Love, Chloe

by Alessandra Torre

  I didn’t know the man well enough to know the answer to that question. Hell, I didn’t know myself well enough to answer that question. If I opened my door in the middle of the night and Vic was standing there, could I say with one hundred percent certainty that I wouldn’t kiss him? Or worse? Falling for one man didn’t safeguard us from the feelings we might have for another. If anything, the forbidden could just make temptation stronger.

  I didn’t want to talk when Carter came back from the bathroom. There was just too much going on in my head. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Did some mumbly groan thing when he gently touched my shoulder.

  It was weak. I should have sat up in bed and had a conversation like an adult. Discussed whether he really wanted to be in a relationship or whether we should keep it casual a little longer.

  Instead, I kept my eyes closed and my breathing regular and then, I really was asleep.

  It was so different being with Carter. The only real relationship I could compare it to was with Vic, and it was so different from that. Now, I wasn’t even sure that I ever loved Vic. The man who’d broken my heart, who I’d struggled against for over a year, and it might not have even been true love. It was a scary thought. Because of this—if what Carter and I had was stronger, then that meant the fall would be harder. And right now, I felt so brittle. So exposed. So afraid.

  In this state, I understood why I always ran back to Vic. His world was safe and easy. This new one was terrifying. Beautiful. Liberating. I swallowed my fears and moved toward it.

  Too bad for pesky loose ends. They tangled up my steps.

  The sun was actually shining. After days of rain, it was worthy of a celebration. Or a free breakfast, courtesy of my favorite actor in the world. I walked into Joey’s trailer, all sunshine and happiness and encountered a face that, very clearly, communicated his lack of love toward me.

  “What? No love?” I dropped my arms, which had been outstretched in prep for a hug.

  “I heard you’re dating Carter.” He all but bared his teeth at me.

  News traveled fast. “Yes.” I stole a croissant from a box on his counter. Seriously, I could live in his trailer. Meals and snacks delivered four times a day, a masseuse on call, a giant bed for naps … I’d be set and happy.

  “I thought you were getting back with Vic Worth.”

  My mouth never made it to the pastry. “What? Who said that?”

  “He said that. To me. After our last production meeting.”

  “Well, he’s an idiot,” I sputtered. “I have no interest in getting back with him. None.” I took a bite of the croissant and closed my eyes. It was hot. So freaking good. I cracked an eye long enough to reach for the minibar handle and grab a juice. Yes. I could definitely live here. “Aren’t you and Carter friends?” I mumbled the question through a delicious combination of orange juice and flaky sugar.

  “Yeah.” He dismissed any history with Carter with one shrug of his shoulder. “But you were with Vic first. You need to reconsider this, Chloe.” He stood from the couch and paced. PACED. Like we were discussing a nuclear agreement and not a nonexistent relationship with my ex.

  “Why do you care?” I sat down in the closest chair, the breakfast box in my lap and looked through my other options. Not a lot unless I wanted to go in the cream cheese direction.

  “I want you to be happy. Vic is settled, he has a good job, spoils you rotten…”

  “Has a dick that finds every blonde in town…” I finished off his list and tossed the box onto the coffee table. “I know you can act better than this. Shut the F up and tell me the truth. What’s in it for you if I date Vic?”

  He stopped pacing. “We need more money.”

  I about fell out of my chair. “Already? It’s been a month!”

  “We have another three weeks left to film, Nicole says she’s tapped, every other investor has bailed, and it’s not much—just another five million.”

  Nicole says she’s tapped. I almost snorted at the absurdity of the statement. Clarke had to be the one stopping that financial hemorrhage. I shrugged. “Well, I’m not this film’s hooker. And I’m not yours either. If BLL needs money, make some cuts to the budget. Your afternoon massage, for example.” His eyes narrowed, as I wiped my mouth. “I shouldn’t have to date an asshole just so your movie gets made.”

  “Does Carter know?”

  I looked up. “Know what?”

  “About you and Vic.” He nodded in the general vicinity where Vic had had me.

