I loved him.
And just like that, I know. It hits me like a kick in the gut. Like a punch in the face. Like being held underwater while fighting, clawing, scrambling desperately to break free and make it back up to the surface.
I know—I fucking realize—that I’m never going to feel like that again. Matt was my first love, and that only happens once. I’m never going to be that young again. Never going to be so simply and blissfully in love. Will never love someone with blinders on again.
Which means I’ll never be that happy again.
It’s a bleak and depressing thought.
And the messed up thing is, I still want Jay to hold me. Want it more, in fact.
“Are you waiting for it to get quiet out there?” he asks drowsily beside me.
I swallow hard against the knot in my throat. Take calming breaths in and out through my nose. “Yeah,” I say when I’m confident my voice will hold, “I’m pretty sure if I run into Paige she’s going to yell at me.”
Jay acknowledges that with a sleepy grunt, and then he falls silent.
The bathroom door squeaks. A few seconds later I hear the soft click of Paige’s bedroom door.
Closing my eyes, I wait a while longer just to be safe. Until I decide the coast has to be clear for going to the bathroom without running into anyone—and my need to pee starts to get urgent.
Moving carefully so as not to disturb Jay, I push myself up to my feet. Fumbling around in the dark, I somehow manage to find my panties on the floor. Search for my suitcase and discover it by stubbing my toe on it, letting out a choked squeak at the pain. Kneeling down, I have to feel my way around to find the tank top and pajama pants I packed. It’d be really great if I had my phone to use as a flashlight.
Oh, crap. My phone. My clutch. Both must still be downstairs by the front door along with my shoes. Guess I’ll have to go down and fetch them. Pretty sure it’s embarrassingly obvious why I left them there.
After pulling the clothes on, I pad to the door, opening it slowly so it’ll be quiet.
And almost stumble over my shoes and my purse, which are sitting right outside the door. The shoes are placed neatly side by side, the clutch resting on top of them.
Paige.
That’s why she knocked. A rush of warmth spreads in my chest. My big sister, always watching out for me. Which, to be honest, is more frequently nice than it is annoying.
Plucking my phone out, I toss the clutch and the shoes into my bedroom, shutting the door. I tap the power button on my phone as I head to the bathroom, the way there illuminated by the recessed lights on the ceiling.
There’s a text message from my mom. Unease twisting in my stomach, I type in my passcode to read it.
Grandma’s not upset. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Well. That’s both comforting and ominous, isn’t it? Ugh.
Still tapping around on my phone, I grasp the bathroom door handle. Immediately it’s snatched out of my grasp as the door opens, swinging inward.
“Oh, my God!” I breathe out with a squeak, involuntarily jumping back a step.
Paige stands in the doorway.
Placing my free hand on my chest, I feel my heart pounding under my palm. “You startled me. I thought you were in bed already.”
Paige is still wearing her simple, black, empire-waisted cocktail dress, but she’s tied her hair up in a messy bun and removed her makeup. Arching her eyebrows, she says, “I thought you were, too.”
“Um…” I have no idea how to respond to that. I was in bed…kind of? But not really. Heat floods my cheeks. Shit. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
My only hope is to play it cool.
“You done?” I ask, gesturing past her at the bathroom.
Saying nothing, Paige takes a step back, opening the door wider. Inviting me in.
Oh-kay. I brush past her into the bathroom. And once I’m there, it’s like my brain sends a signal to my bladder that a toilet is nearby, because my urge to pee goes from somewhat pressing to seriously urgent. Clenching my pelvic muscles, I glance back at my sister, who’s still standing by the open door, staring at me.
“Can I have some privacy?” I ask politely.
Wordlessly, she shuts the door. With herself still in the room.
Seriously? Well, fuck it. This will probably be more awkward for her than me, anyway. Between the two of us, I’m not the bashful one.
Setting my phone down on the marble vanity, I cut across the small room to the porcelain bowl. After lifting the lid, I shove down my pants and underwear and sit down on the toilet seat, holding Paige’s gaze the whole time. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or look away. When my bladder is empty, I break eye contact with her to yank several sheets off the toilet paper roll.
