Then I remembered her words. “But what I didn’t forget was who you are and who I am and all the reasons why you and I do not belong together.”
Who I am.
Fuck her and her goddamn self-righteousness. She’s not better than me.
I was starting to get through my anger and then the kids got up. After that I went from pissed off to the verge of losing my fucking mind. This morning was like an episode of Married . . . with Children mixed with Shameless, and throw in a little Family Guy for the hell of it.
No one listened to a damn word I said.
It was complete chaos and I’m not even sure I dropped them off at the right places.
I throw the phone across the room, pissed at her, myself, and everyone I haven’t spoken to yet.
Then the damn thing rings again just to mock me.
Great. It’s my mother. This should be fun.
“Hello, Mom,” I say, trying to calm myself down.
“Hi, honey. How are things going?”
“Just great.”
If you consider tossing my nephew into the pool because punching him wasn’t the better option great, then I’m telling the truth.
“Kids are good?”
“They’re alive, let’s just be happy about that.”
My mother was Betty-fucking-Crocker. She baked us cookies while dad mowed the yard. She had the perfect house with the white picket fence and a boy and a girl. It was the textbook family life that everyone wanted. I don’t think I can recall one time she raised her voice—she didn’t have to. Dad was the enforcer and he was scary as fuck. Mom simply pointed with her lips tight or said, “don’t make me tell your father,” and we were perfect angels.
If she had seen the shit show that existed here a few hours ago, she’d have my father beat me.
“Ian, you need to rely on London if it’s too much.”
My mother would’ve sold me to get her. I swear, she likes her more than me. “I am. Your perfect adopted daughter just bailed on me instead of watching the kids.”
“She wouldn’t do that if she could avoid it,” she says, defensive.
“Well, she did.”
“What did you do to her then?”
“What did I—?”
She cuts me off. “Yes, you know that London has been in love with you since you were kids.”
“Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot? Something happened between the two of you before she left for college, and I’m sure it wasn’t anything to be proud of, son.”
Once again, I’m the bad guy. “You know, what if it was her that broke my heart? Huh?”
“Don’t be silly,” she laughs.
She did break my fucking heart. She made me break my own, that’s what she did. I was head over heels in love with that girl. I was just waiting for the perfect chance to touch her, kiss her, love her, and then I got it only to have to walk away.
No one sees that, though.
“I need to get some sleep, Mom. The kids are fine, adjusting, as we all are. I need to find someone to watch them tonight and now over the weekend, since London has other shit she needs to do.”
“I wish I could help.”
I wish she could too. Mom would’ve had these kids off to school with lunches made and a three-course breakfast in their stomachs. I sent them with Pop-Tarts and a few bucks to buy lunch. I’m just impressed I remembered to give them cash at this point.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
She sighs. “Okay, honey, have them call me today so we can chat.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to call a real estate agent about the house. That needs to go on the market.”
Oh, shit. I forgot about the house. “Hey, Mom, do you think you could maybe do that? I’ve really got my hands full with the kids.”
She sighs heavily. “I knew I should have stayed there. Do you want me to come back?”
“No!” The last thing I need is two women who think I’m a useless dickhead up in my face all the time. “No need for that. If you could just make the phone call, that would be great.”
She sighs heavily. “Fine, I’ll take care of the house. You stay focused on the children, and don’t shut London out when she tries to help.”
“Thanks for calling. Bye, Mom.” I flop back down on my bed, and catch a whiff of London’s perfume. I roll over onto my stomach, inhaling everything that is her.
How can you hate someone so much and yet want them at the same time?
She frustrates the fuck out of me, and all I want is to bury my dick inside her right now.
Memories flash through my mind of how unbelievable this morning was. How perfectly I fit inside her. How she moaned my name, clenching her pussy so tight around me I thought I’d die from how good it felt.
Great, I’m fucking hard now.
The doorbell rings, since I’m apparently never allowed to sleep again.
I trudge to the door still semi-hard, but it’s nothing my housekeeper hasn’t seen before. Jeanette has been with me for nine years. She was my housekeeper when I was married to the cunt, Jolene, and I took her with me. She’s cleaned up more than her fair share, but she loves me unconditionally. Unlike the other women in my life.
“Jean—” I start to say with a smile, but the smile falls when I see who it really is.
“You have some nerve!” London glares as she pushes against my chest. “You think you can just say whatever you want to hurt me? You think you’re so much better than me? Huh?”
“Why don’t you come in?” I ask sarcastically as I close the door behind her.
“Fuck you and your asshole comments. I’m so tired of it. I’m not running anywhere. You want to talk, then be an adult and talk!”
“I don’t want to talk,” I say, moving toward her. “I don’t want to say a fucking word to you. You said it all this morning.”
She huffs and tosses her purse on the hall table. “What? What did I say that has you so pissed off that you treat me as though I’m just some insignificant slut in your life?”
It’s not what she says, it’s what she doesn’t say. I’ve had it with this shit. I thought if we kept it buried, it would die, but it seems I was wrong.
