“Nic.”
“Oh...”
“Hadn't noticed?”
I tell myself not to swallow. “No.”
Isaac shrugs, smiling as he traces his finger over my cheek. “Good,” he says as he cups my jaw, pressing his lips over mine.
My heart pounds, and not because Isaac is kissing me, but because he doesn't do affection in public. I know exactly what he's doing. When he pulls away, I see Nic staring at us. Isaac grabs my hand and leads me back to the table, his grip tightening when we pass by Nic.
An hour later, me and Jen are outside at a patio table watching a random drunk guy pee in the bushes. Jen claps her hands, applauding him for his disregard for public behavior. “Ah, now you’ve broken the seal,” she snickers.
“Hey!” A bouncer shouts. “Hey! You can’t do that out here!” The guy glances over his shoulder, shakes the last bit of urine out, and then takes off running to the back entrance.
Jen covers her mouth to keep from spitting her drink everywhere, and then someone places an eight-ball glass on the table in front of me.
“You look gorgeous, Peyton,” Nic says before dragging out the chair next to me.
“Thanks.” I know I just blushed, and that makes me feel childish.
“Dear God…” Jen groans. “Let’s not be discreet or anything.”
“So,” Nic leans back in the chair and looks at Jen, “how you been, Jen?”
“Good.” Her gaze bounces back and forth between us before she points at the glass. “And... where's my drink, Nic. That's fucking rude seeing as how I'm going to hell for helping Peyton get away with this shit.”
He laughs. “What do you want?”
“Top shelf vodka.” She smiles. “On the rocks.”
Sighing, he stands and turns around. I watch him walk through the doorway, and I find Isaac standing in the middle of a group, completely distracted.
“Hey!” Jen gets my attention by whacking me on the back of the head. “You two need to cool it. Like stay away from each other.”
“Jen...”
“Nah-uh. The way you two look at each other is a dead giveaway. I've never seen two people fuck each other with their eyes more than the two of you do.”
My gaze strays to the door. “I'll be right back,” I tell Jen as I push the chair back.
“For the love of God! Don't listen to me or anything.” Her gaze swings over to Isaac. “I'll be sure to scream 'run' when I see him heading inside. Damn it, you really are sending me straight to fucking hell, P,” she says with a groan.
I snake through the crowded patio, shoving pass drunk after drunk as I make my way up the stairs. Glancing over my shoulder, I check to make sure Isaac is still preoccupied before I step inside.
The bar is jam-packed with frat guys and giggling girls, none of whom move as I attempt to force my way across the room. “Excuse me,” I say as shoulder through the tight group of people.
From here, I can see Nic at the bar. He folds his arms over the counter and orders a drink from the stumpy bartender. The girl standing next to him keeps staring at him, grinning.
I have this sudden fear that Isaac knows I’m following Nic. Standing on my tiptoes, I peer over the swarm of people, my gaze honing in on the doorway, but Isaac’s nowhere to be seen. It would take him a good ten minutes to get through this crowd, not to mention it would be nearly impossible for him to see me. I check the door one last time before I squeeze between Nic and the young girl still ogling him.
My pulse immediately accelerates, a dash of excitement buzzing through my veins. I hate to admit it, but there is a small thrill in all this. Then again, isn’t there always a thrill when there’s the chance of getting caught?
The muscles in Nic’s arm pop as he pushes away from the bar top. He doesn't look at me, but I feel his hand creep around my waist. His warm, long fingers slowly brush beneath the edge of my shirt, grazing my skin and causing chill bumps.
“I don't like him kissing you,” he whispers, his eyes still locked on the wall of illuminated liquor bottles in front of us.
His touch ventures farther under my shirt, sweeping across my side, and now I’m nervously staring straight ahead at the wall. I feel his hot breath touch the side of my neck. He’s so close to me. We shouldn’t be this close to one another.
“I like to forget you aren't really mine,” he says in my ear, and I pull away.
“Nic,” I start, turning to face him as I push his hand out from underneath my shirt.
