Club Abbott: The Wedding (Club Abbott Series #3)

by Hazel Kelly

  Club Abbott

  Part 3

  The Wedding

  Hazel Kelly

  © 2016 Hazel Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, brands, organizations, places, and situations is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1: Carrie

  What the hell kind of business was I trying to run?

  Carrie Callihan’s interior design and escort service?

  Was I totally out of my mind?!

  I reached for the black currant tea on my nightstand and held the warm mug in my hands as I leaned back against my pillows.

  How was I supposed to sleep at a time like this? I might as well have been drinking expresso.

  Maybe my mind would slow down once I turned the light off.

  But that seemed like wishful thinking considering it wasn’t just my mind that was wired. My whole body felt charged.

  I couldn’t believe I slept with him.

  What’s more, I couldn’t believe how much I liked it.

  I mean, surely I shouldn’t have. We were on a sawdusty floor for Christ’s sake below a bunch of rafters that probably had nesting pigeons in them… not that I could hear anybody cooing apart from myself.

  And I swear when he grabbed my ankle and told me to spread my legs, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. But when I felt his hand move over me like he was sculpting me from soft clay, I felt so sexy I thought I might burst into flames.

  Of course, the last thing I expected was for him to put his face up to my ass and tongue me from behind. Jesus. I felt all squirmy just thinking about it again.

  And he knew what the hell he was doing back there because within three seconds, I wasn’t even worried about my compromising position.

  All I could think about was the heat in my clit and the fact that I’d never been so wet for anybody in my entire life.

  And he was so big, too big. I felt mildly humiliated that I couldn’t hide my shock at his size. He was right when he said I wasn’t ready for him. When I tried to sit on him that first time, I feared he was going to tear me open, feared there wasn’t enough moisture in my whole body to wet a dick that size.

  But once he warmed me up, I was able to take him in.

  I still couldn’t believe it.

  I mean, Simon wasn’t anywhere close to that big.

  In fact, as terrible as it is to admit it, I could think about other stuff when I was sleeping with him. Stuff like chores, my business, or how many calories I could eat the rest of the day without hating myself. But even when my mind wandered, I could keep going through the motions.

  Who knows? Maybe he sensed that. Maybe that’s why he strayed.

  But when Ben forced me open and filled me up, my mind went blank. All I could think about was his dick and the power behind it as he reached deeper inside me than I thought was possible. And while I’d never meditated a day in my life, I swear it was the closest to Nirvana I’d ever been.

  Like I had this glorious clarity and wanted for nothing.

  It was kind of ridiculous.

  Anyway, I could see how people got addicted to meditating.

  Something else people did on the floor.

  Perhaps there was a correlation there?

  I took a sip of my tea and let the subtle sweetness melt against my tongue.

  Simon and I only ever did it in beds- and the shower every now and then, though he never took his time.

  I’d read books where couples washed each other and it was all very tender. But he never got into it as much as I would’ve liked. Sure, he sudsed up my boobs like an incorrigible school boy, but he’d spend even more time scrubbing himself down.

  He was kind of a clean freak that way, compulsively washing his hands. Sometimes showering twice a day.

  But maybe that was less about his neurosis and more about the fact that he was a cheater.

  Because now that I think about it, dipping into strange vaginas doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a genuine germaphobe would do.

  So there’s one more thing that could’ve been an act.

  Along with his feelings for me, his enjoyment of my cooking, and his belief in my talent for interior design.

  Then again, perhaps I didn’t have to wonder about that last one since he was a terrible snob.

  If he thought I was deluded about my own skills, he wouldn’t have been with me. He was too critical. He was always the first to point out if people weren’t as wonderful as they thought they were, why the plot of the movie was unbelievable, or what was wrong with our food in restaurants.

  In the beginning, I was impressed by his confidence, by how willing he was to voice his opinion. But when I looked back, I could see that his willingness to be an arrogant prick was neither endearing nor impressive.

  It’s like when a woman goes for a bad boy because she thinks the fact that he’s nice to her is proof that she’s special, even if the guy’s no prize himself.

  And I think I did that with Simon a little. I think the fact that he was so judgmental about everything made me feel like I must’ve been pretty wonderful for him to tolerate me.

  But I could see now that merely being tolerated by someone with obnoxiously high standards wasn’t a very inspiring goal.

