by J. Daniels
“You seem better,” she whispered from beside me. “That’s good, Brian. Really good. I’m happy to see that.”
Shit.
I didn’t want to get into this. I never did. Especially not with Jenna.
I moved a little so I was ahead of her and kept my eyes to the living room when I spoke.
“Come on. Stop.”
“Stop what?” she asked, moving with me, fucking typical, only this time spinning when she reached my side again so she could look up at my face. “I’m just saying it’s good to see you laughing and smiling again. You should be laughing and smiling, Brian. None of it was your fault.”
I sat my can on the counter and rubbed my face with both hands, then kept avoiding her deeply compassionate eyes, which I knew she had on me, and remained staring into the living room when I replied.
“Not getting into this with you, Jen. Had a nice dinner with you and the kids and I’d like to leave here still thinking it was a nice dinner and not a pain in my ass ’cause you’re hitting me with this bullshit again. I don’t want to hear it.” Then I looked down at her to say, “You weren’t there. You don’t get to weigh in. And you’re wasting your breath anyway. We both know that.”
She touched my elbow, her cool fingers wrapping around it.
“I was just commenting on how nice it is seeing you this way again. I’ve missed it.” She bit her lip. “And I thought maybe you had come around to thinking what I know is to be true.”
“That’s not it,” I interrupted.
“Or,” she continued, letting go of my arm as the lip she was biting started twitching. “If maybe you’re happy because of something else…”
I raised my brows.
“Like?”
“Like, a girl maybe?”
Arms crossing over my chest, I moved my eyes up and over to the living room again, huffing out a breath.
“Oh, my God,” Jenna whispered.
“Not talking about this with you.”
She popped up on her toes and leaned closer, pointing at me.
“I don’t even care. You’re totally admitting to me right now there is a girl and she’s the one making you happy.”
I shook my head, but I did it smiling.
Big mistake.
“Brian!” she squealed, jumping up and down while gripping my biceps.
Oliver’s head popped up from in front of the couch.
“What’s going on?”
Olivia’s followed.
“Yeah, what’s going on in there?”
“Nothin’,” I answered, stepping back and out of Jenna’s grip, then swatting at her hand when she reached for me again.
Jenna smiled up at me, baring white teeth ready to sink in for the kill.
“Uncle Brian has a girlfriend and he loves her.”
I glared at my sister.
She smiled bigger.
“Never said that,” I growled.
“You smiled,” she shot back arrogantly with a cock of her hip. “And I didn’t miss it.”
“Cool,” Oliver muttered before sliding down the couch and disappearing again, the game on the TV unpausing.
“Super cool!” Olivia yelled, with a grin matching her mother’s. “She pretty?”
Jenna was nodding like she fucking knew the answer to that question.
It was time for me to go.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I called out as I made for the door, hoping I wouldn’t upset Olivia for ignoring her.
“Brian, wait!” Jenna yelled behind my back. “You’re still babysitting for me next week, right? I have that date.”
“Yeah, Uncle Brian!” Olivia shouted. “We’re coming over to play, remember?”
“Yeah, Liv,” I said, looking back at her and then turning to give Jenna a smile. “’Bout time, too.”
She scrunched up her nose and made a face.
After waving and saying my good-byes, I got into my Jeep and drove home, where I called my girl the second I cut the engine.
With her in my ear, I smiled some more.
And I let her have it.
Chapter Ten
SYDNEY
My mother used to tell me not to get comfortable being happy.
She said this a lot after Barrett died. To herself and to me, although I think it was mostly to herself when she would sit on the couch and stare off at nothing.
Don’t get comfortable being happy, she would say. It’ll only hurt worse when it’s gone.
I didn’t understand the truth to her statement then. My twelve-year-old mind couldn’t understand it. I just sat there and squeezed her hand or pressed closer, wishing and praying she would get better soon and want to eat popsicles on the porch with me again.
Lime was my favorite. Hers was cherry.
I would’ve eaten cherry every day if it meant getting that back.
Now I realized what my mother meant twelve years ago. And just how true her statement was.
It was Thursday, and it was my day off this week.
I’d worked six straight days and would’ve worked seven, no problem, considering how much I loved my new job and the tips I was getting, the kick-ass, laid-back atmosphere, the cute little uniforms that were super comfy, the people I worked with, okay…everything.
I loved everything.
It felt more like hanging out with my closest friends than work on most days.
I was even starting to consider Stitch a friend now that we’d spent a lot of shifts together and I’d gotten used to his big bad bearded ways, which included him being silent 99 percent of the time while I gabbed about my life and about Brian, figuring he wouldn’t mention it to anyone since he never spoke unless really provoked, those times being few and far between and normally coinciding with something Shay did or said.
She was still all over that window and was always sharing with him.
He was still letting her share and listening like he did with me and the other girls, but appeared to be listening harder and taking more in when she spoke.
All hard looks and edge, drove a motorcycle, and smoked like a chimney on his breaks, fingers, hands, forearms, and I’m betting the rest of him covered in tattoos, plus the whole not speaking thing, which made him a tiny bit scary.