  About you and Vic. The words were so simple, yet so ugly. I looked up at his face, everything in me going still. “Are you going somewhere with this?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Maybe someone should tell him.”

  The threat was clear. It was also stupid.

  “Wait.” I stood. “You want me to break up with Carter, or else you’ll try and break us up by telling him about Vic?” My voice rose and fell enough times in that question that I hoped Joey saw the stupidity in his logic.

  “It’s not about me wanting you to date Vic. It’s about me not wanting my friend to get hurt.” Joey’s bullshit response lit me on FIRE. If he didn’t want Carter to get hurt, he wouldn’t be pushing me to … UGH. I was in a conversation with a crazy person.

  “You’re right.” I tried a different tack, Joey raising his eyebrows warily. “I think Carter should know about Vic. About…” I gestured in the direction of the sex and wondered how much Vic had told him. Vic had loved to talk about our sex life, to his friends, to complete strangers…

  “She is, she’s absolutely incredible.” His hand ran up my bare thigh and under the hem of my dress. “You are, you know that baby?” I smiled when he nuzzled my neck, his watch heavy and cold on my thigh and I felt his fingers sneak around the edge of my panties.

  “Vic,” I whispered. “Stop.”

  “We fucked on the way here.” He turned away from my neck and toward the guy at the next stool, some Wall Street yuppie who was staring at us like he wanted to toss aside his martini and wade right in. “You wouldn’t think that, from looking at her, right? All innocence until the car door closes.” He tugged a little on my panties, and I put a hand on his chest and pushed. Hard. When he released me, his hand taking an exploratory route home, and leaned back, he winked at me. I frowned and reached for my drink, wanting a distraction, something to keep my eyes away from the stranger.

  Part of it had turned me on. Vic bragging, other men wanting. It was an aphrodisiac that had him ripping off my clothes as soon as we found a bit of privacy. But it was just as often a source of arguments, a breach of trust. And right now, with my mistake shoved in my face, I hated Vic for sharing that with Joey.

  I stood and grabbed my purse. “I’ll tell Carter.” I smiled at Joey, and his eyes narrowed. “Tonight. So you won’t have to worry about his precious little heart.”

  And just like that, the threat of blackmail was gone.

  In its place, my anxiety spiked.

  60. My Middle Name is Classy

  The Psych Myself Up to Tell My New Boyfriend About Sleeping With My Ex Party was well underway. Granted, it was a little light on party guests. But I’d had quite an interesting time downing half of a pizza and three beers on my own, a meal that put me solidly in the drunk category. Not the best place to be when trying to coherently confess your soul.

  I’d also turned just a teensy bit emotional. Maybe it was the hit I took off the joint that I found in one of my old purses. Or it was post-period hormones but whatever the reason, by the time Carter knocked on my door, I was half crying, half panicked.

  I shouldn’t have been so freaked out. Except that Carter was the first guy I’d liked in a long time. And he wasn’t damaged or an asshole, which was a new thing for me.

  I opened the door, and Carter swayed a little. Oh, wait. No. That was me. I swayed a little and my hand tightened on the door. “Are you okay?” His eyes concerned, his brow furrowed, and he stepped fo
rward and grabbed my arms, sort of holding me up.

  “I’m fine.” I giggled. I didn’t know why I giggled. I was nervous, and my stomach was in knots and a fifteen-year-old girl’s giggle came out of me. He smiled a little, and I wanted to kiss him for it.

  “I take it we’re not going to dinner.” He eyed my pizza and the empty bottles, which I swore I had thrown away but nope, they were sitting right there, on my coffee table, giant pieces of evidence. And oh shit, he was right; we were supposed to go out for sushi. The pizza had been a frozen one that I had planned to heat up as just a snack. One piece, that was all I’d have, something to tide me over until dinner. The beer had started the same way. One tiny piece of pizza and one beer, just to calm my nerves and pacify my stomach. Then … my eyes drifted over the train wreck on my coffee table. I didn’t handle stress well.