“Do you know how damn hard it is to keep my hands off of you?” His gaze narrows, his eyes veering down to my lips. “Tan jodidamente hermosa.”
“Belvedere on the rocks,” the bartender says as he places a drink on the bar.
Nic grabs the glass. “I'm gonna take this to Jen. There's a VIP room upstairs. An empty room...and I really want to fucking touch you.”
And then, he walks off.
I watch him push through the crowd. I tell myself I am above fucking him in a bar, but even as I recite that over and over in my head, I find myself hurrying toward the stairs at the side of the room. My heart hammers harder with each step I climb in the dimly lit stairwell. The top is roped off with a small sign that reads: closed. Ignoring it, I hop over the chain and wait.
The noise from downstairs floats up to the small room. I hear people laughing. Bottles clinking. Guys shouting. And I panic. This is insane. My husband is downstairs in the middle of that ruckus, and here I am waiting in the dark for another man. It’s not another man, it’s Nic. Shaking my head, I grab onto the wall, then turn to go back downstairs. As soon as I set foot on the first step, Nic is right there. I can barely make out a flicker of a smile in the faint lights.
“Where you going, pretty girl?” he asks as he grabs me and pushes me through the dark room to the far corner. His mouth works down my neck and over my shoulder. “Fuck, I want you.”
“Nic, we're gonna get caught.”
“No, we won't.”
“We...” I trail off because he's already got my jeans unzipped. His fingers slip under the thin material of my thong, rubbing over my sensitive skin. “We're gonna get caught,” I repeat in a breathy whisper.
“Shh,” he blows that sound into my ear and my skin prickles. “Five minutes. Give me five minutes.” His fingers sink into me, curling and flexing inside me in ways that cause my knees to buckle. I grab at his zipper, pulling it open before I yank his jeans and boxers over his hips. Nic frantically rips my jeans down to my knees. “You're gonna have to turn around, babe.”
I do as told, my heart pounding in my chest. Every last inch of my skin is tight and warm because this is wrong. This is bad. But damn, it's fucking hot. There’s that pull in my stomach, that fluttery jittery feeling I get whenever he touches me. Excitement and want and need…I hear the foil wrapper tear. Seconds later, Nic shoves my underwear to the side and slams into me, his fingers gripping my hips and bringing me back against him.
I brace my hands on the wall, drop my chin to my chest, and a low moan slips from my throat.
“You're mine, Peyton. Always have been always will be...” he says before biting my neck. He drives into me, whispering in Spanish that he loves me.
Within minutes, I'm tensing. My head’s still hung, my palms sliding down the wall as I clench around him. Weakness drowns me as the blood rushes to my core. Nic holds me up and thrusts harder into me. Stilling behind me, his head drops to my shoulder.
We take several seconds to catch our breath and then he pulls my jeans back up, spins me around, and slams his lips over mine.
“I love you,” he says as his fingers brush over my neck.
“Did we really just do that?”
“Uh, yeah, we did.” He smiles as he studies my face. “And you’re gonna need to wait a few minutes before you go back down there. That flush on your face is a dead giveaway that you just got off. And hard.” He smirks, kisses me, then walks to the steps.
I wait in the dark, my mind reeling as I att
empt to fix my hair and wipe away the stray lipstick. The entire way down the stairs, all I can envision is Isaac waiting at the bottom, arms crossed, jaw clenched. I imagine the embarrassment as he yells at me, calling me out on my bullshit. I swallow before I hop off the last step, but Isaac’s not waiting. The bar is bustling, people are laughing, and no one pays me any mind. No one knows what I just did, even though I feel like they all do. They don’t.
Jen is at the bar ordering another drink, and her eyes are glued on me. She arches a brow as she takes a long sip. I go to walk past her, but she grabs onto my arm, shaking her head.
“Oh, no. Come here,” she says. Her eyes flick over my face, down my body, and she exhales as she reaches out to zip my fly. “Brave, Peyton. Very fucking brave...or stupid.” She tips her drink back before snatching her purse from the bar top. “Come on, Hester Prynne.”
