by Monica James
“I was saving it for later,” I reply, failing to disguise my disgust at my sloppy appearance. “Please reschedule my appointment to next week.”
There is no way I can face Chad, looking and smelling the way I do. I have no idea what this meeting is about, but it can wait. My head isn’t in the game, and I’d only end up fucking things up.
“Okay, Dr. Mathews. Your ten a.m. is waiting for you in reception.”
It’s only 10 a.m.? Surely I’ve been here longer than an hour.
Finally raising my head, I meet her concerned gaze. “Who is it?”
By her poor attempt at masking her smile, I know it’s bad. “Paul Childs.”
Groaning, I drop my head back down onto my desk. “Great. Please bring in the Febreze once we’re done.”
“Of course. I’ll give you a couple of minutes before I send him in.” The door closes, announcing her departure.
I raise my head, but slump back down a few moments later when Paul strolls into my office, sucking on a pacifier and appearing to be wearing an adult diaper underneath his slacks.
Today can blow me.
* * *
When Finch asked to meet tonight instead of our usual Friday night, I was more than happy to oblige. It beats drinking alone, which I’ve been doing since this whole fiasco started.
“Holy shit! What’s your new cologne? Eau de dog shit?”
“Hello to you too, Hunter.” I finish my sentence by flipping him off.
“It’s not my fault you smell like a Tijuana hooker’s cooch on a Sunday morning.”
Choosing to talk to the adult, I turn to Finch. “Hey, man, how’s the family?”
“They’re good, Dix. Gabriella just took her first step,” he replies, unable to wipe the smile from his face.
“That’s awesome. You must be so proud.” I motion to our regular waitress that I’ll have my usual. Scotch. Neat.
Hunter, as usual, ruins our pleasantries. “Yeah, unlike you, Dix, Gabriella is actually standing on her own two feet.”
I look down the bar, wondering where my damn scotch is. But of course he gets into my line of vision.
I finally cave. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means—” he tips his Budweiser my way“—you need to grow some balls and tell that cunt to fuck off and die.”
Finch splutters up his Coke. I’m convinced Hunter was a poet in his former life.
“It’s not that simple. I’ve explained to you why I can’t do that,” I grumble, beginning to get sick of my own voice.
He stubbornly shakes his head. “No, all you’ve done is given me lame-ass excuses,” he refutes. “Cherry Pie will understand that—” I find it amusing that Hunter still refers to Madison this way. The nickname came about when, in true Hunter fashion, he decided to give a ridiculous, yet frighteningly accurate analogy which somehow compared my relationship woes to food.
“That what?” I interrupt. “That before I met her I was fucking anything that moved? And that anything included my patients, and oh yeah, her diabolical stepsister, who just may be carrying my child.”
“Maybe you could lead with something a little more subtle?” he suggests, scratching over his stubble.
“Like?” I ask, waiting for his ingenious speech.
He shrugs. “Like, I dunno, ‘Hey, Honey Cakes, did you cut your hair? No? Well, whatever you did, you look so pretty, and wow, you look so skinny today. By the way, love your shoes.’”
I can’t help but laugh at his foolishness. “That’s not going to cut it.”
“Why not? Girls love that shit,” he claims, sipping his beer.
“Maddy isn’t just any girl. She’ll call me out on my bullshit. I’m certain she already knows something is up.”
Hunter blows out a loud breath and nods. “True. That’s why you need to tell her.”
I run a hand down my face.
Hunter is right. I know I need to tell her, but I’m not prepared to lose her. And I know that’ll happen if I tell her the truth. Yesterday I told Juliet I would tell Madison myself, but if push came to shove, would I? She’s right. She did call my bluff. I’m stuck between a rock and a horny woman. And I hate it.
“What do you think, Finch?” He’s been awfully quiet, which usually means he’s thinking.
He taps the rim of his glass. “Bad language aside, for once I agree with Hunter.”