But twice now I’d seen him smile.
Not much of one. Barely a lip spasm behind his blanket of a beard, but it was there and both times appearing after Shay said or did something cute with her back to him.
Stitch had a soft spot, and Shay filled it. I was certain of that.
It felt good telling him about Brian. Telling anyone about Brian, when I wanted to tell everyone and everything, living or not, because if I was being honest, I had already confessed my secret to numerous objects around Tori’s house, and to just about every blade of grass surrounding Whitecaps when I’d step outside on my break.
Even confiding in a stupid blade of grass felt good.
But the one person I really wanted to tell, my best friend, my partner in crime, and the one person I didn’t keep anything from couldn’t know. I couldn’t tell Tori.
For a number of reasons.
I was scared she wouldn’t approve.
I was scared she’d tell me I shouldn’t be feeling the things I was feeling for Brian when I was still technically married to Marcus, and boy oh boy, was I feeling things.
Lots of things.
Tickling butterfly wings and a runaway heartbeat. Goose-bump-giving thoughts and toe-curling desires.
I felt them all the time.
I was scared Tori would tell me it was too much, too soon, too fast.
I was scared I’d start believing her.
I was scared she’d be right.
So I confided in coffee mugs and my bedroom ceiling, her favorite Christmas quilt wrapped around me and my shower-fogged reflection.
And now Stitch.
I had no idea what his thoughts were on the matter, but his silence didn’t bother me. It just felt good telling someone.
<
br /> Anyone.
Stitch would do for now. Maybe in a month I’d feel better about telling Tori.
And maybe she wouldn’t hate me for keeping it from her.
Maybe.
God, I really hoped she wouldn’t hate me.
Guilt, I was feeling it. And I was feeling it hard, which led me to spending my day off cleaning Tori’s house from top to bottom, set on making it sparkle. I even cleaned the oven, got a little dizzy from the fumes and had to sit for a minute and regroup myself, then heard the buzzer go off on the dryer and went about folding a mix of our clothes.
I was being stupid. I knew deep down cleaning wouldn’t help me feel better about keeping my secret from Tori, but it did distract me and I appreciated the distraction.
It also wore me out.
By four thirty I was slumped on one arm of the couch in my cleaning sweats and baggy tee, my hair a hot tangled mess and my eyes closed as I curled into the soft leather cushion.
The front door swung open, hinges creaking.
I peeked my eye open and watched Tori do a little spin and hip shimmy in the entryway after closing the door, find my one eye peeking and lock on to it, smile big, then continue popping her hips as she threw her hands into the air and swayed them like trees blowing in the wind.
Someone was in a good mood.
“Good lunch with your dad?” I asked, popping my other eye open and lifting my chin to see her better over the armrest.
“Good? No. Great lunch. Check it out.”
She stopped dancing and pulled something white and rectangular out of her back jeans pocket, held it out in front of her as she closed the gap between us, doing this while sliding her fingers smoothly, separating the objects and displaying two of whatever it was as she came to a stop in front of the couch.
I stared at the objects, not getting what I was supposed to be checking out, then lifted my gaze to hers.
“What’s that?”
She smiled, slow and devilish with wine-colored lips.
“Get up, get in the shower, and put yourself in something fierce, hon, because you and me are spending the night with”—she turned the objects around and thrust them in my face, yelling—“GAGA!”
I sucked in a breath and sat up, blinking between her and the tickets in her hand.
“What?” I asked, my breath hitching excitedly. “You got us tickets to see Lady Gaga? Where?”
“The Pier,” Tori stated casually, handing me a ticket and fanning herself with the other. “They sold out in eight minutes, but Daddy pulled some strings for his little princess. Surprised me with them at lunch today. He’s the best.”
I couldn’t begin to think how much these probably cost Mr. Rivera. I knew he had connections, but Gaga connections?
Holy shit!
“This is awesome!” I leaped off the couch, tugging the waistband of my sweats when they started sliding down, and stood in front of Tori after she took a step back. “How much do I owe him for this? Oh, my God. I can’t believe we get to see her! We’re her little monsters!”
“Yeah, we are!”
“No, but seriously.” I touched her arm. “How much were these? I don’t want your dad paying for me.”
Tori waved her ticket in the air dismissively.
“It’s on him. He said he’s proud of you for staying so strong right now and finding your happiness. I filled him in the other day on the phone.”
I pulled my lips between my teeth, fighting tears.
God…
Sweetest man ever.
And the closest thing I’d ever had to a father.
Tori shook her head at my reaction, then leaned in so we were touching foreheads.
“You’re his other princess, hon. You know that.”
“I know,” I whispered, thinking back to my thirteenth birthday party, which Tori’s parents threw for me, renting out a hall and hiring a DJ and caterer, going all out for their daughter’s new best friend when they didn’t have to and filling that room with so much love I forgot why my own mother hadn’t done a thing for me that day.
She was off finding her peace over Barrett. Peace she didn’t think included me.
