Tryst

by S. L. Jennings

“Your room is down the hall,” Justice says to the younger man. He waves Ransom toward the hall and I’m tempted to follow when Justice stops at the doorframe, training that cold, icy stare at me. I can almost feel the temperature in the room plummet. “My place in ten.”

  Then I’m left with my husband, wondering what the hell Justice could want that would demand my attention so suddenly. And what the hell he and Ransom could be talking about right now.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have shown up at the guesthouse where Justice lives at least five minutes late. Ten if I was feeling feisty and wanted to piss him off. But knowing that he’s alone with Ransom, and considering our conversation over the phone about open marriages, I can only imagine what conclusions are being made. I know that Justice won’t divulge any details, but would Ransom? If he felt it would benefit him in some way?

  “Ten minutes, eh?” Tucker muses from behind me. He’s closer than I expect, close enough that his warm breath stirs the hair at my nape. “I can think of a few things we can accomplish in ten minutes.”

  He brushes the hair from my shoulders and presses his lips against the back of my neck, a move that has successfully made me dissolve into warm honey on many occasions. I’ve always craved physical affection from Tucker—yearned for it like a starving child. Now it just feels like a distraction . . . an annoyance. My husband’s touch is annoying me. And that’s a serious problem.

  “Later,” I say, shaking him off. “We’ve been traveling all day. I feel gross.”

  I escape to the bathroom to freshen up and to put even more distance between us. When I reemerge, I find Tucker on the balcony that overlooks the courtyard. The sparkling turquoise, negative edge pool is surrounded by couples in plush loungers, talking, laughing, sipping fruity libations from the newly installed in-pool bar. Such a vast difference from a year ago, when only fragile, disparaged women frequented the estate. These people are here solely by choice. Not out of desperation.

  “Wanna take a dip after your meeting?” Tucker asks without looking at me. His voice is level, as if he can’t feel the tension crackling between us, but I know he does. He’s a smart man.

  “Sure,” I tell him, knowing damn well that won’t happen. I tell myself it’s because I’m working and can’t afford the luxury of lazing around the pool, but even my own denial reeks of guilt.

  I kiss his cheek and tell him I’ll be back, suggesting he order up some drinks and food. I even recommend some of Riku’s specialties before anxiously dashing out the door and away from the whispered judgment of those mirrors in the Reflection room.

  Just as my hand retreats from the cool hardness of the doorknob, I hear a husky chuckle from behind me.

  “Your friend . . . has a way with innuendo,” Ransom drawls. I take a deep breath before turning around to face him, only to find that he’s half dressed and looking more luscious than I remembered. I open and close my mouth a half dozen times before speaking.

  “Uh, yeah. He’s a riot. Forget something?” I ask, lifting a questioning brow, my eyes roaming his taut frame from the soles of his sneakers to the earbuds that dangle onto his bare, tanned shoulders.

  He looks down at his low-slung (seriously, how can he be wearing underwear?) black basketball shorts and shrugs. “Thought I’d get in a workout. Too hot to wear anything else.”

  He’s right, but I can’t help the pang of possessiveness that urges me to demand he turn his sexy ass around and go put on a shirt. So what if all the women here are married or in serious committed relationships? They’re not dead. Take me, for instance. I was so very alive when I spread my thighs for Ransom and took him inside me, mummified him in my warmth and wetness, and made him a permanent memory on my soul. Actually, I can’t remember feeling more vital than that night I spent with him, crying for God yet worshipping him. And that feeling has only been amplified with every stolen moment since.

  So, no, Ransom isn’t mine to feel ownership of, or mine to boss around and tell what to do. But he’s mine, goddammit. And sharing isn’t an option.

  “Heidi?”

  I blink, abandoning my fervent reverie, and look back up at him. He licks his lips, goading me, tempting me, and smiles. “I said, going somewhere?”

  “Justice,” I rasp, my voice splintered. I clear it and press on. “I need to speak with him.”

  “About me?”

