by Tharp, Emma
"You're making a mistake. I'd be the perfect wife for you." Her voice is high-pitched and menacing.
"No, I can assure you, I'm not," I seethe.
There's a crazed look in her eyes that has me backing away another step. "I know you cheated on me. I don't like cheaters, but I was willing to forgive you."
Cheated on her? No, I didn’t. When I met Chloe, I knew I had to have her so I made the decision to break it off with Sara. There really wasn’t overlap. I’m never going to put myself in that situation again.
What I went through with Alex was enough for me to quit seeing more than one woman at a time. I hurt my ex-fiancée by cheating on her and in return she hurt me by dating one of my teammates. I don’t blame her; I was an asshole. Now, I can see that Alex started dating Cole, not because she was looking for revenge, but because Cole was a good guy and she deserved better than what I was giving her. That’s why I was upfront with Sara from day one—I didn’t want there to be any confusion or hurt feelings—and I thought she was on board. Turns out she was lying to me or herself. This woman doesn’t understand the word casual.
Every step I take away from her, she takes one closer. I've never seen her like this and suddenly my heart rate picks up. “You need to leave.” I edge toward the door.
She stomps her foot. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Eight
Chloe
The arrangement between Marcus and me could really end up working out. He had an awesome game last night. Good news for him and for me.
I was biting my nails off while watching the game. I want Marcus to succeed, and not just because of the deal we’ve got, but because he’s a great hockey player. Who knows what was really throwing his game off for the last month, but he needed something to change. My hunch is that after a couple of bad games, he got it in his head that there had to be a superstitious reason for it. That’s why he came to my door. Not because he was sure it was me that would make a difference, but that he was willing to try anything.
This could all work out really well if I safeguard myself from getting caught. We’ll be extra careful. I had hesitations, but I'm trying to live a little and go with the flow. I’m also going to protect my heart. Feelings can’t get in the way of this deal. That’s not to say that I’m not going to enjoy every minute of this, because I will. Now let's just hope I don't get burned.
Slicing up some cheese, I place it nicely on a platter next to grapes and crackers. Just a light snack. I’m sure he’ll have already eaten before he comes, but my mother raised me to be a hostess when you have someone over to your home. Marcus should be here any minute for my first interview. My belly jumps with excitement.
My cell phone buzzes. It's a call from my boss, David.
"Hello," I say.
"I got your message. Sorry I couldn't call sooner. What's going on?" David is not a beat around the bush kind of guy. I like that about him. He hired me three years ago and I never want him to regret his decision of taking a chance on someone as young as me in my position.
"I've got an exclusive interview today with Marcus Reid. If it goes well, I'll do a series on him. It'll be great." There's enthusiasm in my tone although I try to contain it and maintain my professionalism.
I can hear him tapping away on a keyboard—always the multi-tasker. "Okay, that's good. Great job. See what you can get out of him. Have him open up about what went on in Nashville. It should make for a good story. Anything else?"
"Nope. I just wanted you to know what I'll be working on today. I'll have something typed up and sent over within the next forty-eight hours."
"Great." He's already hung up.
David told me last week that he was proud of me for all the hard work I’ve been doing. It meant a lot to me. And I know these interviews with Marcus are going to be good. I’m going to dig deep with him. Adrenaline shoots through me and I don't know how to channel it.
Some research on Marcus won't be a bad idea. When we first started seeing each other, I did internet-stalk him, but a more in-depth search won’t hurt. I open up my laptop and type “Marcus Reid” in the search bar.
Marcus Daniel Reid is an American professional ice hockey forward, currently playing for the NHL team the Toronto Cyclones. He was drafted by the Nashville Wolverines in the first round, tenth overall pick. He started playing hockey at a young age in Arizona, and was picked up by the USHL Tucson Devils juniors team.
I skim through his impressive stats to the personal section.
Raised by a single mother.