“Why did you lie?”
I look back up at my sister. Her tone is calm, but I know her. I can hear the edge under that calm, the anger she’s bridling.
“About what?” I widen my eyes at her as I reach down to wipe myself. And then I can’t stop my grimace as I forget to be gentle, because things are more than a little bit…tender down there.
With narrowed eyes, Paige replies in a high-pitched and mocking voice. “Oh, Jay and I can share a bed. No, it’s not weird. We’re just friends. Nothing is going on.”
Even though I knew that was coming, I’m still squirming inside. Looking away from her, I pull my clothes back up as I stand up. Then I pull the lid down and flush the toilet.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, I move over to the sink, and while squirting soap into my hand, I say, “We are just friends.”
Paige lets out a snort. Turning on the faucet, I notice from the corner of my eye as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“I saw you,” she hisses out. “I saw you on the dance floor. And then you just leave the party without a word? Are you going to lie and say you weren’t screwing him in your bedroom just now?”
Whoa. Scrubbing my sudsy hands under the warm water, I throw her a look. My sister never uses crude words unless she’s really pissed off. My heart starts beating harder, and it’s a struggle to sound lighthearted as I click my tongue and say, “Language, Paige.”
She glares at me, her lips pinched.
Heaving a sigh, I turn off the faucet and reach for the hand towel. “So I’m having sex with Jay. It’s not a big deal. And it’s nobody else’s business.”
Paige stays silent while I dry my hands. The apple-scented soap teases my nose. My mom spends a lot of money on stuff that smells good.
“Having sex,” my sister echoes in a monotone. “With Jay.”
“Yeah. Like, friends with benefits? Not really something I wanted to discuss with Mom.” Plucking my toiletry bag from where I put it in the cabinet under the sink earlier, I unzip it and rummage around until I find my flosser. After digging it out, I turn back to face my sister as I lean back against the sink and start flossing my teeth.
And discover that Paige is eyeing me with a look of naked disgust and disbelief. It’s an expression I might deserve if I’d just told her I’m taking a year off work to go on a trip around the world, which I’ve financed by taking out a massive loan at a cutthroat interest rate.
Or if I said that I’d had a drunken hookup with a stranger and married him the next day.
But the thing is, she’d give me that same death stare if I confessed to forgetting to pay a parking ticket. My sister has no sense of proportion when it comes to her moral superiority. Wrong is wrong, and Paige is always right.
“Wha?” I challenge her with the flosser in my mouth. She’s going to say what she wants to say regardless. No reason for me to pause my tooth-cleaning routine.
With a slow shake of her head, she replies, “It just seems like a dumb decision.”
Okay. I’m officially at my limit for how much of her unsolicited opinions and judgment I can stomach in one night. Jerking open my toiletry bag and digging out my toothbrush and toothpaste, I snap at her, “How about you worry
about your own love life and keep your nose out of mine?”
A long and heavy moment passes before she asks sharply, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t we talk about why Logan is sleeping in the den? Huh?” I glance at her while squeezing toothpaste onto my brush. “And don’t give me that garbage about his phone ringing and the bed being too small.”
Paige blinks at me and visibly stiffens. She says nothing, so I turn on the faucet for a second to splash water on my toothbrush, and then I start brushing. As the minty toothpaste overwhelms my taste buds, I quickly scrub the bristles across my teeth while stubbornly holding my sister’s gaze.
Her silence says too much. Jesus Christ. I was only shooting off my mouth like usual. Because that’s what I do, and because I wanted to shut her up. I wasn’t trying to hit a nail at all, and definitely not on the head.
Is my sister’s marriage in serious trouble? It’s a terrifying thought.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Mia,” she finally says, her voice subdued.
Spitting toothpaste into the sink, I take a break from brushing to ask, “Why would I be?”
It’s an honest question, and I ask it mildly.
“I just don’t want to get another phone call in the middle of the night,” she answers simply.