Hunter fist-pumps a loud, “Hell yeah,” and adds, “Can I have that in writing?”
Once again I ignore Hunter’s theatrics. “You think I should tell her?”
“I think you should tell them both,” Finch replies wisely.
I pull a pained face, not liking that option in the slightest.
“I know you’re trying to be honorable, Dix, but there is nothing honorable about that woman. She says she won’t tell anyone your secrets, but do you actually believe her? I mean, she doesn’t have a very good track record.”
“Not to mention her gash would eat you for breakfast,” Hunter pipes in, trying to be helpful. But he’s not. Both Finch and I turn to look at him, revolted.
He raises his hands. “What? I’m just saying…”
“Well, stop saying…anything,” I retort playfully.
He humphs and sinks low, nursing his beer.
“So you don’t think she’ll stick to her word?”
His incredulous look explains it all. “I’m sorry, but you’re better off telling Maddy and dealing with the consequences than tiptoeing around a ticking time bomb. I mean, she’s blackmailing you into having sex with her. That right there is your answer.”
I sigh, hating that he’s right.
Hunter chooses this moment to intervene. “You must have been some fuck, dude. Most of the girls I’ve slept with would rather abstain from sex forever than blackmail me into sleeping with them ever again.”
I roll my eyes. “This has nothing to do with sex, but rather, power.”
“Well, in that case, why don’t you use your psychobabble bullshit and hypnotize her to stop wanting your cock?”
“I’m not a hypnotist, you moron. But you do have a point. I guess I could offer her some therapy sessions, considering that’s the reason why she came to see me in the first place. I could try and work out what makes her tick. And then I could persuade her to un-tick off my dick.”
Hunter nods, looking awfully pleased with himself. “My thoughts exactly. And don’t say I never do anything for you.”
I rub my chin in thought, as this might work. The only downfall would be that I would have to get inside her head, a place I would rather not be. Not to mention, I have a feeling a lot of sessions would be needed to figure out what the fuck is wrong with this messed-up woman. All of this equates to too much alone time with her.
Finch sees my dilemma and states, “Just be honest, Dix. The right thing to do is to tell Madison the truth.”
I down my scotch the moment it’s placed in front of me. Finch is right, but I know if I do tell her the truth and nothing but the truth, I’ll lose her forever.
My pocket vibrates, indicating I have a text. Reaching in, I hold my breath, hoping it’s not Juliet. I let out the breath when it’s Madison.
I figured out something fun to do on Sat.
To say I’m relieved she’s talking to me is an understatement. Oh yeah?
Yup. I wanna go dancing.
Dancing? Like ballroom ;)
LOL! No, you old fart. Let’s go to Cherry Pop.
Memories of when I saw her there last flood my brain, and I instantly type out an Okay, sounds good.
Mary wants to tag along. Is that okay?
Of course. I look at Hunter and grin. I’ll bring Hunter.
We’re in for an interesting night ☺
We sure are.
“So,” I say, looking at Hunter as I place my cell back into my pocket. “Are you back on the ‘women are all evil’ wagon?”
He takes a long sip of beer before replying. “I never got off.”
> I raise an eyebrow and he smirks. “Oh no, I’ve gotten off, but for the life of me, I can’t remember their names or faces.”
There was a time when he was preaching to the choir.
“Great. In that case, you can continue on with the hating on Saturday.”
“What’s Saturday?” he inquires, appearing suspicious.
Motioning to the bartender for another scotch, I reply, “We’re going to Cherry Pop.”
He pulls a puzzled face. “And why would you want to go there? I’d have thought you’d much prefer getting kicked in the balls…repeatedly…over going there again.”
“Seeing Maddy on that dance floor is worth the pain,” I reveal. Images of her hot, sweaty body have me reaching down and adjusting the dancing currently going on in my pants.
And just like that, Hunter ruins my fantasy. “And where do I fit in with all of this? You want to see me bust a move on the dance floor, too?”
