by J. Saman
At least they cleaned up.
Well, for the most part. A lot of the food and desserts have been left out, and there are glittered onesies drying on the fold-out table. I’d bet my status as godmother that those babies will never wear any of those tacky onesies. And I am going to be a killer godmother, so obviously, I’m not relinquishing that.
“At least you have lunch and dinner for a fortnight,” Ivy says, looking over at the long table filled with food. “And dessert, too. How many people did they think were coming to this party?”
“I know, right?” I snort, lying back on the floor and stretching my body out like a cat. “But don’t worry, I ate a good five minutes ago, so I should be ready to go in another five.” I played hostess for a lot of this. Ivy did, too, and we’re all fried.
Those medical people are crazy.
They played games and cheered and clapped and were so excited over shit like burp cloths, teething rings, and cakes made out of diapers. It was frightening.
They even wrapped Kate in toilet paper and ribbons. I thought she was going to cry. I nearly did, but mine was with laughter, and now I have a million pictures for blackmail purposes—should I ever need them.
“You were a good sport,” I say to Kate, looking up at Ivy, whose legs are stretched out on the coffee table and her head is tilted back on her chair, eyes closed. “I still can’t believe that you and Luke did the whole nursery.”
Ivy shrugs a shoulder, refusing to open her eyes. “Actually, it was all Luke. I suggested we get the double stroller, and he spit the dummy on me. Said it wasn’t enough. Then the wanker took me to the shop, and before I knew what was happening, we’d bought the lot.”
“Well, I’m very grateful,” Kate says in earnest. “It’s one less thing to have to think about. And it looks amazing up there.”
“It was our pleasure, truly. But I think the best gift is that holiday weekend Kyle and Claire got you at that inn. If you don’t want to take Ryan, I’ll gladly fill in.”
“Yeah, I think I’m all set.” We all laugh at that. “Speaking of Claire and Kyle . . .,” Kate trails off, and I can hear both the question and suggestion in her voice.
I sigh. I haven’t mentioned to Kate that I slept with Kyle, and I swore Ivy to secrecy. After I fled his apartment and went for my run with Ivy, I was still fitful. I couldn’t shake it. So, I called him and begged him to meet me at a bar in between our buildings. He did and we talked.
Not about the fact that we had sex. No, we actually steered clear of that topic altogether. Instead, we went back to pretending like he was just Kyle and I was just Claire, and we were nothing more than friends who liked to flirt with each other. We ended up spending two hours in that bar, eating and not drinking much other than water, and laughing.
I spent the rest of the day vacillating between being relieved and heartbroken.
“What is the deal with you two?” Kate persists when I don’t respond. “Because he looks at you like you’re one of those cupcakes over there.”
“He does not,” I protest, sitting up and placing my elbows on the coffee table.
“No,” Ivy says with a knowing smile, “he does.”
Kate grins, looking at me sideways since she’s lying on her side, “He’s hot for you. Like really freaking off the charts hot for you. And for the record and just between us girls, because he’s Ryan’s brother and whatnot, but damn, that boy is fly.” She licks her fingertip, points it in the air, and makes a sizzling sound.
I laugh, and so does Ivy. “No one uses the term fly anymore. At least not since the nineties.”
“Probably not, but you’re missing the point. You’re a piece of candy to that man.”
I roll my eyes at her and she laughs. “You’re a cheeseball of goo, and he so does not look at me like that,” I repeat a bit more emphatically this time.
“Agree to disagree,” Kate continues. “If I were you and single, and not swollen to the size of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, I’d let him touch my lady parts.”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Ivy agrees with a determined head nod. “There is just something about Kyle. I can’t quite place it. He’s confident, but it’s in a completely different way than Luke or even Ryan. He’s just . . . I don’t know, controlled sexiness?”
I can’t stop the laugh that flies out of my mouth. “Controlled sexiness? Are you both high on the happy punch your lunatic friends were serving before?” I point at Kate. “Which, for the record, was pretty messed up considering you’re with children and unable to partake in the consumption of alcoholic beverages.”