When we get outside Isaac is sitting at the table talking with Nic. I swallow.
“Keeps getting better and better,” Jen says, smirking into her drink. “If I were you, I wouldn't say a word.”
“So what do you do at Kohen Pederson, Nic?” I hear Isaac ask.
I can see the smart-ass smirk Isaac's fighting from here. As far as he is concerned, no one else is as accomplished as he is, and he will rub that in Nic’s face all day long. This is a pissing contest and Isaac's already got his dick out and aimed.
“I'm an architect.”
“Oh,” Isaac tilts his beer back and nods. “That's nice.”
“Jesus…” Jen mumbles under her breath as we stop behind the table.
Isaac glances up, smiling when he sees me. “There's my girl.” He stands and pulls out a chair for me, which is not something he usually does. I take a seat and Jen sits next to me. “Just catching up with Nic here. I don't guess we've really talked since college.”
“Oh, yeah...” I trail off, trying not to choke on my words. A quick glance at Nic. His jaw is tensing. His nostrils flaring. He’s angry.
“So, Nic,” Isaac continues. “You married yet?”
“No.”
“Well, I'm sure the right girl will come along soon enough.” He flashes his all American-fuck-you smile at Nic. “We can't all have a girl like Peyton.”
Jen coughs and chokes on her drink. My teeth clench. Isaac is doing this to be an asshole, and it makes me mad.
“Oh, well, now,” Nic says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice, by that flickering behind his eyes he's not about to play nice. “We've both been that lucky, now, haven’t we, Isaac?”
Isaac's eyes narrow. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His fingers draw into fists.
I feel Jen's hand grip my knee.
“You said we can’t all have a girl like Peyton.” He shrugs. “I was just reminding you that we’ve both had her.”
I can see Isaac's pulse thrumming in his neck, my own pulse is skittering violently. “Please,” I say. “Please stop it.”
“Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?” Isaac says with a snarl. “I see the way you look at her. You had no business coming to her mother's funeral. If you think for one second, I'm oblivious to the fact that you're still hung up on my wife...” He shakes his head. “I really should beat your ass, and if I didn't have a reputation to uphold, I would tear you to pieces.”
“Isaac!” I shout.
He points at me. “Fucking stay out of this.”
“Don't talk to her like that,” Nic says, a slight growl behind his tone.
Isaac’s eye twitches with anger just before his fist slams into the side of Nic's face. It all happens so quickly. The table topples over, chairs fly across the patio, and they are rolling on the ground, throwing punches and cursing.
“Stop! Nic! Isaac. Stop it. Fucking stop!” I yell. Within seconds several guys from around the patio surround us. They grab both Isaac and Nic by the shoulders and hold them apart while security scurries over to escort them out.
“Let's fucking go, Peyton,” Isaac calls over his shoulder before turning back to say something to Nic.
And now they are shouting at each other again.
The crowded bar is literally parting to let security drag them through. Everyone is staring, and I turn my gaze to the floor.
“Well, that went rather well, don’t you think?” Jen groans as we walk out of the entrance.
“Fuck off!” Isaac shouts.
I glance up when I get to the curb and see the bouncers still holding onto Isaac. Nic crosses the street, wiping his mouth with his hand. Headlights flash when he unlocks his car, and then the security guards let Isaac go. He immediately comes over to Jenn and me.
“Let’s go. Fucking asshole. I swear to God I would love to beat the absolute piss out of him.”
I don’t want to go with Isaac. But I am his wife.
His adulterous, traitorous wife.
Moths swarm around the yellow porch light and I angrily swat them away. The lock clicks, the door opens, and I stumble into a thick cloud of marijuana smoke. The fuck?
“Dude!” Matt says. “What happened to your face?” He laughs for a second before his eyes pop open. “Ohh, shit! Isaac beat your ass!”
“Shut the fuck up, man.”
I toss the keys onto the coffee table, then head to the bathroom, turn the taps on, and stare at my reflection. My lip is busted, one eye is swollen, and there's a cut on my forehead. I haven’t gotten into a fight since I was twenty. I shake my head and splash some water over my face before flipping the light off. When I come back to the living room, Matt is cramming Doritos in his face. He holds the bag out to me and I take a handful.