  There’d been a speech I’d planned. I closed my eyes and tried to remember it. Something that started with my history with Vic. It’d been a good speech. I’d practiced it twice. Carter’s hands were holding me up by my biceps, I glanced down at them and the words just blurted out, without introduction or warning.

  “I slept with my ex. In Joey Plazen’s trailer. The night before he gave me the car.”

  Then … with his hands still wrapped around my arms, I leaned forward and vomited.

  Super. Classy.

  I know.

  I opened my eyes and blinked, my alarm clock coming into fuzzy focus. I rolled over carefully, stilling when I realized I wasn’t alone, Carter next to me, stretched out on top of the covers, jeans on, a couch pillow squashed underneath his head. I closed my eyes and did a self-assessment.

  Foul taste in my mouth? Yep.

  A little sweaty underneath the hot blankets? Oh yeah.

  Knot in my stomach? Gone.

  Shame of my actions? Non-existent.

  Hmmm. I felt brave enough to prop up on my elbows and look around. I was pretty certain, given his full dress and … I peeked under the covers … my own jeans and top, that we didn’t have sex. Or get even close to it. I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. The memory came fuzzy through the grip of a headache.

  I’d told Carter about Vic and me. Then, I’d vomited. Apologized while … crawling to the bathroom? I winced, and Carter shifted. He opened his eyes and saw me.

  “Chloe.” His hand lifted, rubbing over his face. “Good morning.”

  “I slept with Vic. In Joey Plazen’s trailer.” It was like my vomit from last night. It just wouldn’t stop coming out.

  He smiled. “Yes. I know. You mentioned that, several times.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  He considered me for a long moment. “I wasn’t. But … you’re pretty hard to stay mad at when you’re bent over a toilet.”

  I winced. “Sorry.”

  “You said that a lot last night.” He met my eyes. “But you also told me it was over, with you and him.”

  “It is.” My words were firm, no hesitation in my gaze. “Definitely.” The words rolled out strong and confident. And I was sure of myself, positive that I wanted it to be over. What I wasn’t as confident about was if it actually was over. It took two to tango, but it also took two to part.

  “Why do you seem surprised that I’m not mad?”

  “Well…” I kicked off a tangle of sheets. “It was after we hooked up. That’d bother some guys.” It definitely would have bothered Vic.

  “I didn’t exactly walk away from that night expecting loyalty.” He reached for me, but I rolled away. Mainly because I was pretty sure my morning breath was horrific. But also because he was so casual about this that it was raising my own questions.

  “Did you have someone like that? An ex who was still around? Or who still is?”

  “You mean, like Presa?” he raised his eyebrows and I fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. “Before that show, I hadn’t seen Presa in months.”

  Months? I would have preferred years. “Anyone else?” The memory of the brunette—Brit—came to mind.

  “Someone who gives me exorbitant gifts and drags me into isolated places for impromptu sex?” He shook his head with a smile. “No.”

  “I’m serious.” I faced him squarely, wanting a straight answer. “Do you?”

  “No.” He pulled at the front of my shirt and I was forced into a kiss. “I don’t. You’re it.”

  “Vic and I are over.” I said the sentence a second time, because surely that would make it true.

  Something flickered in his eyes. “I think you should tell him that.” The suggestion was simple, no edge to the words, but they still cut me to the bone. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.

  “No.” I stood up and headed to the bathroom, beelining for my toothbrush.

  “Chloe.” There was enough command in his voice to cause me to look over. “You tell me that it’s over, but I’ve tripped over this guy since I met you. That car … you hooking up with him…” He took a deep breath. “Speaking as a man, I can tell you that we are dense. We miss subtle clues and tend to ignore things we don’t want to hear.”

  I frowned. “Then he’ll just ignore everything I say.” Perfect logic.

  “Talk to him.” He pushed the subject, ignoring my logic, and I looked away, giving full concentration to the application of my toothpaste in a proper manner.

  “Okay?” He poked me, and I looked up with a snarl.