“I know,” Kate snaps, trying to sit and failing because her center of gravity is a mess. “Those bitches know about my affinity for all things alcoholic, too. It’s like they were teasing me on purpose,” she pouts. “But anyway, stop deflecting here, because I want good and juicy details. Why won’t you play hop on his knobbity knob? He’s hot, single, smart, and–”
“Worships you,” Ivy finishes for her.
I sigh, no way on this fuzzy green planet am I getting off the hook on this one. “I’m not hopping on his knob or whatever the hell you kids are calling it these days, because he’s all of those things.” They just stare at me. “He’s perfect boyfriend material.” More blank stares.
“And that’s a bad thing,” Ivy surmises.
“Yes. Most definitely. I will not deny that his controlled sexiness,” I wink at Ivy, “is unfounded. But I’m just not looking for that from him or anyone else. Kyle is my latest BFF, and that’s how he shall stay.”
“Right,” Kate says, pursing her lips to the side like she’s thinking this over. “I bet a c-note that you fuck his brains out of his head before my babies are born.”
“Oh, I’ll take that action,” Ivy says, sitting up straighter. “But I bet it takes longer than that. I’m going with two months, and I bet it’s him who fucks her brains out.”
I look at Kate, and then we both crack up laughing because Doctor Ivy Green doesn’t swear very much. At least she doesn’t drop f-bombs the way Kate and I do. “When did you both turn into Las Vegas hustlers?” They laugh harder. “Both of you suck at life,” I point at them. “And for the record, it’s bad form to go against the girl code and make bets against your friend.”
Kate opens her mouth to say something when the front door flies open and a head of short blonde curls walks in. “Bloody hell, what a fucking nightmare it was getting up here.” Ivy’s sister, Sophia, comes storming in the house like she owns the place, slamming the door behind her with her foot because both of her hands are occupied with bottles of alcohol.
“Soph, you’re officially late,” Ivy says with a big beaming smile. “You missed the entire party.”
“Ivy, girl,” Sophia says, walking in and sitting down on the couch next to Kate. “That was entirely intentional. There was no way I was partaking in the nightmare you call a baby shower.” Sophia sets the two bottles of champagne on the coffee table and begins to rub Kate’s belly. “Wow, luv, you’re a giant beach ball.”
“Bitch,” Kate says, but she’s smiling because Sophia just has that way about her.
“I brought alcohol for those who can drink.” Sophia shrugs sheepishly at Kate who glares at her. “I’m sorry, but I also have a bottle of sparkling cider in the car if you’re interested.”
“No,” Kate sighs. “The bubbles will give me heartburn. I’ll stick to eating cupcakes instead.”
“Oh.” Sophia’s blonde head pops up in the direction of the table. “Right-o.” She gets up, fills a plate with an assortment, grabs some plastic cups, and then sits down next to me on the floor.
“Soph, I thought I was going to get to meet your new ladylove.”
“Yeah, she had to work,” Sophia says, sitting up on her knees and popping the cork out of one of the bottles of champagne with a loud bang.
“Careful or you’ll put Kate into labor,” I tease.
Sophia’s eyes widen, and then she looks at Kate’s large belly. “Oh b
ugger, I didn’t think of that one. You all in order over there?”
Kate nods her head, rolling her eyes.
“That’s good on ya, mate, because while my dear wee little sis may like blood and bits, I do not.”
“You have a ladylove?” I frown at her as she fills my plastic cup. “Why is everyone all about settling down? I mean, who am I going to explore my natural lesbian tendencies with?”
“I don’t know, doll, but yeah, I’m a one-pussy lady now. I’ve been with Mariah for a few months. You’ll love her. She’s totally badass.” Sophia winks one of her gray eyes at me from behind her black horn-rimmed glasses. It’s funny how different she looks from Ivy. Ivy is tall, lean, and has long, stick straight light-brown hair and bright blue-gray eyes. Sophia is closer to my height with an overabundance of curves, and platinum-blonde hair rolled into short curls. Both beautiful but very different.