“So, is that what happened? Isaac got a hold of you?”
I plop down on the couch. “Yeah.”
“So he knows?”
I turn to tell him to fuck off, and notice his glassy, bloodshot eyes. “When the hell did you start smoking again?”
He shrugs. “Just do it every once in awhile” Orange crumbs fall from his mouth to his shirt. “Now, back to your busted lip. I guess he knows you're fucking his wife?”
“No. Just eat your Doritos.” I hate hearing Peyton referred to as that: his wife.
“I mean,” Matt loudly smacks the chips, “what do you think is gonna happen? She's gonna leave him and then you're gonna be that guy, or she's gonna stay with him, and then you're gonna be that guy.”
He leans over to the ashtray and picks up the joint, placing it to his lips and sucking hard. His cheeks puff out like a chipmunk. His face grows red before he coughs out a huge cloud. Matt offers the joint to me and I shake my head.
“Do you even know why she's doing it?” he says between coughs.
“What? What the hell kind of question is that?”
“I mean, why is she doing it? Why is she cheating? There's a reason for everything.”
“Because she fucking loves me.”
“Does she love you, or does she think she loves you?”
I shake my head. “You're stoned. Stop trying to be all philosophical.”
“Seriously, Nic,” he leans up, reaching his hand over and placing it on my knee. “Is it because she loves you, or because she loves the idea of you. Is her life just such shit that anything seems better? Are you an escape?” He shrugs before leaning back into his chair. “You've not got shit to lose, she's got everything to lose—or everything she hates to lose...”
I pause, dragging my hands down my face because he makes fucking sense. What if Peyton reached out because it's the idea of me? And where is this going? What's the fucking point? You love someone, you want to spend your life with them, not spend your life trying to get away with some affair, not pretending they’re yours when they’re not.
“I don't know, Matt.”
“This,” he points at my face, “this is going to be your life if you don't figure shit out. You're better than this, Nic. I know you love her, hell, I don't doubt she loves you, and I hate to say it, but that makes it worse. Love makes you do stupid fucking things...”
> My phone vibrates and I pull it from my pocket.
Sorry. He was drunk.
And I automatically wonder if she's making excuses for him.
Where is this going? Why is she really doing this? When did I become that guy?
Bright yellows and reds creep across the sky as the sun sets behind the thick tree line. We don't get colors like that in New York City, or maybe we do and I just don't take the time to notice.
Bending over, I grab a handful of gravel and toss the pebbles against the aluminum slide. The rock pings before skidding down the slope. Peyton and me used to come here in high school. We'd sit on this bench and talk, make promises we thought we'd always keep, and I lost count of the times we'd had sex in my truck in this very spot.
I hear a car turn onto the drive, but I don't look behind me. The engine cuts, the door closes, and the breeze carries the soft scent of her perfume over.
“Hey,” she says, taking a seat next to me.
She grabs my jaw, turns my face to hers, and lays her soft lips over mine. I kiss her because I can, because, in this moment, we are all that exist. When I pull away, I settle back against the uneven wooden bench, placing my arm around her.
She brushes her finger over my swollen cheek. “I’m so sorry…”
I shrug. “It’s not your fault. I just can’t stand seeing you with him. Him calling you his.”
She nuzzles into my chest and draws in a deep breath. And here we sit, watching the sun sink below the trees.
She rubs her palm over my chest. “When are you coming back?”
I shrug. “Don't know.”
“I'm going to miss you. I hate this, Nic.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
And we sit in silence again. There are so many things swirling around my head. Things I want to know, need to know; things I don't want to ask.
“I love you,” she whispers.
And all I can hear is Matt asking if she loves me or the idea of me. “Why are you doing this, Peyton?” I say.
She slowly lifts her head from my shoulder, her blue eyes locking with mine. “What do you mean, 'why'?”
“Why, Peyton? Why are you here with me right now?”
A Love So Tragic Page 15