by P. Dangelico
“Parker came by the townhouse. He was overjoyed to discover you’re just as bad as he is.”
Abruptly, the door opens. “E, what do you want me to do with…” David Pitt’s words slide to a stop when he looks up from the paperwork he’s holding and sees me standing there. Or, more importantly, sees the expression I’m wearing.
“Perfect. Deceitful sack of shit number two. Come on in, we were just getting started.”
Ethan stands and slowly walks around his desk. With every step he takes toward me, I back away from him. When only a few feet separate us, he stops and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“How could you? I turned down work because I thought I couldn’t leave the state!”
His head drops, his gaze falling on his shoes. He rubs the back of his neck.
“The night I came to the bar––I was going to tell you...”
But we went home and had wild monkey sex. Yeah, I remember.
On the edge of my vision, I see Pitt trying to back out of the office. “Stay right where you are, Pitt,” I practically growl. He freezes. My attention whips in his direction. “I want all the paperwork regarding my case emailed to me ASAP.”
“Absolutely. The case is closed. I went a step further and expunged all mention of it from your record.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Pitt scurries out of the room without another word. Looking into the flat, sorrowful eyes of the man I love, a pain so caustic burns my lungs that it’s impossible to breathe. Rubbing the ache is pointless, nothing can soothe the hole in my chest.
“You know the worst part––I’m not surprised. I should’ve known you would never do anything to jeopardize your precious career. You would never risk being disbarred.” I repeated the words I had heard him say all those months ago.
He takes a step forward. “Amber, listen, I never meant––”
“Don’t.” I hold out my hands to stop him from coming any closer. “You manipulated me. The one thing you know I can’t stomach.” He extends a hand, reaching for me, but I step back in time to evade him.
“Damn it! I didn’t know you were offered the part. You didn’t tell me. I thought we were friends. I thought we were in this together!”
“I did tell you!”
“After the fact––you told me after. And by then it was too late. I’ve been dreading this for weeks because...” He exhales sharply, his head shaking, “because I knew once you found out I’d lose you. You’re so goddamn hard to get close to. I just…I wanted a little more time with you. I needed a little more time…”
A heavy, suffocating, silence falls.
“For what?”
I glance at his face and watch him swallow, his eyes wide and filled with worry, hold mine. “To show you how much I love you,” he murmurs quietly, the edge of his voice as rough as sandpaper.
Shock turns into numbness. I can’t feel a thing. Not my tongue, not my limbs. I’m not even sure my heart is still beating. Not in a million years did I expect this. Maybe if I hadn’t discovered his lie, maybe someday in the future. But not now, and not under these circumstances. Which is what gives me pause. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Is he telling the truth? Is he manipulating my feelings for him? He must know. He must know how I feel about him. And how can I trust him after everything that’s transpired. I refuse to let ridiculous romantic notions make an ass out of me again.
“I’m so in love with you I don’t know which way is up, or down anymore. I can’t see anything past it. There’s only you and what I feel for you. The rest is an endless, meaningless fucking void.”
“So you thought lying to me would work?”
“No.” His gaze moves away from me. “No, that’s called desperation. I didn’t know how to stop you from leaving. I’m sorry.”
“Why wouldn’t you ask me to stay? Why wouldn’t you try honesty?”
“I…” His brow wrinkles, skepticism drawn into the grooves. “Would you have stayed if I asked?”
He really doesn’t know. He has no idea how I feel about him. Or if he does, he doesn’t believe it. But that sneaking suspicion that he may be manipulating me gets right in my face with a bullhorn before I can spill my guts and tell him everything. I can’t keep making the same mistake over and over again. This madness has to stop. Unicorns aren’t real. Time to accept that fact.
That’s why for the first time in my adult life I don’t let my heart rule my intellect. I do the responsible thing, the safe thing. I pull it back and tuck it away.
“I’ll forever be grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” My voice cracks. Everything turns blurry, unshed tears gathering at the bottom of my lids make it hard to see.
June walks in after a quick rap on his door. “Sorry, but you weren’t answering the intercom. Mr. Tomlinson is here.”
“Tell him I’ll be a while,” Ethan orders, more brusquely than I’ve ever heard him speak to any of his employees.
“Don’t, June. I’m on my way out,” I say wiping tears away.
June closes the door quietly.
“Amber…”
For a moment I catch a glimpse of him, the skinny boy with glasses, the one that followed his brother around because he didn’t have friends of his own. And my heart breaks for him because manipulation and subterfuge are all he knows, what he’s always relied upon. He thinks it’s the only way to get what he so desperately wants, which is to be loved and valued for who he is, to be put first. And the crazy thing is that I would have––had he only asked.
“Bye, Ethan.”
I turn and walk out, my legs moving of their own accord. I don’t take a breath until the elevator doors close, afraid that he’ll follow me, afraid that if he tries to stop me from leaving I’ll cave.
Outside the sun sears my eyeballs, the sidewalks crowded with people. They flow around me without so much as a stutter in their frenetic pace. I shuffle down Lexington Ave. headed nowhere, without a destination in mind. Just moving. Because if I stop, I may never start again. My knees will give out from under me and I’ll drop like a bag of bones on Lexington, between 56th and 55th where I’ll remain long enough for the pigeons to mistake me for a stump to take a dump on…sounds about right.
