An Unforgivable Love Story

by B. L. Berry

  An Unforgivable Love Story

  B.L. Berry

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Playlist

  Part 1

  1. The Morning After

  2. Coffee Talk

  3. Special Delivery

  4. Confessions

  5. Liquid Truth

  6. Let Go Lightly

  7. Coming and Going

  8. Tail

  9. The Sun and the Moon

  10. Ninety-Three Million Miles

  11. A Sorta Meeting

  12. The Invitation

  13. The Past Always Catches Up To You

  14. Pulp and Ink

  15. Negative

  Part 2

  16. Expecting

  17. Illusions of Happiness

  18. Out of Body

  19. The Good Doctor

  20. Invalid

  21. Silence

  22. Named

  23. Defining Intimacy

  24. A Little Too

  25. Skeletons

  26. Numb

  27. Eight Years

  28. Tonight

  29. Blunt Force Trauma

  30. The Waiting Room

  31. Whispers in the Night

  32. The Single Candle

  33. Incomplete Answers

  34. Dearest Simon

  35. Crushed

  Part 3

  36. The Visitor

  37. Blind

  38. Gun-Shaped Heart

  39. The Domino Effect

  40. Two Defining Words

  41. My Favorite Mistake

  42. Hell

  43. Limitless

  44. December

  Part 4

  45. An Unforgivable Mind

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  © 2016 by B.L. Berry

  All rights reserved.

  Editing: Jennifer Roberts-Hall

  Cover Designer: Najla Qamber, Najla Qamber Designs, www.najlaqamberdesigns.com/

  Interior Designer: The Write Assistants, www.thewriteassistants.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN - 13: 978-1523962877

  ISBN - 10: 1523962879

  Dedication

  For Jenn.

  Without you this storyline would still be a scribble on the fourth page of my notebook.

  And For Mike.

  Without you this storyline would be unfinished and collecting dust.

  Thank you both for your love and encouragement.

  This book has forever wrecked me in the best way possible.

  "A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it."

  Lady Chatterley’s Lover

  by D.H. Lawrence

  Playlist

  1. Wild Honey - U2

  2. Like Real People Do - Hozier

  3. Colorblind - Counting Crows

  4. Oh Darling - Gossling

  5. Breathing Underwater - Metric

  6. Let It Die - Foo Fighters

  7. I’m Sorry - Imagine Dragons

  8. Fools - Troye Sivan

  9. Don’t Mess Me Around - Clare Maguire

  10. Heal - Tom Odell

  11. Unbreakable - Jamie Scott

  12. I’m The Man Who Loves You - Wilco

  13. Creep - Radiohead

  Part One

  Elyse

  Early June

  Five Months Earlier

  One

  The Morning After

  I hear him before I see him.

  The soft footfalls of each step as he approaches me from behind, ever so slowly.

  As he draws closer I savor the scent of the freshly showered man that fills my apartment. It’s pure. Seductive. Disarming.

  And the passion and desire emanating from that man behind me is palpable.

  I close my eyes, hold my breath … and wait.

  “Good morning …” Simon croons in a captivating, whispy breath. He leans down behind me and kisses the soft curve of my neck, just above my shoulder. My skin prickles at the heat of his breath and my palm welcomes the touch of his hand. He laces his fingers in between mine.

  Just like last night.

  “Mmm … a very good morning, indeed.” I shift in the wooden chair, turning my body to face him in all of his glory. Simon gives my hand a tender squeeze which unleashes my girlish tendencies from within. I smile. Which causes him to smile, exposing his wolfish teeth. He is even more mouthwatering than I remember him being last night. Beads of water drip from his jet black hair, sliding down his face and chiseled chest. My eyes can’t help but follow the lines of his abs and well-defined V which point directly to this man’s greatest asset.

  An asset which I took full advantage of last night.

  Thrice.

  Wrapped around his waist is a thin, navy towel leaving little to my imagination. Or a hell of a lot, depending on how you look at it.

  Please let it fall to the floor. Please.

  I fight the urge to strip down and devour him right here on my kitchen table. One last taste wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

  “So …” he muses, piercing my gaze, never letting go of my hand.

  “So.” I will my palm to not get clammy. It’s not like me to get nervous around men I barely know, but for some reason Simon makes me feel all shades of anxiousness. Good anxiousness.

  Mornings like this should be awkward. Girl meets boy. Boy buys girl drinks and charms her to no end. Girl invites boy up for a night of no-strings-attached lustful tomfoolery. And then … morning comes. Usually it involves someone slithering out of the bed, tiptoeing around, grabbing clothes and escaping out the door before the other person wakes up. But thankfully, I’m the kind of girl who can see it exactly for what it is … a one night stand. And I’m okay with that. Recently I’ve been collecting them like most women collect shoes. And before you go judging me, no, I don’t think that makes me a slut. I think of it more as being in complete control of my own sexuality since I have no time or patience for love and relationships. The last time I was in love, I was left with a third degree burn. And if you look close enough you can see the scars.