“I think you’ve got this all wrong, sweetheart.” I get closer to her, my fingers just grazing her wrist. “I never treated you like that. You’re the one who called it sex and left. You’re the one that said we weren’t good together.”
Her breath hitches and she steps back. “No, we’re not doing this again. You’re not going to use your charm on me this time. I’m wide awake now and we’re going to talk about everything!”
She thinks I’m charming. That’s what I heard at least. And all her mouth does is get me hard. Her anger makes me want to lay her down and shut her up in a million ways. It’s like foreplay for us, and now that I’ve had her, I want her again.
“Fine, strip then.”
“What?” she screeches.
“You want to talk, take your shirt off.”
“You’re insane!”
“Maybe, but if you want to talk, I want you vulnerable and unable to run away.”
Total bullshit. I want her naked so I can see every inch of her again.
“No!”
“If you want to talk, I want insurance you’re not going out that door at the first thing I say that you don’t like. So, take your fucking clothes off or go. You pick.”
She puts her hands in her hair. “God, you are such a fucking jerk. It’s unbelievable.”
But what’s really unbelievable is that her fingers move to the buttons of her burgundy silk blouse and start undoing them one by one, starting from the top. After about six of them, she stops. Her blouse is open now, still tucked into her black pencil skirt, and I’m fucking riveted by the sight of the nude lace bra she’s wearing. I bet I’ll be able to see her nipples right through it. My dick jumps around in my pajama pants.
She parks a hand on her hip and looks directly at my crotch. “Nice.”
“Thank you.” I adjust myself. “Now keep going. All the way off.”
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment I think she’s just going to storm out and I’ll be stuck here alone with my hard-on. But she doesn’t—she can’t resist a fight either. She pulls the blouse from her skirt and finishes the task so it hangs open. “Happy?”
“It’s a start. Now the skirt.”
She glares at me like she wants to take off one of her sky-high heels and stab me with it. “You’re despicable.”
“You’re a chicken.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re scared to have this conversation, so you’re keeping all your high and mighty armor on.” I make chicken noises at her like a fucking fifth grader.
She unzips her skirt and it falls to the floor. Stepping out of it, she brushes it aside with one high-heeled foot and sticks her hands on her hips again. “There. Now that you can clearly see I’m not going to run away, what is it you want to talk about?”
To be honest, I can’t remember shit about what I wanted to say right now. I can see her raspberry-colored nipples through the nude lace of her bra, and the matching panties don’t hide much either.
I take a step toward her and she backs up against the front door. Puts her hands out.
“Stop right there. Don’t come any closer.”
“Why not?” I move so close her palms are on my chest.
“You said we were going to talk, Ian.”
I cage her in with my arms on either side of her, bracing my hands against the door. “Is that really what you want to do right now?”
“Yes,” she snaps. But her breath is coming harder and faster, her breasts rising and falling with it.
“Okay.” I stare down at her. “Talk. Tell me all the reasons you can’t stand me. Tell me again how I broke your heart. Tell me we’re no good together.”
Her eyes meet mine. “You treat me like a plaything. You don’t respect me. You make me feel bad about myself.”
“How about I make you feel good right now? Would that help?”
“No.” She pushes me away slightly. “I don’t even understand why you want to.”
“Yes, you do.”
Our eyes are locked in a fiery stare. “Fine,” she admits. “But just because the sex is good doesn’t mean—”
“It’s better than good and you know it.”
She bites her plush bottom lip. I want to bite it too.
“You can’t stand me, either,” she says, but her tone is weakening, like this is her last line of defense, and her eyes have started to wander over my shoulders, chest and abs.
“Most of the time, that’s true,” I tell her. “You can be a cold, condescending bitch.”
“I have to be, Ian.” Her hands are moving now, sliding down my chest. “It’s how I protect myself from you.”
I lower my mouth to her neck, and she tilts her head to allow me to brush my lips against the side of her throat. “Lower your guard, London. You don’t need to protect yourself from me anymore.”
“Lies,” she says as I kiss her neck. “You say these things, but you don’t mean them. It’s all a game with you.” Her hands have reached the drawstring of my pants, which hang low on my hips. Her fingers hesitate.
“Go on.” I whisper the words in her ear. “Do it.”
“If I do, things change from this point forward.”
Oh fuck, she’s going to make demands now? When she’s got me this hard for her? This weak for her? This desperate to get inside her again? “Yes. Whatever you want.”
She unties the string and my pants fall to the floor. In an instant her hand is wrapped around my erection and my mouth is closing over hers.
Things escalate quickly from there.
My hands beneath her thighs. Her legs around my waist. My fingers tugging lace aside. Her back against the door. My cock moving inside her, hot and hard and fast, while her hands twist into my hair, fisting tight.