“No, you idiot. Her friend is coming so I thought you could keep her entertained.”
He rubs his hands together wickedly. “Is her friend hot?”
I laugh when thinking about the fiery redhead. “Yeah, she’s hot in a crazy, kind of psychotic way.”
Hunter looks like he’s just won the horny male’s version of Lotto. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”
Unable to hide my grin, I reply, “Good luck with that.”
“Challenge accepted, Dr. Mathews.”
He has no idea what he’s in for.
“Now back to the issue at hand. What are you going to do about the harlot?”
I groan. What a way to ruin my mood. “I don’t know.” When Finch shakes his head, I add, “I know what I should do, but I’m—”
“A pussy,” Hunter finishes for me.
Seeing no point in denying it, I nod. “Yeah, man. That’s exactly what I am.”
Talking to these guys has just affirmed what I know I have to do. I know the consequences won’t be pretty, but I have to be a man and tell them both.
“I’ll tell Juliet Saturday,” I reveal, meaning every single word.
Hunter chokes on his drink. “She’s coming Saturday? Don’t you think that’ll be a little awkward?”
“Yes, Hunter, that would be a lot awkward. I’ve agreed to meet Juliet Saturday morning,” I clarify, still puzzled as to why she’s requested this meeting.
“Why?” both Finch and Hunter bark.
“I have no idea why. But you’re right.” I look over at Hunter, who widens both eyes.
“Can I get that in writing also?”
Ignoring him, I firmly proclaim, “It’s time I tell that cunt to fuck off and die.” I raise my glass and throw back my scotch, the celebratory burn tasting of victory. A taste I’ve so missed.
5
So Help Me God
DIXON
I feel like a complete impostor hidden behind my dark shades, torn jeans, and Yankees sweater. But I blend in with every tourist in New York, which is exactly what I want.
I still have no idea what I’m doing here, which is a dangerous thing when it comes to Juliet. I’ve learned the hard way to expect the unexpected, so it’s safe to say my guards are in place and I’m not in any mood to put up with her bullshit a second longer. I meant what I said. This little game of hers stops, and it stops today.
“Good morning, Dr. Mathews.” Ugh. Her voice makes me shrink away in aversion.
“There is nothing good about this morning. What do you want, Juliet?” I turn around to face her.
She has the gall to smirk. “You know, there was a time when our mornings were very good.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago,” she rebukes, thankfully keeping her distance.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, choosing to ignore her trip down misery lane.
“You’ll see.” She turns on her heels and saunters down the street, expecting me to follow.
I’m faced with two options. I can turn the other way and tell her to shove it, or I can follow. The masochist in me chooses the latter.
Keeping my distance, I stroll behind with my head dropped low, as I’m afraid of whom I might see. I don’t know what it is, but she has a true, regal bearing about her and even the rudest of New Yorkers step aside to make room for her. It could be most of them are checking out her fuller tits thanks to the seed of evil fermenting in her stomach. Whatever it is, they all need their heads checked—mine included.
“Here we are,” she declares, stopping in front of a shoe store.
I look up and scowl. “I draw the line at being your foot model.”
She laughs softly. “No, silly.” Before I have a chance to step away, she turns my cheek to the left. This time, I fucking scowl when I read the store name.
Babylicious.
“I am not going in there,” I spit out, removing her hand from my face.
She looks genuinely hurt by my refusal. “Why not? I thought you’d want to be a part of this.”
“Well, you thought wrong. Very wrong,” I add, shaking my head animatedly. She wanted to meet up so we could go shopping for baby clothes? Is she fucking nuts? Looking at my current predicament, I know the answer is hell yes!
If this isn’t mixed signals, then I don’t know what is. First, she claims she only wants me to fuck her. And now, she wants me to play Daddy to her child? I have no idea what she wants.