“Fine,” I grumble with a smile. “I guess I’ll love her if you do. But for the record, I think this whole monogamy kick is lame.”
“That’s the spirit. Now drink up.”
Ivy, Sophia and I toast to Kate and her babies, our plastic cups crinkling as they kiss.
I take a long pull and savor the very expensive champagne that Sophia brought. Sophia is a badass in her own right. She’s a Hollywood publicist, and apparently, that’s how she met her new girlfriend, Mariah, who is a producer for HBO.
“Anyway,” Sophia says, pouring the three of us a second cup. “I really would have been here sooner, but that knobby cunt of a client of mine decided that this was a good day to file for divorce. She’s only been married a bloody month.” She shakes her head, and then suddenly the door flies open for the second time, and Ryan, Kyle, and Luke come waltzing in, smiling and laughing and generally looking like they just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.
“Is it safe? Is the estrogen madness over?” Ryan calls out.
“Yes, come in and join us,” Kate answers as she slowly and awkwardly pulls herself up into a sitting position before she falls back and leans heavily into the pillows behind her.
“Wait,” Sophia yells out, getting back up onto her knees. “The three of you stop right there.” They do as they’re told, but mostly because I think they’re too stunned to move. “Take off your shirts.”
“Huh?” they all say in unison, and both Ivy and I snicker.
“I want to see some serious ab action with six-packs and gorgeous Vs. Take off your shirts.” Now Ivy, Kate, and I are cracking up, to the point that I’m nearly rolling on the floor.
“Knock it off, Soph,” Luke says with an eye roll. “Since when do you care about seeing the perfection that is my body?”
“Even if I don’t buy in the shop, I still like to look at the merchandise,” she says in all seriousness, pushing up the bridge of her glasses. “Besides, the three of you really are spectacularly yummy. Who’s the newbie?” she asks with a head tilt, gazing at Kyle, who looks adorably bewildered for a moment. His eyes meet mine and his lips turn up into a smile that makes his eyes sparkle.
“Soph, that’s Ryan’s brother, Kyle,” Ivy supplies. “Kyle, this is my big sister, Sophia.” Kyle walks over and shakes her hand, and then the boys finally come in and sit next to their respective women. Ryan pulls Kate into his arms and Luke does the same with Ivy.
“Duchess, you look like you’ve seen the finer side of hell today,” Luke says to Kate through a laugh as she rubs a sore spot on her side.
“I hate baby showers,” she grumbles, resting her head on Ryan’s large chest. “I wouldn’t mind them so much if they didn’t make you play those stupid, asinine games. I mean, do they really think I’m going to dress the twins in onesies decorated with puff paint and glitter?”
“Ha, I knew it,” I say in a sing-song voice. “I still think my favorite was when they wrapped you up like a mummy, complete with a bow.”
Kyle comes and sits on the chair behind me, dropping a kiss to the crown of my head as he does. I can feel looks being thrown around all over the place. I find myself taking an interest in finishing off my champagne before pouring myself another.
“My favorite was when Bree ogled a picture of Ryan before saying—rather loudly—that she’d take a turn with him when he tired of Kate.”
Ryan laughs, and Kate turns around to glare at him before smacking his chest. “I hate that miserable woman,” Kate says.
I feel Kyle shift behind me, grasping my shoulders and pulling me between his legs until I’m resting with my back against the bottom of the chair he’s sitting in.
He leans down and whispers in my ear, “You look really pretty.”
Dammit, I feel that husky voice of his everywhere, and I hate it. I hate it the exact same way all women hate it when an amazing guy that they’re crazy about tells them that they look pretty.
“How was the party?”
“Good,” I smile, tilting my head up to see him. His eyes are staring into mine, and for a moment, I can’t help but stare back, examining the patterns of green and brown. All around us, everyone else is talking. Sophia is chatting animatedly with Luke and Ryan, and Ivy and Kate are talking, and I’m stuck in this interlude with Kyle.