Our sounds bounce off the floor tiles and echo throughout the two-story foyer. Her gasps and cries. My groans and growls. The door rattling in its frame. Or maybe it’s the entire house shaking—it is, it’s a fucking earthquake, it has to be. There’s no other explanation for the way the floor is vibrating beneath my feet. The hot, humming sensation moves up my legs, gathering strength, and I fuck her so violently I’m sure the entire front wall of the house is going to give and we’ll tumble onto the front lawn.
She comes first, screaming my name before sinking her teeth into my shoulder as her body clenches mine. The sting of her bite only heightens the pleasure for me, and I erupt inside her in a series of powerful bursts, my entire body trembling with the force of it.
Afterward, my legs nearly give out, and I have to take a moment to let my muscles recover and regain some strength. We’re both breathing hard, and her forehead is resting on my shoulder. It’s kind of nice, and for a moment I wonder what it would be like if the next words out of her mouth were something sexy or affectionate and not defensive or bossy.
But I know her too well. She doesn’t want me to know how much I get to her.
Sure enough, she doesn’t disappoint.
Her head pops up. “Let me down.”
Carefully, I disengage from her body and set her on her feet. She’s still wearing her lingerie and heels, which is hot as fuck. But why does she have to wear that furrowed-brow expression too? She’s looking at me like I’m a fly in the fruit salad, not like I just gave her an orgasm so intense she bit me.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, her heels clicking on the tile as she walks away from me. A moment later, I hear the bathroom door close.
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. We didn’t use a condom—I always used a condom. Never, not once in the twenty years I’d been having sex had I ever been tempted to fuck someone without one. Jolene wouldn’t even let me near her without one, she was so worried about getting pregnant and tipping the scale one ounce above her ideal body weight. But just now with London, it hadn’t even occurred to me to stop and go get one. What the hell was I thinking?
Now she’s going to come out here squawking about diseases and risks and how we both have to go get tested. Well, I get tested often enough that I have results from a month ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since then but her. And fuck her if she doesn’t believe me!
Angrily, I pull on my pants and tie the drawstring. When I hear the bathroom door open, I widen my stance and hoist up my chest a little, preparing for the fight.
But when she comes around the corner into the front hall, she doesn’t look too battle-ready. She looks sort of sad and vulnerable. With her eyes on the floor, carrying her heels, she walks barefoot over to her skirt and blouse, scooping them up. Then she turns to me. “We should talk, don’t you think?”
I’m so thrown by the change in her demeanor, I can’t think. “Okay.”
“Give me a minute to get dressed.” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re not accusatory or cold. They’re soft. Her voice is soft, too. “I promise I will not run away. I just want to put my clothes back on.”
“That’s fine,” I say, unsure how to tread these unfamiliar waters. “You can use my room.”
“Thanks.”
I follow her to the kitchen, where she turns down the hallway to my room. Seeing her walk that way, with her head down, her shoulders rounded, arms clutching her clothes, sort of makes me feel bad that I just banged her against the front door. What kind of animal am I?
Frowning, I turn on the Keurig, grab a coffee pod from the pantry, and stick it in. While I wait for it to brew, I lean back against the counter and rub my face with both hands. More than anything, I wish Sabrina was around so I could ask for advice. I don’t understand London at all. There’s obviously still something between us, and it could be good, but we insist on fighting each other. Why? Is it our history? Do I need to come clean about
what I did?
Back when it all went down, I planned on telling her the truth eventually. But I needed her to take that scholarship and go away to school first. I figured I’d tell her when she graduated. I never dreamed she’d still be so mad she’d refuse to even talk to me. When they say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, let me assure you, they are not kidding. London wouldn’t even be in the same room with me for a while, and when she was, her eyes were like knives on my skin.
At that point I figured, fuck her. She didn’t want to hear me out? Fine. She didn’t want to know I’d only done it for her? Fine. She didn’t want to hear me say she was the only girl I’d ever loved and wanted to give us another chance? Fine. It wasn’t like I’d be lonely.
From then on, it was war between us.
But now that Sabrina’s death has thrown us together, I find myself wishing things could change. I don’t even know what I want exactly, but when I hear the bedroom door open and bare feet coming down the hall, I make up my mind to try harder not to be an asshole, even if she picks a fight.
She appears in the kitchen, carrying her shoes in one hand. My heart beats faster at the sight of her—she’s redone her hair, pulling it back off her face so her green eyes look huge and luminous. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips look a little swollen. She’s as beautiful as she was at seventeen—more, even.
“Do you want some coffee?” I ask.
“Sure.” She sets her shoes down next to the island.
“What flavor?” I go into the pantry and look in the sampler box. “My housekeeper buys all kinds of them. I’ve got French vanilla, hazelnut, butter toffee, Krispy Kreme—”
“French vanilla is fine.”
“Regular or decaf?”
“Regular.”
“You got it.” I grab it from the box and exit the pantry. She’s still standing across the kitchen from me, holding one elbow, one bare foot covering the other.
When I pull out the pod I used, I saw that I made for myself exactly what she chose. “Here. You can have this one.” Feeling magnanimous, I take the full, steaming cup from the machine and set it next to her on the island.
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