  Now, under normal circumstances, I don’t let them stay the night. And obviously that helps me avoid the morning after uneasiness.

  But Simon? Simon is different. Sending him home at three in the morning felt like a crime … an inconceivable act that I would inevitably regret for the months to come. Even though we only met yesterday, it feels like our souls met decades ago. He’s comfortable like your favorite sweatshirt on a snowy day. I want to wrap myself up in him like a blanket and feel his skilled touch all over my body.

  He clears his throat, pulling me from my reverie. “Thanks for letting me take a shower.”

  “No problem.” I pull my hand from his and silently curse myself for not insinuating an invitation to join him.

  I grab my coffee mug from the table and dangle it in between my fingers before bringing the rim up to my lips to seductively blow over the piping hot liquid. I take a small, satisfying sip.

  “When can I see you again?”

  I watch as he begins collecting his clo
thes. Pieces of last night’s outfits litter the floor, left like a trail of breadcrumbs from my front door to the foot of my bed. I note the cherry red smudge of lipstick I accidentally left on his collar last night. The fact I’ve branded him on some minuscule level lights my insides afire.

  “Elyse?” He pulls me from my thoughts and raises his eyebrows, wordlessly asking his question again.

  Admittedly, I’m a little surprised by his request. The sex was phenomenal. Beyond phenomenal, actually. It was just as I suspected it’d be based on the chemistry we had when we first met. But one great night doesn’t mean he needs to feel obligated to see me again.

  Do I even want to see him again?

  Yes.

  I think I do.

  “Um … not sure. Why don’t you call me sometime and we’ll try to meet up?” I try to keep it casual and tear a piece of paper off the notepad on the table. I hesitate and consider giving him a fake number — I try not to make a habit of repeat performances with the men I hook up with. But the memory of his hot breath as he kissed my breasts, the searing touch of his strong hands as he tightly pinned my wrists above my head, and how he fucked me until I saw and felt fireworks ultimately wins out. Eagerly, I scribble my name and cell number down for him and slide it toward him on the table. He picks it up, his electric blue eyes never leaving mine. He probably stares at me for a few seconds, but it feels like an hour. His eyes flick down to the scrap of paper in his hand.

  “Elyse Keener.” My last name rolls off Simon’s tongue like a prayer. I watch him as he searches for something in the pocket of his pants. He grabs his cell triumphantly and punches the screen a few times.

  Moments later my phone chimes from inside my purse.

  “Good,” he clips. “It’s not fake. And now you have my number, too. So no excuses for not calling.” His smile burns brighter than the sun and I try to hide the fact that my insides have melted into a worthless puddle of swooning schoolgirl.

  “No excuses,” I promise softly.

  Simon drops the towel to the floor and my breath hitches in admiration. He chuckles as he steps into his charcoal boxer briefs. Then I watch him pull his undershirt over his head and inwardly frown as his glorious body disappears from sight.

  Damn. They sure don’t make boys like that by the dozen. Especially boys like that who are nearly naked in your kitchen and can make you come hard and fast like a bullet train.

  A good host would probably stop gawking and offer him breakfast but this whole “hosting the morning after” thing is new territory for me.

  “Can I get you some coffee or anything?”

  “No, thanks. I hate to run, but I’ve got to pick up some documents before heading into the office. I’m on a deadline.” He makes quick work of his dress slacks, zipping them up and buckling his belt tightly around his hips.

  “On a Saturday?” Last night he told me about his hectic life as a freelance travel reporter for several Condé Nast magazine titles. It has turned him into quite the jet setter and it makes me crave the kind of life where I could pick up and go around the world on a moment’s notice.

  Simon bends over to put his shoes back on and shrugs when he rights himself once more. “Being a journalist isn’t your usual 9-5 desk job. I travel a shit ton and most days I don’t know if I’m coming or going. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He tilts his head thoughtfully and gives me a shy smile. “I’m serious though … call me.”

  It’s not a request.

  It’s a command.

  And even though I like to be the one in charge, I’m not averse to having him boss me around.

  If I have my way it won’t be the last time he bosses me around either.

  Deep down I know I’ll see him again. There’s no way I am capable of a one night stand with that man.

  When Simon reaches the top button of his oxford shirt, I sigh in appreciation. Not just for his body, but for how he made me feel … last night … this morning. And inevitably how he’ll make me feel after he leaves.

  As I stand up to see him out, he wraps his fingers loosely in mine and electricity surges my veins.

  “Soon. I want to see you again. Soon.”

  I turn to respond and without warning, Simon’s lips are on mine, kissing me deeply … madly. I surrender to his touch and his tongue slips into my mouth like it’s searching for the words I won’t say.