Thank God for Tori and her family.
Thank. God.
Breathing deep and shaking off all sad thoughts right now, because this moment was seriously kicking ass and I wanted it to continue kicking ass, I pulled back an inch and slowly lifted my ticket between us, smiling brightly around it.
“I’m so excited I might pee myself,” I admitted.
Tori threw her head back with a laugh, linked her arm with mine, and pulled me in the direction of the stairs.
“Keep it in, will ya? These floors look bangin’.”
I giggled as we walked side by side up the stairs, asking, “Think you can hook me up with something to wear tonight? I don’t have anything fierce.”
“Gotcha covered on that.”
We separated at the top so I could cut a right and Tori could cut a left.
I was fishing through my top drawer for some panties when she popped into my room and deposited an outfit and accessories on my bed.
Little black dress with mesh across the top, revealing the tops of your breasts when worn, and big silver studs clustered in a thick stripe going down both hips to the hem. It was short and sleeveless and breathtakingly expensive, by the looks of it.
Next to it on the bed was a studded cuff bracelet, two choices of choker necklaces, and black sling-back heels.
Fierce. I loved it.
“What are you wearing?” I asked Tori, halting her at the door.
She gave me a wink behind her overgrown blond bangs.
“You’ll see.”
I showered and shaved, slathered on my favorite sweet-smelling body lotion, slid into the dress after deciding on a thong and no bra, thanks to the mesh, and curled and teased my hair, giving it body and height that looked kick-ass paired with my outfit.
I also went to town on my makeup job, keeping everything heavy but the kind of heavy that screamed fierce concertgoer and not back alley hooker.
Dark, smoky eyes, false lashes that flared at the ends, and warm cerise lipstick.
I felt pretty. Really pretty.
The kind of pretty a girl had to commemorate with a selfie, and there was only one person in the entire world I wanted to send that selfie to.
I bit my lip while swiping my phone off the bed and pulling up the camera mode.
I was nervous.
Understandably so. This would be the first time Brian was going to see me.
Like ever.
Heavy stuff right there.
I’d thought about sending him pictures before, but got sidetracked with conversation and his sweet as warmed honey voice I wanted to taste, and all thoughts of pictures would slip my mind. Considering he never asked to see a photo of me didn’t help either.
Since he wasn’t bringing it up, I was hardly thinking about it.
But right now, standing in my bedroom with my makeup done up and my hair looking prettier than it had on prom night, sending Brian a picture of me was suddenly all I could think about.
And before I could think or whisper talk myself out of it, I reversed the camera so I could see myself on the screen, held the device out in front of me and off to the right a bit, pursed my stained lips into a kiss, other hand poised at my chin to blow it, and snapped the picture.
Then I attached it to a text and hit Send.
Feeling WILD.
I wanted to put my phone down. Really I did, especially since I had to snap on my studded cuff bracelet and that required use of both hands, furthermore because Tori had given me a fifteen-minute warning close to fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t let the damn thing go.
I couldn’t stop looking at it either.
My stomach was clenched. I was biting my fist and pacing the length of the bed, head down and eyes anxiously focused.
But when the little bubbles floated in teasing intervals on my
screen and I knew Brian had seen my photo, that’s when the real panic set in.
Would he like how I looked? Would it be how he had imagined and confessed to imagining countless times late at night to me, or better, would my photo exceed the limits of his imagination and paint a more pleasing image in his mind?
Or would he hate it and me for sending it to him, shattering his dreamed-up spank-bank material and ruining every orgasm I ever gave him?
Shit.
Shit!
Which was it and why the hell was he taking so long to type? Didn’t he know this was killing me?
“Hurry up!” I whispered against the screen.
It started ringing in response to my plea, startling me and nearly slipping out of my hand.
Oh, God, he was calling.
Brian was calling after looking at my picture.
I was going to have a heart attack and never live to see the Pacific Ocean.
Damn.
I held my breath and hit Answer.
“Hey there, Trouble.” I spoke lightly, forcing a smile I wasn’t sure I was going to keep, depending on which way my photo swayed him.
“You fuckin’ shitting me with this, Wild? What are you thinking right now? Huh?”
He was swaying a hard right into Suck Land, where he hated me, the photo, and was most likely regretting all those orgasms.
I felt sick and gripped my dresser for support.
“Um…” I stammered, swallowing hard. “I was thinking I’d send you a photo, of me, you know, since I hadn’t yet. That’s me in that photo.”
“No shit,” he growled. “What I’m asking right now is, what are you thinking sending it to me?”
“I was thinking I wanted you to see it,” I answered honestly.
He exhaled slowly then spoke, still sounding pissed off but doing it softer.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
My stomach unclenched, only to lurch and twist uncomfortably.
He wasn’t attracted to me.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “I know.”
“You know,” he echoed unconvincingly.
“You don’t like it. You…it’s not what you thought I’d look like and you’re wishing you never would’ve seen it.” I shifted over to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I suddenly felt the farthest from pretty. “That’s why you’re mad.”