshine of his smile burst from behind the storm clouds of a moment before.

  “Yeah! Right on! Fucking-A! You got it, man! That’s fan-fucking-tastic!”

  At this I could no longer hide my expression of surprise, but James didn’t notice. He was bouncing a little, shaking the bed so the papers rattled and the sadly neglected Classifieds section fluttered to the floor.

  “When? Great! That’s…yeah, yeah…of course. It’ll be fine. It’ll be great. Of course I’m sure!” His glance flicked toward me, but I was certain he didn’t actually see me. His mind was too taken up with whatever was happening in Singapore. “Can’t wait! Yeah. Just let me know. Bye, man. See you.”

  With that, he thumbed the disconnect button and settled back against the headboard with a grin so broad and vibrant it looked a bit maniacal. I waited for him to speak, to share with me the piece of brilliant news that had so excited him. I waited quite a bit longer than I expected to.

  Just as I was about to ask, James turned to me. He kissed me, hard, his fingers tangling in my hair. His mouth bruised mine a little, and I winced.

  “Guess what?” He answered before I had time to reply. “Alex’s company just got bought out by a much larger corporation. He’s like, a fucking millionaire now.”

  What I knew of Alex Kennedy could have fit on one side of a sheet of notebook paper. I knew he worked overseas in the Asian market and had since before I’d met James. He’d been unable to attend our wedding but had sent an elegant gift that must have been exorbitantly expensive. I knew he’d been James’ best friend since the eighth grade, and that they’d had a falling out when they were both twenty-one. I’d always had the feeling the rift had never fully been repaired, but then, men’s relationships are so different from women’s. If James barely spoke to his friend, that didn’t mean they hadn’t forgiven each other for whatever it was that had driven them apart.

  “Wow. Really? A millionaire?”

  James shrugged, fingers tightening again in my hair before he sat back against the headboard again. “The guy’s a fucking genius, Anne. You don’t even know.”

  I didn’t know. “That’s good news, then. For him.”

  He frowned, running a hand through dark hair already tipped blond though the summer had barely begun. “Yeah, but the bastards who bought him out have decided they don’t want him part of the company any longer. He’s out of a job.”

  “Does a millionaire need to work?”

  James gave me a look that said I clearly didn’t get it. “Just because you don’t have to do something doesn’t mean you don’t want to. Anyway, Alex is done with Singapore. He’s coming home.”

  His voice trailed off at the last, sounding almost wistful for the barest second before he looked at me with another grin. “I invited him for a visit. He said he’ll probably stay for a few weeks while he puts together his next business.”

  “A few weeks? Here?” I didn’t mean to sound unwelcoming, but….

  “Yeah.” James’ grin was small and secret, for himself. “It’ll be great. You’ll love Alex, babe. I know you will.”

  He looked at me and was, for an instant, a man I didn’t know. He reached for my hand, linking our fingers before he took it to his lips and kissed the back of it. His mouth caressed my skin, and he looked up at me over the top of his kiss, his blue eyes dark with excitement.

  But not for me.

  Also by Megan Hart

  All the Lies We Tell

  All the Secrets We Keep

  A Heart Full of Stars

  Always You

  Broken

  Castle in the Sand

  Clearwater

  Crossing the Line

  Deeper

  Dirty

  Don’t Deny Me

  Everything Changes

  Every Part of You

  Flying

  Hold Me Close

  Indecent Experiment

  Lovely Wild

  Naked

  Out of the Dark

  Passion Model

  Precious and Fragile Things

  Reawakened Passions

  Ride with the Devil

  Selfish is the Heart

  Stranger

  Stumble into Love

  Switch

  Tear You Apart

  Tempted

  The Darkest Embrace

  The Favor

  The Resurrected: Compendium

  The Space Between Us

  Vanilla

  About the Author

  I was born and then I lived awhile. Then I did some stuff and other things. Now, I mostly write books. Some of them use a lot of bad words, but most of the other words are okay.

  I can’t live without music, the internet, or the ocean, but I have kicked the Coke Zero habit. I can’t stand the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves me cold. I write a little bit of everything from horror to romance, and I don’t answer to the name “Meg.”

  Megan Hart is a USA Today, Publisher’s Weekly and New York Times bestselling author who writes in many genres including mainstream fiction, erotic fiction, science fiction, romance, fantasy and horror. If you liked this book, please tell everyone you love to buy it. If you hated it, please tell everyone you hate to buy it.

  Find me here!

  www.meganhart.com

  readinbed@gmail.com