  When he pulls away his eyes burn through me and I nod. I’ve experienced paradise and the only thing I want to do is take up residence in his arms, no matter how brief my stay might be.

  “Yes … soon,” I reply.

  “Good.”

  Simon winks.

  Slaps me playfully on the ass.

  And walks out the door.

  Two

  Coffee Talk

  Sex, legs, and cigarettes.

  That’s my best friend, Olivia.

  I’ve always been envious of her flawless mocha skin and thick, curly black hair. Though her moodiness, nosiness and general obnoxiousness often overrides her positive attributes. I guess that’s why I love her so damn much. She is who she is and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. I suppose that comes with the territory of ignoring everyone’s expectations of yourself.

  It’s Monday morning and I haven’t spoken with Olivia since I bailed on her at the bar a few nights ago. So it comes as no surprise that I find her perched on the corner of my desk, hitting a pack of cigarettes against the palm of her hand, expectantly waiting for answers to the inquisition I’m about to be subject to. When I finally stop what I’m doing to look at her, I can only shake my head in disbelief. She’s wearing a mini skirt that no doubt came from the children’s section of Nordstrom. On her perfectly manicured feet are black patent leather peep toe shoes, accentuating just how ridiculously long her perfectly toned legs are.

  “Come outside and play with me. It’s time for a smoke break.”

  I roll my eyes and push myself away from my desk to file the latest project that has been approved by the client. “You know I don’t smoke. And you need to quit that shit, so no, I will not come outside with you for a smoke break.”

  “Fine then. Forget the cigarettes. Let’s make a coffee run. I need to get out of here for a few.” She hops onto the floor and tugs the pathetic excuse for a skirt down over her ass.

  My eyes flash to the clock. It’s nine twenty-seven on a Monday and already she’s jonesing to escape the office. Compared to many of our colleagues, her role isn’t very challenging — answer phones and try not to be a total bitch when someone walks to the front desk.

  On second thought, maybe that is a challenge for Olivia?

  Either way, if she doesn’t start taking her job seriously it’s going to reflect poorly on me. It doesn’t matter if we’re in different departments. I went out on a limb to get her hired at my agency and she’s done nothing but fuck around since she started.

  But coffee does sound enticing.

  I snatch the pack of cigarettes from her hand and toss them onto my desk, making a mental note to flush them later. “Okay, fine. But only because if I don’t get caffeine, I may cut a bitch.”

  “That’s my girl!” Olivia exclaims.

  We slip out the front door of Brainspin Boutique and onto the open streets of the West Loop. Walking hip to hip, we pass a half dozen antique shops on our way to the coffee shop on the other end of the block. It’s too early for there to be any business, and most of the shops around here are only open on the weekends. It’s an odd place to drop an ad agency, but the rent is cheap and parking is never a problem, so who are we to complain?

  We’re halfway down the street when Olivia finally speaks. “Okay. Spill it, El.”

  “Spill what?” I feign innocence but feel my cheeks flush, betraying my feeble attempt at playing ignorant.

  “Don’t you play coy! I saw you leave the bar with Mr. Sex in a Suit Friday night. He was gorgeous, like he walked right off the page of a Calvin Klein ad and right into your bed. And y
ou only wear those sexy patent pumps after you get laid. Tell me, what was he like underneath those clothes?” I look down at my shoes and shrug. They make me feel sexy and you can’t fault a woman for wanting to feel attractive. “Besides, you never glow like this on a Monday morning. So spill it, woman.”

  “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” I smile coyly and feel my cheeks blush, betraying me.

  “And since when are you a lady?” Olivia jousts her elbows into my ribcage, causing me to yelp in surprise. “Besides, I know you never kiss and tell. You much prefer to screw and squeal.”

  “Hey! I do not!” I push open the door to The Daily Grind, a small coffee shop run by hipsters sporting ironic Bill Cosby sweaters and handle bar mustaches. We approach the counter and order the usual.

  “Do you mind spotting me? I left my wallet back at the office.” She smiles her megawatt smile and pleads with her eyes.

  All I can do is shake my damn head. Olivia manages her money about as well as I manage my love life. “What on earth do you do with all your money, girl?”

  Olivia shrugs, and without missing a beat says, “I’m either wearing it or eating it.”

  I snort and pay the barista for both of our orders, then drop my change in the tip jar. We sit at the only table in the place, a small wrought iron bistro set with uneven legs so every time you lean on it, or place your coffee down, the whole thing shifts, sloshing your coffee over the edge.

  Olivia pinches off a piece of my blueberry muffin and pops it into her mouth. I swat her shoulder with the back of my hand. “Back off, ya mooch!”

  She simply smiles, chewing a huge piece of my breakfast. “You love me.”

  “Something like that.”

  Olivia purses her lips and takes a quick draw from her latte. “At least tell me how it all went down.”