“Are you okay?”
“Would you stop asking me that. I’m fine,” I say into the cellphone cradled between my shoulder and ear as I take the grocery bags from the check out girl.
The streets of Greenwich Village are packed. Up and down the sidewalk, people flow around me, the heat bringing them out in droves.
“You don’t sound fine.”
I can always tell when Camilla wants to pry. I can also tell when she’s trying to not make it sound obvious. “Well you sound annoying.”
“He was here yesterday. He looks like shit. I’ve never seen him so…unkempt.”
“I don’t feel bad. You’re not making me feel bad at all. Not even a little bit. I don’t care if he goes an entire week without using hair product.”
Camilla snorts. “He said you’re not returning his calls. Can’t you hear him out?”
“Really? It’s only been a week. I’m actually more mad today than I was when Parker the prick told me. If I saw Ethan right now, I’d punch his perfect fucking face.”
“Wow, salty.”
“He LIED to me. Not to mention that I hyperventilate every time I think about how much money he paid that horrible woman.”
“I get it.”
Half a block from my apartment my steps slow when I spot someone sitting on my stoop. “Speaking of my punching bag,” I mutter.
“He’s there?”
“Yeah, call you later.”
“Wait! Don’t hit him in the face. It would be a crime to ruin something so beautiful.”
“Goodbye, you traitor.” Placing the phone in my handbag, I walk up to the man in question. Camilla was right. He looks exhausted.
Sitting on the front steps of my building with his elbows on his knees and his h
ead bowed, he glances up as soon as he spots my feet. It hurts to see him this way, it really does. But I’m also equally angry.
His eyes spark as he takes me in. Almost immediately the spark dies and longing and remorse take its place. Standing, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his track pants.
“What do you want, Ethan?”
“Can we talk?”
I walk past him, up the steps and he follows. We walk into my apartment and his gaze shoots directly to the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall.
“You’re moving?” The note of alarm in his voice and his expression all shout what he’s thinking.
I nod. “In two weeks.”
“Amber––” He moves quickly. Grabbing me, he wraps his arms around me. “Amber, listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it…just don’t go yet. Give me a little time.”
The mere act of touching him soothes every amped up, raw nerve in my body. And I don’t stop him. I don’t, because as much as I hate what he did, I love him. My heart is clumsy and impulsive. Not only in the way it beats spastically whenever he’s near me, but also in whom it chooses to pledge itself to. Ethan was right, he’s not perfect, far from it. However, he’s still the man I love.
Squeezing me tighter, he places a kiss on the side of my neck and I sigh. His hands slide down over my ass, pressing me against the rock solid erection trapped between us, and I whimper.
One week. Seven days since he touched me and I crave him like it’s been ages. The second I raise my chin, his lips meet mine. The kiss turns wild in an instant. All the heightened emotions act as tinder to the fire ever smoldering between us. We fumble with each other’s clothing, ripping shit as we go, our lips never once breaking contact. Naked, we sink to the hardwood floor. I’m so lost in him I don’t even feel the impact of the wood against my shoulder blades. Something tells me I will later, however.
Impatiently, he rubs the head of his shaft against me, while I urge him to hurry. And then he thrusts his hips, burying himself so deep inside of me we’re no longer two separate people. Our eyes meet and tears I didn’t know I had in me slide down my cheeks. When I try to look away, he cups my face, urging me to stay with him, to see every emotion living openly on his face. Pain. Fear. And so much Love.
“This isn’t boning, or humping, or fucking. This is me making love to you.” His thumbs brush my temples.
All I can do is nod and swallow the words stuck in my throat. His eyes never leave mine once as he begins rocking into me, finding the right pace and angle to drive me wild with pleasure. He gives me his body selflessly. I come twice before he does and as I do, he says, “I love you,” over and over again. And as he comes, he grinds out, “I love you,” over and over again.
I love you too, my mind screams while the rest of me stays silent.
Shortly after, we manage to crawl to the mattress, which is now living on the floor since I sold my bed.
“You asked me what I want,” he murmurs, his fingers lazily brushing through my hair. Sprawled out on top of him, the vibration of his deep voice tickles my cheek. “I want you to forgive me––but most of all, I want you to think I’m some kind of awesome.”
My heart sinks, the groovy feeling I was marinating in after the two epic Os wiped away. Lifting my head off his chest, I look into his soft brown eyes and tell him the truth. Because no matter how painful, it’s always valid.
“I thought you were awesome from the very beginning. I thought you were so awesome I didn’t think you could be real…But you made me believe in you, and in return you made a fool out of me.”
Worse yet, he made me doubt myself again.
“That was not my intention and you know that.”
Knowing him well enough, I sense an imminent argument and sit up. “You’ve been pulling puppet strings all along, Ethan.” I locate my underwear at the foot of the bed, and slip it on. He gets up from the mattress and snatches his boxers off the floor. I can’t seem to stop myself from staring at his body. It’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him. “I’m no one’s puppet.”