I flinch at the instant flashback. Me, half-drunk and heartbroken, calling my sister to tell her what Matt had done to me. Her, driving up from San Diego in the dark of night. Because she’s my big sister and I needed her.
Paige shuts her eyes for a moment, expelling a heavy breath. And then she crosses over to me and wraps me up in a hug. “Good night.”
With a quick and dry peck on my cheek, she adds, “Please be careful.”
My heart in my throat, I stand there and watch her walk away toward the door. My hand hangs at my side, clutching my toothbrush.
As Paige twists the door handle, I collect myself enough to say, “Thanks for bringing my stuff upstairs.”
Without a backward glance, she says, “Uh-huh.”
And she’s gone.
There’s a swooshing noise in my ears, and my head feels weightless. It’s the alcohol, probably. I’m still buzzed. It’s almost midnight, and I’ve been up since before sunrise. This long, crazy day is finally catching up to me.
I don’t want you to get hurt again.
All of a sudden I’m picturing a dinner plate. It’s a simple, solid-color plate, something you’d use every day. But it’s got visible lines from where it’s been glued back together after having shattered into a great many pieces. So many pieces that it seems like patching it up shouldn’t have worked, but through stubbornness and desperation, it did.
If the plate is dropped again, it’ll be beyond fixing.
That plate should be locked up, clearly. Shut away and not handled by anyone.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Right?
“Here’s to a hard day’s work.” Mia’s brother hands me and Logan two out of the three bottles of suds he just brought out from the house and then climbs onto the stool next to his brother-in-law.
We’re sitting at the bar counter in Frank and Gwen Waters’ extravagant outdoor kitchen, an impressive structure of brick and tile complete with a gigantic propane grill, a mini fridge, and even a sink—all of it taking up more space than most people’s indoor kitchens.
A pergola covered in a web of flowering vines keeps the patio shaded, and from the wooden beams hang electric lanterns and even a ceiling fan for when it gets uncomfortably hot. Which this late afternoon definitely is not, the temperature being pretty much perfect right now.
The guys and I clink our bottles together, and after taking a healthy swig, Logan says, “I think I might’ve pulled something in my back, but I still have no regrets.”
While Cameron lets out a snort, I chuckle quietly.
At the patio table a few feet away, Mia is playing cards with her grandmother and Freya while Abigail looks on, climbing on and squirming in her big sister’s chair.
It’s kind of an unusual scene, because Mia and her grandma are the cooks in the family, the ones who command the kitchen out of love rather than necessity. But today they’ve left dinner prep to others, deciding instead to spend time with the girls.
Pretty sure that was Lily’s decision, with Mia going along with whatever let her hang out with her grandmother. Which I’m guessing is partly because Mia loves no one more than she loves that old woman but also partly because she still feels bad about the way we left the party last night.
Left the party, came back here, and engaged in activities I’ve been trying—and failing—not to dwell on all day. Trying to forget them, to banish them from my memory instead of replaying and breathing through and wanting to do them again. I can safely say no other woman has ever fucked with my head this way. The honor of that goes to Mia.
I woke up not long after dawn this morning on the floor with the sunlight bright and warm on my eyelids. She was still deep asleep on the bed, and I had no problem putting on workout clothes and grabbing my sneakers without waking her.
Downstairs I found Logan lacing his own running shoes, and even though the idea of hitting the trail with a guy who’s an actual marathon runner was kind of intimidating, we headed out together.
And when we got back, the rest of the house had stirred. They were awake and disturbingly cheerful about it. Except for Paige and the girls, they had all consumed a significant amount of alcohol last night, but the Waters family doesn’t do hangovers.
After I showered, I discovered that plans for the day had already been made. While the women decided to go shopping, Frank announced that he needed help with turning a bare patch of his backyard into a paved area with seats and a brick fire pit. He’s the kind of guy who does home improvement projects himself, not because he can’t afford to hire someone but because he enjoys it—and because he always needs to be doing something.