  I answer with a frown. “No. Why would I? Did you . . . say anything to him that would invite any questions?”

  He snorts and looks away before shaking his head. “No. I haven’t. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

  Even though I’m sure he’s being honest, I feel the need to reiterate just how dire his confidence is. “Good. Because, if that got out—if someone found out about . . . us—it’d hurt us all.”

  “Hurt us?” His eyes flare on the word “hurt” as if the prospect excites him.

  “Our careers, yes. The press would be relentless.”

  He nods, the small smile on his face turning smug. “Sure. The press.”

  He gazes down the hallway, searching for an escape hatch, and I release him by saying goodbye. I contemplate inviting him for dinner later, but think better of it. We’re not here together. I’m simply here to ensure that he doesn’t completely fuck up or get fucked up. And I’m here for Tucker, of course.

  When I knock on Justice’s door, a sense of anxiety, almost fear, has me tempted to turn back around. But before I can make a run for it, he swings open the door, nearly ripping my arm out of the socket as he pulls me inside.

  “What the fuck did you do?” he asks as soon as the door slams behind me. He’s pacing the floor, breathing heavily, pulling at his short, spiky hair. He’s positively pissed. And it has nothing to do with being tardy.

  I stand perfectly still, the soles of my sandals planted in marbled quicksand. “What do you mean?”

  Suddenly, he’s in my face, not threateningly, but he’s challenging me. Challenging me to lie to his face and try to deny what he so obviously can see. “You think I’m fucking stupid? You think I don’t know what you did with that boy? Dammit, Heidi! I thought we talked about this? I thought you understood the gravity of your decision, and how it would cost you everything. Everything! You think some romp with a rock star will replace a damn decade with your husband? Fucking hell, Heidi. I thought you were smarter than this.”

  “Justice . . .”

  He keeps pressing, keeps digging into me. And I just stand there and let him. “I should have fucking known when you said you needed to bring him. This isn’t about drugs or alcohol, is it? You want him here so you can fuck him, yet play the good wife for your husband. Well, not in my house. I don’t do affairs, DuCane. You wanna fuck around, take your ass back to the city. Tucker deserves better than that, and I won’t have him believe that I was an accomplice.”

  “Justice . . .” I try again. “He knows.”

  “What?” That makes him retreat a few steps. “What the fuck do you mean, He knows?”

  “Tuck . . . he knows. About Ransom.”

  Justice heaves out an aggravated breath and resumes his pacing. “I’m not a marriage counselor, you know. I can’t fix your marriage now that you’ve screwed it to hell.”

  “I know.” I step toward him, humbled, defeated. “And it’s not like that. I didn’t screw it up. We screwed it up. Together.”

  “We?”

  “He was there. Tucker was there when I was with Ransom. He watched. He . . . instructed. And he loved it. At least he did at the time.”

  “Did?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to believe what’s happened—what’s been happening for some time now. “What I need . . . he can’t give it to me. And he knew I found Ransom attractive. We were all drunk, high . . . it just happened. And I . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about him. I thought letting Tucker see what my body needed from him would help him accept it, and he would eventually be able to provide. But he can’t. He won’t.
And ever since our little tryst . . . ever since I felt what it was like to be so completely sated, so undeniably fulfilled . . . I can’t go back to how it was. Shit, I refuse to go back to that.”

  That sobers him and I watch the ire drain from his features. “Does he know this? Your husband?”

  I nod. “We tried afterwards. I thought he was catching on, opening up to the idea. And then he stopped. Jumped away from me like I was a leper. Like I was disgusting and deviant. It hurts to be rejected by the man you love. Especially when another man is willing to not only accept you, but also give you what you need. And not because you need it, but because he wants it too.”

  I move in closer. Closer than we’ve ever been. Not seductively, but in an act of vulnerability. I’m giving him his chance to reject me. Letting him push me away and make me feel dirty too. “Justice, I’m scared. I’m terrified because I want him so badly it physically aches. And I can’t think of anything else but him, and how it felt to be understood. I know that’s wrong, and vile. But fuck, I can’t help it. I can’t stop feeling this way. And it’s only a matter of time before the desires of my body override the intentions of my heart.”