  “Fine.” I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth with a scowl, and the conversation was over.

  My stress, on the other hand, was just beginning.

  61. Is Closure Really Necessary?

  “It’s unnecessary.” I shook my strawberry shake, trying to unclog my straw. “Why do we need a conversation to confirm the fact that we broke up? He knows we broke up.”

  “It’s absolutely necessary,” Cammie interjected from across the table. “Especially after you let him…” She eyed me. “You know.”

  “Chloe can’t handle it,” Benta said. “It’s asking for disaster. That man will give her one wink and BAM.” She slammed her hand on the table, and Cammie and I flinched.

  “Jesus, Benta,” Cammie chided. “You’re gonna break the table.”

  “He can wink his damn eye off,” I stated. “It won’t matter.” It was one thing falling for Vic when I was single. But now, in a relationship with Carter, everything was different. Loyalty in a relationship—especially for me, especially after what I’d been through with Vic—was sacred. Which was just one of the reasons I was struggling so hard with Nicole’s affair.

  “Oh. Right,” Benta said. “Forgive us. I didn’t realize that so much had changed in … what? A month?”

  “She did give back the car,” Cammie pointed out.

  “Hey!” I said sharply. “She is right here. And yes, things have changed. I’m with Carter.”

  “Okay, but he doesn’t know they’ve changed,” Cammie said slowly. “Which is why you need to tell him. Clearly and in person. So the idiot gets it.”

  “In person is stupid. You should just call him.” Benta argued, and my gaze darted between them before landing on my phone. A call certainly would be easier. And risk-free.

  “Chloe can handle a face-to-face without falling on the man’s dick,” Cammie snapped. “Short and sweet.” She set down her milkshake and gave me her full attention. “Just tell him you’re exclusive with Carter and that he needs to back the F up. Forever.”

  “Forever,” Benta repeated, and they both stared me down.

  I straightened in my seat. “Okay.” I could do this. A clear face-to-face conversation where I would end any lingering expectations on Vic’s part, part ways amicably, and emphasize we would never-ever-ever get back together. *cue Taylor Swift* I set down my empty milkshake cup. “I think I should do it in person,” I decided.

  Benta leaned forward, pushing my cell toward me. “So set it up.”

  “Right now?” I shouldn’t have drunk that milkshake so fast. I felt nauseated.<
br />
  “It’s noon. The pretty boy will be awake.” She nodded to the phone. “Call him.”

  My eyes jumped from her to Cammie, not one ounce of sympathy in either face. I groaned, grabbed my phone, and stood.

  “Fine. But stay here. I’ll call him from outside.”

  I leaned against the brick of the building and closed my eyes. Went through a breathing exercise, which didn’t help at all, then tried a pep talk.

  The call wouldn’t need to be long. Short and simple would work just fine. We’d agree on the time and location, then hang up. Morning would be best, and I would keep the meeting short. There was a French cafe just off Central Park that would work. I scrolled down to Vic’s number and took a deep breath. Then, my finger hesitant, I placed the call.

  62. Calling the Enemy

  “Hey baby.” So casual, so confident. Vic’s familiar greeting was painful, and I swallowed the urge to point out that I was not his baby anymore.

  “Hi Vic,” I spoke quickly, my fingers picking at the seam of my shirt. “Are you in town?” I held my breath, half hoping he wasn’t, our interaction pushed off further.

  “Nope. Blue marlin are hitting in the South Pacific, so we’re going out. I’ll be back in Fiji by the first, then back in the States by the fifth. Why?” His voice sharpened. “You need anything? I can have Jake there—”

  “No.” I tried to collect my thoughts. “I just wanted to talk. In person. We can do it when you get back.”

  “Is everything okay? I can fly back today.”

  “NO.” I took a deep breath. “No, that’s not necessary. I just wanted to…” This was stupid. A face-to-face wasn’t needed. Discussing it right now was a better idea. “I’m seeing someone. I just wanted to tell you about it. And talk through it.”