  I mean, I often wished he would loosen up and have a little more fun.

  Of course, that was before I knew he was having fun on the side.

  Still, I would probably be happier if I earned the affection of someone who thought lots of things were wonderful and that I was one of them. And if I was really lucky, it would be someone who didn’t feel compelled to complain about the plot of every freaking movie to the point of destroying its entertainment value and who didn’t find fault with the food every time we went to a restaurant.

  Someone like Ben.

  Not that we’d ever been to the movies. And sure, we’d only been to dinner once at one of the most flawless places in town, but he was so easygoing.

  And I liked that he wasn’t a whiner. Maybe he didn’t have much to whine about, but my limited life experience had taught me that someone’s inclination to whine had a lot more to do with their individual outlook than the scale of their personal troubles.

  Regardless, his carefree attitude made me want to be less of a whiner. And that could only be good for me, especially now when things weren’t going so hot.

  But I still didn’t know how to process how crazy tonight was.

  And the craziness wasn’t even over.

  Because while under some sexually charged trance, my judgement had lapsed so severely that I’d agreed to take on not only the job of designing his club, but the job of his fake girlfriend.

  Which was a role I certainly wasn’t familiar with.

  But that wasn’t the problem.

  The problem was that playing the role was a little too easy.

  And even worse, it was one I feared I would like a little too much.

  Chapter 2: Ben

  I couldn’t believe he beat me again.

  What’s more, I couldn’t believe he could be so smug every time.

  It was these moments when I actually thought I was better off not having him in my life as a kid. Cause he was obviously not the kind of dad who was interested in praising his kid’s efforts or letting him taste victory every now and then.

  On the contrary, I imagine he would’ve done nothing but shine a spotlight on my every weakness.
<
br />   Granted, while I hadn’t had many kind thoughts about my mother lately and was avoiding her calls like the plague so I wouldn’t say anything I’d regret, at least she was always proud of me.

  Whereas my dad was only proud when he had something to gloat over me, at least if our recent bouts on the tennis court were anything to go by.

  Too bad he couldn’t skate to save his life. If I got him on the ice, he’d know what a real whooping looked like, and he’d be so sore he’d be whining about it for days. Then it would be my turn to gloat.

  “I’ll meet you in there,” he said, draping a small white towel around his neck as he closed his locker.

  “Sure,” I said, hanging my racket in a locker down the row from his.

  I pulled my shirt off over my head and tossed it in the bottom. Then I whipped my shorts off- sparing a thought for when I ripped Carrie’s underwear the other night- before wrapping a towel around my waist.

  God the look on her face was priceless, almost as priceless as her expression when she saw my dick.

  On the way to the sauna, I walked by a guy who smelled like Christophe’s feet after a night out and hoped he wouldn’t join me and Will for our post workout sweat session.

  I didn’t enjoy relaxing in the company of naked strangers- not if they were men anyway. If anything, chilling half naked with Will was about as far as I could push it, and even that was never as relaxing as I imagined it would be.

  Fortunately, when I arrived, he was alone.

  I crawled to the top bench on the opposite side of the small room, inhaling the fragrant smell of burning coals and cedar as I settled in.

  “Good thing your girlfriend wasn’t here to see you get your ass handed to you today-”

  I rolled my eyes and leaned my head against the wall.

  “By someone nearly twice your age and twice as handsome.”

  “I’m convinced this is why Frank doesn’t play with you anymore.”

  “It’s not,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “It’s cause he’s under house arrest with the new baby. I told you that.”

  “Have you actually seen the new baby?”

  His face fell.

  “Interesting.”

  His expression lifted with his finger a moment later. “Ella has.”

  “Mmm. Then maybe it is real.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Kind of like your girlfriend, apparently, which I was pleasantly surprised to hear.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Did you have your doubts?”

  He shrugged. “No, I just wasn’t sure if we had the same definition of the word.” He leaned forward and ladled a scoop of water onto the coals beside him. It sizzled and turned to white steam as it rose and expanded in the air.

  I took a deep breath and waited for the new burst of heat to hit my face.

  “Sounds like she’s the genuine article, anyway.”

  I looked at the wooden slats running the length of the ceiling. “What do you mean by genuine article?”

  “That she’s a real woman who believes she’s exclusively dating you.”