  He looks at me for a long time, either silently judging or thoughtfully comprehending, when the front door opens, causing us to jump apart. Luckily, Ally is joyfully oblivious, flitting in from outside as if she were just dancing on the sun. Fire-streaked red hair is toppled on her head in a messy knot, and she’s dressed in purple running shorts, a yellow tank, and candy-colored running shoes.

  “Heidi! You’re here!” she trills, her smile so infectious that I nearly forget the seriousness of the moment before. I can see why Justice keeps her around. The girl is like his own personal sunbeam. He lives in dark and stormy—thrives there. But one can only go so long in the absence of light before they fall ill in their own coldness and despair. Ally is his warmth. She is his sun and moon and stars. She’s what brought him back to life.

  “That I am,” I reply, with a nod of my head. She comes to hug me then remembers herself. I’m not a hugger. Ever.

  “You came at the right time too. You’ll never guess who’s here! I didn’t even know he was a client!” She looks to Justice and punches his massive bicep with her teeny, tiny, cutesy fist. “Did you do this to surprise me? Because you know what a crazy fan I am?”

  Justice and I look at each other, our brows raised in confusion. “What are you talking about, angel?” he asks, pulling her into his arms. That took some time to get used to—their PDA. I envied the way Justice had allowed himself to change for her. Well, not even change, actually. Evolve. Ally had evoked the evolution of his heart.

  She kisses his lips before turning around to face me, her eyes so bright, they blind me. “Ransom Reed! You know, from the band, Ransom? Oh em squeee! I was on the treadmill, workin’ on my fitness, zoned out, blasting their last album on my iPod, and in he walks. Just strolls in like it’s no big deal that he’s a freaking rock god in our gym. And he was shirtless!”

  Justice clears his throat, which causes her to turn around and beam at him lovingly. “Oh, baby, he has nothing on you, of course. But, Heidi,” she says, turning back to me, “Holy abs, Batman. You’ve got to see it to believe it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Heidi believes it,” Justice murmurs, rolling his eyes.

  “Huh?” Of course, Ally doesn’t miss his comment. The girl is bubbly and quirky, yes. But she’s no dummy. She’s seen what goes down within this compound. Hell, she’s been an active participant.

  “He’s my client,” I explain, hoping to avoid any further speculation. “I brought him here to get away for a little while. And my husband . . . I brought my husband too.”

  “Oh.” That one word is all I need to know that she doesn’t buy it. But she’s polite enough not to pry. “Well, you guys have got to come by and hang while you’re here. It’s not every day that we get to see Mr. Heidi in the flesh. Maybe a couple’s game night? I’ll make margaritas!”

  “No,” Justice and I say in unison. When her expression falls, we both try to explain, rambling on top of each other.

  “She’s here on business, and probably wants to spend her free time with Tucker.”

  “I don’t want to intrude. Plus, I’ve got a ton of work to do.”

  “Fine, fine,” Ally sighs, waving us off. She shimmies out of Justice’s arms and begins to make her way toward the back rooms. “You guys can save your excuses. Business before bullshit, I get it. I’ll be in the shower so you can go back to plotting your quest for world domination.”

  After she disappears from sight and we hear the telltale signs of running water, Justice looks at me with an expression so stern that I feel chastised. “You won’t get her involved in this mess. If something happens, and this gets out, you will not mention her. Understand?”

  “I understand.” I nod.

  “She likes you, Heidi. She cares for you. And knowing what you’re doing—after all she’s been through—would hurt her. You won’t hurt her. Got it?”

  “I do.”

  “Ok.” He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it the right way. No sneaking behind Tucker’s back. I can . . . help you two devise a way to make this a safe and healthy situation for the both of you. But I need total and complete honesty. Understand? And he needs to be on board to trying whatever it takes. If he still can’t give you what you need, we can look at other options . . . including Ransom. But you have to try to make it work with your husband first, Heidi. Ok? Another dick will not solve your marital problems.”