“Dixon, this baby is your child.” She cups her tiny bump while I feel bile rising.
“How do I know that?” I question, feeling my cool slowly eroding away. “Quite frankly, I have my doubts that you even know who the father is.”
She steps back, appearing hurt by my claims. “Regardless of what you think of me, I was faithful to you. Unlike you, I never cheated.”
I scoff, as now I’ve heard it all. “Cheated would imply we were in a relationship. We never were. We were fucking. That’s all.” I don’t know how many times or ways I can tell her this before it sinks in because it obviously hasn’t worked thus far.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she smugly replies, folding her arms across her chest. “Yes, I’ve been seeing Dylan on and off—” just the mention of his name has me gnashing my teeth in rage “—but the entire time I was with you, I was with you, and you only. You can deny it all you want, but it is your baby whether you like it or not.”
“Or not.”
Her little speech has not softened me in the slightest, but I can’t deny that a small part of me believes her. This is the first time since this ordeal started that I actually believe she’s telling me the truth.
Well…fuck.
I’ve never given much thought to being a father. I mean, how could I? What kind of role model would I be?
“You need to abort this abomination immediately,” I declare, realizing this is the only humane future I could ever offer this child.
“What?” Her hands flutter over her stomach protectively. “But it’s our child.”
“It’s a monster!” I rebuke angrily, not bothering to camouflage my tone. The best thing about New York is that New Yorkers don’t care what’s happening around them. “Why the fuck are you doing this? What do you want from me?”
“I want you. I always have,” she replies, taking a step toward me. Appearing the most sincere that I’ve ever seen her, she confesses, “Is it such a crime that I…love you? I want to be normal. And I want that normalcy with you.”
I actually choke on her admission.
She loves me? Since when? She doesn’t know the first thing about love, and quite frankly, I call bullshit. This is just her way of manipulating me into doing what she wants. She wants every male in her life begging at her feet, worshiping the ground she walks on. To get my, Dylan’s, her father’s, and God knows who else’s affection makes her feel like she’s in total control. We’re all just pawns in her narcissistic game, fueling her need to be loved, and to be loved by all.
Slipping off my sunglasses, I glare at her
. “I think I’ve made my feelings for you perfectly clear.”
Her genuine mask slips and in its place lies the real Juliet Harte I know. “Have you forgotten I could break you?” Her face contorts evilly.
I snicker, powerless to hold back my spite. “And that right there proves that you don’t love me. A person who’s supposed to love someone doesn’t blackmail them. I’m done.”
“You’re what?” she asks, her tone heated.
“I won’t do this, Juliet. I don’t care what secrets of mine you hold, I refuse to be blackmailed this way. Whatever choice I make I lose, but at least my loss will be by my own hand, and not yours.”
I’ve caught her completely off-guard and, just as I did with hers, she reads my words as complete truth. “You’d really jeopardize everything—your career, your reputation, your precious Maddy?”
I smirk with conviction. “Yes.” Closing the gap between us, I snarl, “I’d rather fuck up my life…than fuck you.” Her mouth hinges open—a sight I’ll forever celebrate.
“I hate her. She has taken everything from me,” she maliciously professes a second later.
So I was right. This entire situation has got to do with power, but power over Madison rather than me. I’m just a means to an end. How…interesting.
Juliet’s comment comes back to haunt me. “I’m always second best,” I remember her saying the night of her bogus engagement party. “I’m never good enough for anyone, and I’m sick of being runner-up. I’m especially sick of being runner-up to her.”
What did Maddy ever do to her?
Hunter’s words suddenly come to mind. I could offer her therapy, putting an end to this nightmare. But what will I lose in the process? A piece of my soul, no doubt.
I need to get out of here.
Slipping my shades back on, I turn to leave.
“I’ll tell her everything.”
Juliet’s desperation is apparent, but quite frankly, I’m done caring. She can go to hell. “Not if I tell her first.”
6
For the Win