Cameron’s participation in the project was clearly mandatory, and Logan immediately seemed resigned to do the same. Which made sense, because why would he choose to piss off his father-in-law just so he could spend the day carrying shopping bags?
Meanwhile Mia told me with a twinkle in her eye that I didn’t have to do it. “I guarantee as soon as he found out you guys were all going to be here this weekend, he made a run to Home Depot,” she whispered to me in a corner of the kitchen while handing me a mug of steaming black coffee. “If you help him, you’ll just be enabling his exploitative behavior.”
While accepting the mug, I’d thought absently that her words made a lot of sense, but my brain got stuck on the sight of her in front of me in her clingy, pink tank top and matching pajama pants, her hair still sleep-mussed, which was probably how it looked last night.
After I fucked her from behind on the floor three doors down from her parents’ room.
Fucked her slow and hard, my cock in her sweet pussy and a dildo in her ass. Which apparently drove her wild, because I lost count of how many times I felt her spasms squeezing my dick before I lost it, too, and came so hard inside her I might have blacked out for a second.
Figuring that memory might haunt me a little less if she were out of my sight rather than in it, I told her I didn’t mind staying and helping her dad.
And, like Logan, I don’t regret it now, despite the sweat-inducing drudgery of digging in the soil and hauling bricks and rocks. But I’m pretty sure it was less painful than tagging along on a shopping trip with four loud and headstrong women.
Putting the beer bottle to my lips, I tip my head back and let the cold and bitter liquid wash over my tongue and down my throat. After a moment of enjoying the aftertaste, I comment, “Could’ve done without Frank pretending to be a drill sergeant, though.”
Beside me, Cameron leans back in his barstool, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders. Clearly also feeling the effects of a day of manual labor. “He likes to remind everyone that he�
�s the paterfamilias.”
This time it’s Logan who releases a snort. “As if we could ever forget.”
A muffled, melodic chime interrupts our conversation, and Logan digs into the pocket of his shorts. “Shit,” he mutters as he looks at his phone screen. Leaving his beer on the counter, he slides off the stool and walks away toward the trees with the phone up to his ear.
I guess, just like the sick and injured, people don’t run afoul of the law only on weekdays.
A gleeful, childish laughter erupts from across the patio, and I look in that direction to see Freya bopping around next to her chair, doing what I can only assume is a victory dance while Mia and her grandmother are throwing the kid mock, exaggerated glares. Abigail stands up and says something to her sister, who vigorously shakes her head.
Lily Waters then barks something that sounds like “Come here,” and while Mia gathers up the cards and starts shuffling, Abigail rounds the table and climbs into her great-grandmother’s lap. And once they’re playing again, Lily and Mia both grin as Abigail throws her big sister a triumphant and smug look while shouting, “Go fish!”
Suddenly Mia looks over at me. Her expression changes as she meets my gaze, turning from childlike happiness to teasing and flirtatious. It strikes at my core, that smile of hers—my lungs deflate, my heart skips a beat, and things start stirring in my groin.
One more night. If I screw her on the floor like last night, I can just stay there until morning again. True, it’s not the most comfortable place to sleep. Though the carpet in that room is expensive and cushy, it’s a far cry from a mattress.
But the thing is, I don’t want to be that comfortable. Spending time here in the bosom of her nice, happy, and lively family is already too easy. I could get used to it. I am used to it, only this time it feels different. Which is pretty dumb. As if by having shoved my dick inside Mia a few times, I now fit in here more. I belong more.
It’s bullshit.
And that’s why I’d rather not be on that bed with her tonight. I’m not going to sleep there with her on that snug and pillowy mattress. Not going to force myself to choose between option A of lying there and awkwardly trying not to touch her at all or option B of holding her. My body warming hers and hers warming mine. The sweet, flowery smell of her shampoo teasing my nose all night. Listening to the peaceful sounds of her sleeping. Feeling it every time she shifts, stirs, rolls over. Waking up in the morning to the sight of her and being able to touch her just by reaching out.
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