  “I know.” I nod. “I get it. And, yes, I will do whatever it takes. Whatever you want us to do. But I need to know . . . what’s the catch? I mean, I’d like to think we’re friends in some sick, twisted way when we’re not at each other’s throats, but why would you be willing to help me? What’s in it for you?”

  He looks toward the bathroom, where water can still be heard pelting the glass door. The mangled sounds of Ally’s shower singing echoes against the tile.

  “Because, like I said, she likes you. And you did something for me that could not have been easy. So consider this payback.”

  Ah, yes. That I did.

  A few months ago, shortly after Justice returned to Oasis, he needed a little favor. Evan, Ally’s ex and Justice’s half-brother, was on a smear campaign to ruin her reputation and expose personal information about Justice’s mother. We knew his hands were dirty, but no one knew just how dirty they were. So I made a few calls, and some people took a few pictures of Evan in a few compromising situations. I mean, no one made him pop the molly or snort the coke. We just ensured that when he did it, there was photographic evidence. And we may have brought a couple friends that posed in those photos once he passed out. And those friends may have been transvestite prostitutes.

  Ally never found out and, of course, those photos never saw the light of day. Once his eyes fell on the contents of the manila file folder that happened to show up on his desk at work, Evan shut the fuck up. He also accelerated his descent down the rabbit hole, and he hasn’t been able to climb out since.

  Part of me should feel bad for contributing to his self-destruction, but I don’t. Evan Carr was, and is, a piece of shit. And it’s only appropriate that shit be properly disposed of.

  I don’t know why I say it, but I thank Justice. What he’s offering is so unconventional that if someone were to overhear our conversation, they’d think we were both certifiable. But right now, I feel like he’s thrown me a lifeline. He’s willing to save my life.

  We say goodbye before Ally comes back out to the living room. If she saw I was still there, she’d lay on the guilt and beg us to come over for dinner or something as equally uncomfortable. Before I can get fully out the door, Justice stops me, his eyes darting around the vicinity to check for eavesdroppers.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything with him until we try, OK? Promise me that.”

  By him
he means Ransom. He’s asking me not to cheat on my husband. How ludicrous does that sound? Still, I nod once, giving him my word. And I’m sincere. I don’t want to hurt my husband, but I know I’m more than capable of doing it.

  He closes the door and returns to his happy life with his happy girlfriend. And I imagine that behind those doors, he’s happy too. I’m smiling to myself, imagining Justice Drake as the sweet, doting lover that relishes in lazy Sundays spent in bed and movie nights featuring the latest Nicholas Sparks flick. I bet he even cries when he’s with her.

  I’m so wrapped up in my amused reverie that I don’t even notice that I’m being watched. Not just watched. Studied. Analyzed. Picked apart by blue, shrewd eyes that squint against the bright, hot sun, reading the story that I’ve just told.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I do what I’ve been asked.

  I try my hardest to stay away from Ransom. I do all I can to keep him at arm’s length. But that doesn’t mean he’s promised the same thing.

  We finish our first day at Oasis without incident, all of us too exhausted from traveling to do much more than unpack and rest. The next, Tucker and I order dinner to our room—chef’s special five-course meal. And now that Riku is running the kitchen, it’s no surprise that everything is divine.

  You know that saying, “Birds of a feather flock together”? Well, if Justice was a particular species of bird, he’d obviously be a beautiful one, such as a peacock—proud and exotic. And Riku would be strutting right beside him, just as gorgeous and unattainable.

  I met him when he was the sous chef for Oasis, but after things went south and Justice disappeared, Riku was one of the few who stuck around, holding out hope that he would return. He never gave up on him, even when JD gave up on himself. So it was only fitting that he make Riku, his only real friend and confidant outside of Ally, head chef and part owner of the new and improved Oasis.

  “You know, I could get used to this,” Tucker says as I feed him a bite of the most incredible key lime pie I’ve ever tasted.