Claim 2: Volume Two

by Suzanne, Ashley

“Don’t fall back into it, Lo. You’re smarter than that.” I know she’s just doing her best friend duties, but I’m not stupid. I’m also not naive. I loved Jordan. More than I’d ever loved anyone else. Those feelings … I was able to shove them aside because he wasn’t in my face. I didn’t have to think about him. Now that he’s here, those familiar feelings are rising to the surface. I’m just not sure if it’s out of shock, having not seen him in so long, or if they’re real. That’s my biggest worry.

  What if everything I felt for Jordan a year ago still remains? How can I feel that way for him and still want to see where things go with Nolan? A few weeks ago I was bitching because I didn’t have even one suitable prospect, now I’m in a fucked up situation with two men. One I hate just as much as I love, the other … I’m not sure, but I’m not ready to count him out.

  “I just want you to be smart about this,” she reiterates and continues rambling on about something to do with Kyle. Half listening, I walk into the house, tossing my jacket and bag on the dining room table and making a beeline for the bottle of wine I know I have chilling in the fridge.

  Voicing the appropriate “oh yeah” or “no way” and an occasional “uh huh” I pour a large glass of red, kick off my heels and decide a bath is the only way I’m going to be able to clear my head enough to really think.

  “Cleo, let me call you back after I take a bath. I just need a break from the day. Between work and everything else, I just need to relax a little.”

  Without an argument, Cleo disconnects her end of the line and I step into the bathroom, running the water as hot as my body can stand. Setting my glass on the vanity, I pull my hair high on my head and clean my face of the day’s makeup. I unzip and let my skirt pool at my feet, quickly picking it up and hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. Securing my phone to the dock on the counter, I turn on my favorite playlist and let the music fill the room as I unbutton my blouse and dance my way to the bedroom.

  Just before I reach the bedroom, a faint knock on the front door stills my movement. I swear if Jordan is here to play games, I’m going to flip. After making me wait a year to even lay eyes on him, I’m sure he can give me at least a few days to decide how to proceed.

  “What do you want?” I ask, exasperated as I pull open the door, holding my blouse closed so I’m not fully exposed.

  Nolan’s confused blue eyes stare back at me, scanning my body from top to bottom, nearly dropping the paper bag in his arms. “I’m sorry. I should have called,” he mutters, swallowing quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat behind the day or two scruff he’s sporting.

  “No. I thought you were someone else.”

  “I tried calling you over the weekend, but you didn’t answer. Figured you must not be feeling well and I did promise you another date, so I brought the date to you,” he says, his dimples prominent as he smiles, raising the bag to eye level.

  “That was super sweet of you. Come on in, just give me a few minutes, I was getting ready to take a bath. Do you mind waiting?” I’m sure he’s thinking this is some weird innuendo, but I really do need that bath, especially if I’m going to hang out with him tonight. I’m too tightly wound to enjoy myself or be a decent host.

  “I got nothin’ but time. Just point me in the direction of the kitchen and the TV, I’ll be set for a while. That’s if you don’t mind me watching the game?”

  “Who’s playing?”

  “Ravens and Saints.”

  “Should be a good game then. Have at it. There’s beer in the fridge, too.” Showing him into the kitchen, I leave him on his own while I rush back to the bathroom, quickly stopping in the laundry room to grab a pair of yoga pants and my favorite Ravens tee shirt. I mean, seriously, the dude’s just laid eyes on me without a stitch of makeup, my hair piled on top of my head in some sort of messy bun and half naked, I highly doubt he’s going to mind a more relaxed look when I emerge from hopefully a peaceful bath.

  *****

  “What’s the score?” I ask, rounding the corner and heading for another glass of wine.

  “Ten three, Ravens,” he responds, not taking his eyes off the screen. Pouring another large glass, I pad into the living room and take the spot next to him on the couch. Surveying the coffee table, my mouth waters at the sight of sweet and sour chicken and shrimp fried rice. It’s totally not something I should be eating if I were sick, but since the only thing wrong with me is my screwed up love life, I’ll be perfectly fine devouring this Chinese heaven.