That I didn't know. I'll have to touch on that in the interview, but I’ll be sensitive about it. I’m sure being brought up without his father shaped the man he is today. It makes me wonder how forthcoming he’s going to be in the interviews. I’ll do my best to get the most out of him that I can without him feeling like I’m violating his privacy. It’s an interesting position to be in—this is the first time that I’ve slept with an interviewee.
He grew up in Phoenix and has an older sister.
The research is making me antsy to talk to him in person. The clock on my phone shows me that he’s almost an hour late. I must have lost track of time.
I text him and try calling, but he doesn’t answer. Could something have happened to him?
My stomach sinks. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. He’s backing out, and I'm not going to take it. There’s no way he’s getting out of his end of the deal. I’m not letting him stand me up.
I grab my keys and lock up my apartment. I'm going over there, right now.
Nine
Marcus
"You hurt me and I'm going to hurt you!" Sara jabs her finger at my chest and there's spit forming at the corners of her mouth.
"We weren't married, Sara. In fact, I was very clear with you from the get-go. It was only sex." I take another small step to the side.
"But I thought we were serious. You spent the night. You told me you cared about me." Tears form at the edges of her eyes and she wipes at them with her sleeve.
I put my hands up in defense. "I'm sorry." I'm backpedaling now. I don’t like where this is headed. I’ve had women upset with me, but none of them have seemed quite so unhinged.
"I'll tell people about how you're a cheater." Her eyes are crazed now, darting around the room.
Would she really? And if she did, would people believe her? Worst case scenario she tries to sell a story to the press. But that could be bad. Coach wouldn’t appreciate it, though I don’t think it’d hurt my career. Or would it? Coach Stevens in Nashville wasn’t happy with the drama that went on between Cole Shaw and me. The asshole started dating my ex-fiancée. It didn’t end well for me there, and I don’t want to find out what would happen if Sara runs her mouth. "What can I do to make it up to you?"
A slight smile forms through her tears. "You need to take me back. Let's start again."
Well, that's never happening. This woman is crazy. Does she honestly believe that I’d take her back after this display today? "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."
Knock knock.
Sara is so on edge she literally jumps and lets out a high-pitched squeal.
I go to the door and look out the peephole. Shit. Shit. Shit. It's Chloe.
The only two women I've slept with in this city, and they're both here at the same time. I’m so screwed.
"You stay in here. This is important," I tell Sara. “We’ll work something out as soon as I’m back. This will only take a second. Stay. In. Here.” I hope my imploring tone will keep her from opening the damn door and causing more drama than she already has today.
Inching the door open, I sneak out into the hall. I think I was fast enough. I hope Chloe didn't get a visual of Sara inside.
My stomach does a nosedive. Chloe’s hands are on her hips and she’s got angry creases in her forehead. "You were supposed to be at my house over an hour ago!"
I check my watch—she’s right. "Damn. I'm sorry. I got held up here. Can we please reschedule?"<
br />
Chloe balls her hands into fists at her sides and scowls. The fire in her sapphire eyes makes her look like she wants to hit me. I’m not having a good day with women. "Really? You're canceling?"
Leaning in closer, I look her straight in the eye, hoping she’ll see how sorry I am. “I wanted to be there, but something came up. I’ll make it up to you. I promise."
"Oh, sure you will." She taps her foot looking up at me. "You know what? Next time you need good luck sex, I might need to cancel." She turns on her heel and storms away.
"Chloe! Please wait!" I don’t want her to leave yet. I just need to explain. But I also don’t want her getting mixed up in my mess here with Sara. Chloe is already all the way down the hall. I will make this right, but right now I need to go back inside and deal with Sara once and for all.
For a fleeting second, I wonder if I should call the police and have her dealt with. No, it’d be negative publicity that I don’t need. I can’t risk getting traded again. I should be able to take care of this on my own.
"Who was that?" Sara fumes. “I heard a woman’s voice. Are you sleeping with her?”