I lied before when I said he doesn’t look at me like he wants to devour me. He does. But it’s so much more. His looks go way beyond simple lust, and that, above everything else, has my heart hammering, my palms sweating, and my stomach filling with butterflies. I had hoped it would dissipate. That our encounter would satiate our mutual need, and we’d go back to how we used to be.
No such luck.
If anything, it’s only grown, despite my blatant refusal to acknowledge anything. Not his looks, or his words, or his voice—or his touch. Definitely not his touch.
Because despite knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I cannot have what he’s offering me, I still want it. Bad. Like deep down in my soul bad. Like, willing to ignore the reality of my situation and life bad.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Playing with fire seems to be my new favorite pastime.
I just wonder which of us will end up burned the worst.
“Whatever you want,” he says with that smile that promises me more endless mischief and pleasure if I’m willing to give in.
Both, I decide. We’ll both get burned beyond recognition. Which makes me the worst person in the world.
How will I ever forgive myself when this all falls apart?
23
Claire
* * *
The restaurant is one of those overly trendy annoying places that promise farm to table and give you palate teasers of octopus and yellow beets covered in some sort of clear gelatinous goo. I can’t even lift my fork to this. As I glance up, Kyle is eyeing his canapé with the same revulsion.
Our dates, on the other hand, are happily eating away at the slimy substance.
Tonight was not my idea. Never in a million years do I think double-dating with Kyle is wise. It’s not the sort of thing you do when you’re in love with the man who is not your date. It’s the sort of thing that couples do.
I am not a couple with Brandon Lee here. His name is not really Brandon Lee, but he reminds me of the guy who was in that movie The Crow. No, Jonah I-don’t-remember-his-last-name is the guy I met at a gig I played the other night.
He was there with his friend, Kaylee, and Kyle was there watching my show, and afterward, the four of us just sort of hit it off. Kaylee and Kyle. How nauseating is that? She’s also irritatingly cute in a blonde cheerleader way, while Jonah is sexy, I guess, in a dark mysterious way.
I’m not all that into him.
But when Kaylee suggested this little get-together, both Jonah and Kyle were all for it.
Me? Not so much.
I can’t quite explain what has been happening with me lately, but I haven’t felt like dating much. Not since that night with Kyle. Probably before that, if I’m being honest. The idea of another man does noth
ing for me. Going to bars, picking up men and taking them home just doesn’t hold the same appeal as it used to.
All I seem to want to do is hang out with Kyle.
All I think about is Kyle.
And that reason alone is why I’m on this date.
Why I plan on putting my all into Jonah.
As I sit here, picking at the concoction of slime on my plate, my eyes can’t help but notice the way Kyle looks at Kaylee. The way he smiles and tilts his head to hear her better against the cacophony of restaurant goers. The way his hand gently brushes against her as he talks with his hands.
And something inside of me, something that I’ve been trying to keep buried very deep, twists.
“How long have you been playing guitar?” Jonah asks, reaching his hand behind my chair and resting it on the top rung of the ladder-like backing, his fingers quietly caressing the fabric of my shirt.
Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing at the contact.
I turn my head, angling my body ever so slightly in Jonah’s direction. He really is good looking, and though he seems to take everything that comes out of my mouth in a very literal and direct way, I’m not all that annoyed by his presence.
“Since I was ten or so, I think. I started playing piano when I was six, and it just grew from there.”
“Wow,” he says surprised, his dark, nearly black eyes, darkening further. “I didn’t start playing guitar until I was a junior in high school, and that’s still the only instrument I can play. But I’ve also spent most of the last ten years high in one way or another, so maybe that’s why.”
Um . . . what?
“It’s why I couldn’t graduate high school.” He laughs, like what he just said was funny and doesn’t bother him in the slightest.
Yeah, I’m not exactly sure what playing an instrument has to do with being high for a decade. And I’m wondering why he felt the need to tell me that he has an obvious substance abuse problem and didn’t graduate from high school because of it. Especially on our first date. I don’t mean to be a snob or anything, but that’s a pretty big turn off for me.