  We sit together in silence, enjoying the game, eating a nice dinner. After I set my empty plate on the table in front of us, I lean back into the cushions and pull my feet up underneath me. Nolan wastes no time dragging them into his lap and gently starts massaging each foot one at a time, paying extra attention to the arch. I don’t care if he’s done this a million times with a million different women, the fact that he knows exactly where my feet ache the most is proof that not all men are morons. Some actually pay attention and for that I’m thankful.

  The Ravens end up taking away the win and instead of getting up to leave, Nolan reaches for the remote and begins scrolling through the movie channels. “You wanna pick?”

  Caught off guard, I’m unable to answer right away. “Go ahead,” I finally mutter, trying to move my legs, he resists at first, but then gives in. Sitting straight, extending my feet onto the coffee table, my position closely resembles his. Nolan’s arm drapes across the back of the sofa and without a second thought, I cuddle into his side as he selects a channel and a movie I’ve never seen plays across the screen.

  I’m listening to the movie, staring off into the distance, but completely comfortable in Nolan’s arms. This is how it should be. No pretenses, no worrying about anything other than what’s going on in this exact moment. I’ve been stressing over Jordan for what? He left me. I grieved. I might still have feelings for him, but wouldn’t it be worse if I didn’t? If I felt absolutely nothing for him after going as far as marrying him?

  “This is nice,” I whisper, redirecting my attention to the TV and Nolan innocently kisses the top of my head. Then I notice what’s playing on the screen as my eyes focus—there are most certainly people getting nasty. Oh my gosh. I’m telling him that this is nice as we basically watch these naked actors doing their thing. I feel my cheeks heat immediately.

  Quickly raising my head, his eyes meet mine and I try to back pedal. “I mean hanging out with you. That’s nice. This,” I point at the TV, “I wasn’t talking about that. Sure, that’s nice too, but I really meant that just being with you. Oh God, I’m making it worse aren’t I?”

  I try to bury my head in his chest, but his thumb forces my head up. I want to talk, but every time I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Before I can make the situation any more awkward, Nolan is the one to recover, placing his soft lips over mine and gently kissing me.

  “I knew what you meant,” he whispers between kisses. “You’re adorable.”

  No, wait. I don’t want to be adorable. I want to be sexy … alluring … desired. Feeling the overwhelming need to show him exactly how adorable I am not, I reposition my body and grab onto his shirt. Falling back onto the cushions, I pull him so he’s lying on top of me. His kisses don’t stop, not even for a second.

  Wanting more than I’m getting, I try to reach the hem of my shirt to take it off, but he stops me and that’s when the kisses cease. “There’s no rush, Loren. We’ve got nothing but time.” Slowly dragging his lips from mine to my neck, he pays special attention to the sensitive place between my collar bone and my neck. “Our first time together won’t be after a night of football and Chinese food. It’ll be something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

  And I thought I couldn’t want him anymore than I did a few seconds ago. It’s a necessity now. I need him. “Oh, I’ll remember this, don’t you worry. Tonight was perfect.”

  “You just wait. I’ll show you what perfect really is, and this will seem like nothing.” Feelin
g the cool air between our bodies, I grab onto his shirt to hold him in place, but he’s far too strong for me. Sitting up, he reaches down and grabs his boots, sliding his feet inside.

  “You don’t have to leave,” I say, coming out more as a whine.

  “Yeah, I do. If I don’t go now, I’ll go against everything I think is right. You’re so damn sexy right now and I need to get to work on our perfect date.”

  How can I argue with that? That’s right. I can’t.

  Walking him to the door, he briefly kisses me again, my knees threatening to buckle. His desire filled pools stare down at me giving me the butterflies I always get when he looks at me.

  “Lock up tight,” he yells as he reaches his truck.