Cracking my neck to each side, I say, "I had a very important meeting today and you just made me miss it." My tone is ice cold and harsh. If Sara just messed up everything with Chloe and me, I'm going to lose my shit. "Don't even bother trying to ruin my reputation. It's already shit. No one cares." I open the door. "Get out. And don't come back."
“But…”
“No!” It’s a growl that comes from somewhere deep inside my gut. “Get the fuck out.”
Sara flinches as if I've slapped her across the face. She hangs her head and slowly walks out the door. I slam it behind her.
I'm tired of this. Chloe is the one for me. I need her, but more than that, I want her. Screw all this crap and drama. I'm done. I learned my lesson with Alex: more than one woman at a time leads to nothing good.
I send Chloe a text. I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.
She doesn’t reply for the rest of the day. I’m sure she needs some time to cool down. I’ll respect that. For now.
Ten
Chloe
There was someone in Marcus's apartment. Someone that he didn't want me to see. It must've been a woman—at least it sounded like one. I heard a shriek when I knocked on the door. It's the only explanation for his behavior. He scooted out of his apartment like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Guilt was written all over his face.
I'm disappointed. Partially in him, but more so in myself. How could I have been so stupid? He seemed sincere when he told me that he wanted our arrangement to work. Yet on the first day he was supposed to meet me for an interview, he stood me up.
Screw him!
And the sorry text he sent me, too, oh, please. I’m not a fool. You can do better than a text message.
Instead of wallowing in self-pity, the next evening I put on a little black dress and do my makeup after I decided to finally say yes to Thomas, a guy who's been asking me out for months. He's an attorney and a friend of my brother’s. I hadn't wanted to waste the time on a possible new relationship. I still don’t, but I need a distraction. Who knows, maybe he'll be Mr. Right. Hudson seems to think he’ll be a perfect fit. I guess we'll see.
We meet for dinner at Maison Blanche, a new French restaurant downtown that I've been dying to try.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Thomas says when he stands up from the table. He pulls a chair out for me. Such a gentleman. At first sight, he’s clean cut and handsome.
“Thanks for the invite,” I tell him and set the napkin on my lap.
There’s already a bottle of red wine sitting on the table. “It’s cabernet franc. It’s nice. Would you like some?” He lifts the bottle. I nod and he pours me a full glass.
Taking a sip, I enjoy its fruity flavor. I’m not a connoisseur, but I do enjoy trying new wines. “It’s good.”
A small dimple forms on his left cheek when he smiles, giving him a sweet boyish baby face. “I’m glad you like it.”
I take a peek at the menu, and when the waitress stops by, we place our orders.
“So, Hudson tells me you’re a lawyer. Where do you work?” I ask.
He swirls his glass. “Downtown at Craus and Waters. I’m a divorce attorney.”
Ouch. Do people ever get married to divorce attorneys? “Oh, wow. How did you decide you wanted to be a lawyer?”
That’s when he lost me. “Well, my first love is politics,” he begins, and I check out.
It’s not like me to zone out during a conversation. Unless it’s about politics—they bore me. If I wanted to talk about the merits of our president, I’d call my father.
The waitress sets my plate of sole meuniere in front of me. The smell of lemon and butter hits my nose and my mouth waters. The meal is exquisite, the conversation, not so much. Politics lead to more talk about gun control and the First Amendment. In lieu of falling asleep at the table, I drink more wine. We polish off two bottles and by the time the meal is over, I'm feeling pretty good. He insists on paying the bill. I don't object.
"Let's go out dancing," Thomas suggests.
Why the hell not? He is pretty cute in an awkwardly charming way. It could be fun.
At the club, we order two glasses of wine and each take a sip. I've probably had more than enough to drink, but I need to let loose tonight. "So, you like to dance, huh?" I ask, noting a slight slur to my words.
"I'm not an expert, but I do enjoy it." He undoes the top button on his dress shirt.
I run my fingertips through his hair. It's a little bit stiff from too much product. "There," I say. If we’re going to dance, he needs to loosen up.