“I’m telling you that you mean everything to me.” He’s mad, his voice forceful, which raises my hackles. What’s he got to be mad about? Hands on his lean hips, determined expression, the lawyer is back. He looks into my eyes as if he could will me to believe everything he says.
“Except your career.” It was a cheap shot but it went straight to the heart of the matter. He looks hurt and for a minute I regret it. I don’t want to hurt him. Hurting him would be equivalent to hurting myself. “Don’t get me wrong––I understand. Really, I do. Success requires sacrifice, right? Art of War and all that b.s. You were right. I want success as much as you do.”
“Tell me what to do––what to say.” His expression morphs, reflecting the desperation in his voice. “I’ll do it.” His eyes are downcast, his attention focused on putting on his track pants.
“I love you, Ethan.” Wide, bewildered eyes slam into mine. I can see more than a small glimmer of hope in them. “And because I love you I would never ask you to give up your dreams for me. I would never ask you to give up anything for me.”
As soon as the words hit home, his face falls, hope extinguished in one fell swoop. This isn’t some romance novel. This is real life. Shit does not work itself out. It’s an uphill climb for most of us requiring effort, elbow grease, and sacrifice…success requires sacrifice.
His mouth tightens. Whatever words are on the tip of his tongue, he holds onto them. He pulls on his t-shirt and walks out the door. And I don’t stop him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Who am I gonna tell all my problems to?” Justin’s been squatting on a mountain of my books since he walked in an hour ago.
“You own a phone,” I say while I tape another cardboard box shut. I look up to find sad eyes trained on me. “You’re sitting on my books, Dimples.”
He was supposed to be helping me pack. What he’s actually been doing is slowing the process down by half.
“Dimples, are you sabotaging me?”
“Who me? I would never do that,” he says, batting his eyelashes like the goofball that he is. The worst acting job I’ve ever witnessed. “But I might be attempting to get in your way just a bit.” He raises one ass cheek and motions for me to grab them.
With a smiling smirk I say, “What’s the plan?”
“I’m coming to Cali to train for a few weeks,” he replies in a dejected tone.
“See, no need to get mopey.”
Twenty minutes later, Justin leaves after a huge hug and a bunch of promises that I’ll call at least every other day. Shortly afterward my cell phone chimes.
Beauty Queen: Is Audrey with you?
Why would Eileen text me? She usually has to be held at gunpoint to contact me. And why would Eileen be looking for Audrey? Instantly alarmed, I text back.
Me: No. Why?
Beauty Queen: Because she ditched school and she’s been missing for most of the day.
Oh, God. A panic, the likes of which I’ve never experienced, grips me. I press Eileen’s number.
“I don’t know where she is, but I’m on my way to you. I’m catching a train at Penn Station. Tell Dan to pick me up.”
“Amber,” my mother says, her voice oddly strained. “I’m really worried.”
“We’ll find her. I’m sure it’s just teenage drama.”
“Okay.”
Hanging up, I grab my purse and run out the door barefoot, curse under my breath, and run back in to slip on my Gazelles. Arms flailing, I hail a cab for Penn Station. Sweaty and sucking air into my lungs, I board a train to Long Island fifteen minutes later.
That’s when Ethan’s text comes in.
Fancy: I’ve got Audrey in case anybody is looking for her.
All the strength that held my spine upright in the seat a second ago vanishes in a blink. My entire body goes boneless. As exhaustion chases the adrenaline rush burning through my limbs, I hit his number.
&nbs
p; “Hi.”
I’m incapable of stopping the tears gushing out of my eyes. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in two weeks. And like a balm, it soothes every fresh wound, every tender bruise on my heart. One word wipes away two weeks of agonizing pain, of missing him to the point of madness.
“Where are you?” I ask, no preamble necessary.
“Driving to Long Island, to her house…She was too embarrassed to call any of you. Where are you?”
“On a train headed to Long Island––to her house,” I answer, biting my bottom lip hard enough to break skin, anything to stop it from trembling. The middle-aged woman sitting across from me gives me a queer look.
“I’ll pick you up at the station after I drop her off.”
“Dan’s picking me up.”
“Text him. Tell him I’ll get you and we’ll meet at their place.”
“Okay.” I capitulate because I’m selfish and weak. Because even though my head tells me not to, that it will only make things harder, my heart is willing to put everything on the line to spend one more minute alone with him.
I step onto the platform, still wiping my damp cheeks, and spot him right away. White dress shirt impeccably neat, not a crease to be found on his gray slacks even though it’s unusually muggy and hot for the end of June, superstud sunglasses on. So apropos that the end would look like the beginning. With him looking perfect while I’m once again a hot mess.
He removes his glasses and walks toward me, stopping only when he’s less than a foot away. I almost sway into him, his gravitational pull turning my knees to jelly. Eyes wide and unblinking, he takes his time drinking me in, as if he hasn’t seen me in ages. Then, without warning, he cradles my face and kisses me, kisses the life and love into me, kisses me like he’s telling me all the ways he regrets what he did, and I don’t stop him.
He pulls back and my eyes flutter open.