  Following his clear directions, I shut the door and turn both locks. Falling back onto the couch, I prop my feet back up on the coffee table, softly touching my swollen lips and smiling like I just hit the lottery.

  “Looks like my competition is stronger than I thought,” Jordan says, rounding the corner from my bedroom, startling me. However, the look on his face breaks my heart more than when he left me.

  Chapter Four

  Jordan

  It took everything in me to not approach her at the office today. If there’s one thing about Loren that will never change it’s her desire to excel at her career. Mostly out of respect for that simple notion as well as the fact that my stepfather kindly asked me to not make it any more awkward than it already is, I kept my distance. Even going as far as making friends with the receptionist to avoid rushing to meet Loren at the elevator bank.

  Sitting through that meeting was hell. Loren and the owner of the software company were a little too chummy. I saw right through their act. They know each other outside of the professional aspect, but how I have no idea. Did she date him? Is he the guy she’s dating now? Has he seen her naked? Did he hold her soft body while she called out his name?

  Putting a halt to those kinds of thoughts, I stayed in my office after the meeting and left promptly at five not wanting an office run in with Loren. Don’t get me wrong, we’re going to talk and if it’s possible, I’m going to save my marriage, but doing it at her place of business—my job as well—isn’t the right time.

  Thinking I’d meet her at home, I waited in the driveway for what seemed like hours before I used my key to wait inside. When the sun started to set, I began to worry and considered calling to make sure she was okay. Needing to distract myself for a little while longer, I walked into Loren’s room—our bedroom—and pulled out the box of pictures she keeps on the shelf in the closet. It must have been exactly what I needed to keep my mind off her. One second I’m looking through images of a vacation we took and the next the sound of keys hitting the table jar me from my memories.

  Quietly, I put the box away, keeping a few pictures out to show her, remind Loren exactly how good we can be together when I’m not being a jackass. When the water starts running in the bathroom, I halt myself from rushing to her, giving her the few moments she needs. Loren’s a creature of habit, each action having a purpose. Walking in the house and the first thing she does is draw a bath, it’s most likely due to her being stressed.

  Feeling guilty, assuming that stress is probably because of me invading the one place she can escape everything else, I make a plan to leave as soon as I hear her sloshing around in the water, only that doesn’t happen. A knock on the door startles me and when I hear the voice of a man my stomach churns.

  Needless to say, I’m unable to leave without giving myself away. So, against everything I believe in, I sit on the bed and wait. And wait. And wait some more.

  When the man says he’s going to leave, my excitement can barely be contained. For one, their little rendezvous didn’t end up in the bedroom. That would be pretty difficult to explain. And two, I’ll finally be able to leave this damn bedroom. Playing Clash of Clans is only a good time when you actually have things to do and Facebook is full of slutty selfies and ducklips.

  The front door opens and after a few minutes closes. Stepping into the hallway, Loren walks to the couch, rubbing her lips. I know that move. She’s done it with me before. He kissed the hell out of her and her dazed look proves that this guy might have a little more invested that I initially thought.

  “Looks like my competition is stronger than I thought.”

  “Holy shit, Jordan!” she screams, jumping off the couch, gripping her chest, her face a ghostly white. The color quickly returns to her cheeks and Loren walks into the kitchen.

  “Who was that?” I ask, only a few steps behind, desperately fighting the defeated attitude threatening to overtake my mind.

  “None of your business,” she scoffs, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring a glass. Raising the bottle in my direction, I shake my head and grab a beer instead.

  Walking back into the living room, I take a seat in the recliner, the chair I purchased when we first bought this house. Letting the cushions surround my body, the familiar feel comforts me enough to not start freaking out about my wife making out with some random guy. There’s so much I have to tell her and starting an argument will afford me a first class ticket to Get the Fuck Out. I’ve been there, not really a fan, pretty sure I don’t want to go back.

  Loren takes the spot furthest from me on the sofa, setting her glass on the table after a long swallow and stares at me. I can see the gears working—her trying to figure out what to say—her mouth opening and snapping closed soon after.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this to happen,” I start.