"Better?" He gives me a dimpled grin.
Smiling at him, I take a few sips of my wine and set the glass on the bar. Then, I set his glass next to mine and grab his hand, leading him to the dance floor. “Come on.”
The bass of the song pulses through my chest, causing me to throw my hands in the air above my head. The crowd here is electric and it fuels me. I grind up on Thomas. We’re hip to hip—leaving very little room between us.
"You're hot," Thomas tells me as he winds his hands around my waist. He eases them around to my back and slowly they inch down to my ass.
I stare at him, and really take him in. He's got hazel eyes and an angular jaw. Definitely good-looking in a clean-cut sense. But he lacks the rugged features that I'm normally drawn to. I love a man with a bit of facial scruff and muscles. Thomas is cleanly shaven and thin. He looks refined, designer shoes, very posh. Could I fall for someone like him? There isn't instant chemistry, but is that necessary?
"Thank you, you're very handsome, too." I run my fingers through the back of his hair and guide him toward me. Our lips press together and he glides his tongue gently against mine. His mouth is soft and he tastes like red wine. I pull back to find he’s staring at me with heavy lidded eyes.
No, there weren’t fireworks like the first time Marcus and I kissed. But I don't want to let myself compare.
"I need to use the bathroom. I'll meet you back at the bar, Marcus,” I say and realize my slip and cringe inwardly. "I'm sorry, Thomas."
He grins and nods, seemingly unaffected by my blunder.
Making my way across the crowded dance floor, I find the restrooms. The smell of too many different types of perfume turns my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have drank that last glass of wine. I look at myself in the mirror. What the hell was that, Chloe? I can't believe I just called him Marcus.
My hair is askew and my eyeliner has started to run. I'm drunk. And I need to get home. Grabbing a paper towel, I wet it and dab under my eyes and smooth my hair down.
Heading back toward the bar, Thomas is leaning against it waiting for me. It’d be nice if my stomach would do that thing where I get butterflies when I see him. Sadly, it doesn't.
"I'm not feeling well, I think I'm going to get a cab and head home,” I tell him.
He places
a hand on my waist with his brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, yes, let's go."
We make our way out of the club and onto the sidewalk where Thomas hails us a cab. Once inside, I tell the driver my address.
"Are you okay?" Thomas moves my hair over my shoulder.
"Yes, I think so. I might've had too much to drink. It’d be best for me to go home and rest."
There's not a bit of disappointment on his face, all there is is concern etched in his features. My brother is right, Thomas is a good guy.
Too bad I'm never attracted to good guys.
Eleven
Marcus
Yes, I’m going to grovel. With breakfast and coffee in hand, I walk up to Chloe’s door.
I’ve sent her several messages, but she hasn’t returned one of them.
Tossing and turning all night for the past two nights, I barely slept. I know I’ve got to do something to prove to Chloe that I’m taking this seriously.
It was a colossal clusterfuck having Sara show up at my apartment, only to have Chloe come over at the same time. I was honest with Sara when we first started seeing each other and I was again two days ago. If she wasn’t clear before, she knows where I stand now. I’m hoping she leaves me alone and keeps her mouth shut, but I can’t worry about her. Getting Chloe to talk to me and forgive me for standing her up is my only priority. I’m going to be honest with her now, too. I might be a slow learner, but I want to figure it out.
I knock and wait. She was so mad, she might not even answer. I wouldn’t blame her. She gave me a chance and when it came to keeping up my end of the bargain, I didn’t deliver. The point is that this time, I want to give her the interview I would have if I hadn’t had the surprise visit from Sara.
Chloe answers the door in a T-shirt and pajama shorts. Her hair is all over the place in a tangled mess that looks like she hasn’t used a brush in the last week and she’s got dark circles that could double as war paint. Last night’s mascara is clumped at the corners of her eyes. I hope she’s okay. She’s a mess. She crosses her arms. “What do you want, Marcus?”