  “What did you expect? You’ve been hiding in my bedroom for how long? Obviously before I got home from work. What the hell is that about, Jordan? I never really took you for the creepy stalker guy.”

  “I wanted to talk. I tried so hard not to interrupt you at the office. I know how important your job and reputation is, so I came here. I was looking at pictures when you came home.” Taking the picture out of my pocket, I slide it across the table. She stares at it for a second before picking it up, smiling. Smiles are a good sign. It could be worse.

  “This was a really good time. Do you remember that old guy that kept asking us to smoke pot with him?” she laughs.

  “Oh, I remember. I also remember that you smoked with him. Then you laughed for two hours straight. I was a little worried you had some kind of reaction, but you looked so happy.”

  “That was the first and last time I ever did any kind of drug. The laughing was nice, though. I’ve not laughed that much in … ever. That was the only time,” she giggles, putting the picture back on the table.

  “Is that the only thing you remember about that weekend?” I ask, testing the waters.

  “No,” she whispers, taking another drink from her glass, refusing to meet my eyes. Ding. Ding. Ding.

  “What else, Loren?” I push.

  “You asked me to marry you. We left right from our trip, went to the retreat and got married right then and there.”

  “Do you remember how much you loved me in that moment? How you couldn’t wait to be my wife? Lo, I need you to remember that. I need you to remember that kind of love,” I say, almost pleading.

  “I did, Jordan. After you left, I remembered. They nearly killed me. I was worried at first, thinking you’d come back, but you didn’t. What I remember more than those feelings is what I went through after you threw me away like a piece of trash. For another woman, no less. Do you know what that does to a woman’s self-esteem? The kind of love I felt for you is buried so far underneath the hate.”

  Swallowing hard, I know she’s right, but she doesn’t know everything. She only knows what I told her, and the majority of that was a lie. A fucking lie to protect … her. “Not everything is as it seems,” I mutter, wondering if I tell her everything if she’ll think I’m lying to get her back. I need her to believe me, but I’m not sure she will.

  “And not all endings are happily ever after. Sometimes, they’re just done.”

  �
��I don’t want it to be done. I made a mess, Loren. Please. Give me a chance to clean it up.”

  “You had a year, Jordan. An entire year. You did nothing. Then, out of the blue, when I finally meet someone I think I can have something with, you want to swoop back in and confuse the hell out of me? That’s not fair.”

  Confuse her? She’s fighting. Not me, but her own feelings. I can work with this. It means I have a chance. Even if it’s a small one, it’s there.

  “Tell me you hate me and never want to see me again. I’ll leave, sign your papers and you’ll never see me again. Just say the words, Loren.” If I give her an out and she takes it, I mean it, I’ll go, but if she doesn’t, that’s all the faith I need that I can win her back.

  “Jordan,” she says exasperated, “Please.”

  “Please what? Please leave? Please stay? Give me more, Lo,” I demand.

  “I can’t,” she whispers, finishing off her glass.

  Resting my elbows on my knees, I watch her, studying her body language for a hint of what she wants, but everything she’s putting out there is contradicting at most. Her face looks pained, like she can’t make the decision, yet her body language is closed off, as if she’s not willing to give an inch.

  “I can’t tell you to leave,” she finally mutters. She shakes her head when the grin appears on my face. I try to hide it, but this is exactly what I wanted to begin with. A chance. Even though she doesn’t want to, or is afraid to, she’s going to give it to me.

  “It’s because you love me,” I state.

  “Don’t get cocky. It’s because I’ve wondered every day for the last year what it would be like if you came back. I’ve played every scenario over in my head hundreds of times. How I’d react. What you’d say. If I tell you to get out of my life forever, all of those painful thoughts that wracked my brain for a year were in vain. When you finally leave me for good, it’s going to be because it’s the only option. So, don’t get cocky, Jordan. You’re on thin ice.”

  “Thin ice is better than no ice.”