  I nodded.

  “And is she?”

  I rolled my head towards where he was sitting on the short side of the room. “Is she what?”

  “The only woman you’re seeing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it serious?”

  I shrugged. “I like her for more than her silhouette if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He nodded. “I see.”

  I took a deep breath when the steam hit me and closed my eyes, relishing the way the heat soothed my tired muscles.

  “When do I get to meet her?” he asked.

  “I’m not trying to scare her off.”

  “Very funny,” he said. “I’d like to, though. Sounds like she and Ella really hit it off the other day.”

  “Yeah. Seemed like that to me, too.”

  “Ella said she might even ask her to help with some of the wedding planning.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Genuinely?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. So she’s already in my good books.”

  “That’s nice. I couldn’t tell if that was just Ella being sweet or if she really intended to follow up.”

  “Ella doesn’t bullshit people like that.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t get how she manages to be so sincere all the time. Sounds like hard work.”

  “I know. She’s way too good for me. But hey, maybe I was a good guy in a past life.”

  “Lord knows it’s not your karma from this one.”

  He rolled his eyes. “So when can I meet her? This Carrie woman?”

  “I’ve already asked her to be my date to the wedding.”

  “Wow.”

  I squinted at him out of the corner of my eye.

  “Coming to the wedding with a date. That is making a statement. What if someone even prettier catches your eye on the day?”

  “I’m not worried about that happening.”

  He stuck his lip out. “Okay then.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Ella said she’s a babe, but knowing how you are-”

  “What?” I cocked my head at him. “How am I, Will? Since you’ve gotten to know me so well this last year.”

  “Whoa, settle down. No need to get defensive.”

  I clenched my jaw and inhaled. While he hadn’t exactly accused me of anything, the suggestion that I might be unfaithful to someone I said I would be committed to pissed me off more than he knew.

  Sure, I wasn’t exactly used to keeping my eyes on one woman, but that was only because I wasn’t in the habit of promising people that I only had eyes for them, whereas this was different.

  My word was everything to me. In fact, the only thing I took more seriously than having a good time was my own fucking integrity, whether Will realized that or not.

  “Has your mother met her?”

  “Who?”

  “You’re still pissed, huh?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” I asked, rubbing the side of my neck. “If you found out the person whose responsibility it was to teach you the difference between right and wrong had done the thing that most disgusts you in the whole world?”

  “I didn’t know you felt that way about cheating-”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Doesn’t everyone feel that way about cheating apart from cheaters themselves?”

  “I suppose so.”

  I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. A few drops of sweat dripped half way down my chest and fell to the floor. “How long were you pissed after it happened?”

  “Years.”

  “At least, right?” I pulled the towel from the back of my neck and patted my face.

  “At least,” he said, dumping half as much water as before on the coals. “But I don’t want you to have those feelings. Not because they aren’t justified, but because it’s terrible to have those nasty thoughts running through your head.”

  “My ex cheated on me.”

  “What ex?”

  “A girl I dated in England. You never met her. I thought she was the one at the time. It really fucked me up.”

  “Shit, Ben. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “And I was just starting to feel the sting of that experience less acutely, ya know?” I shook my head and swung the small towel back around my neck. “This girl I’m seeing now, she’s helping me get over it, helping me feel like not all women are just as bad as men.”

  “That’s good.”

  Was that true? Did Carrie have anything to do with me thinking less about Nadia and more about the future? Or was I doing that anyway and meeting her at the same time was just a coincidence? “Not that I’ve told her what happened, but I know she’s not like that. Don’t get me wrong, she surprises me all the time. But I know one of the surprises will never be- surprise, I’m a lying piece of cheating shit who doesn’t deserve your affection after all.”

  “You know that for sure?”

  “Yeah, I do,
” I said. “And it feels fucking great.”

  “I bet.”

  “And then I find out my own mother’s moral compass is as broken as her marriage vows?”

  Will nodded.

  “Obviously, I don’t want to be this angry about it. I know it happened in the past. I just can’t help it. I feel duped to shit.”

  “Should I not have told you?”

  “No, I’m glad you did. It’s about time I knew the truth.”

  “I agree with you, Ben,” he said, pulling the towel from around his neck and patting his face. “But it’s also about time you sorted things out with her. Cause if she doesn’t stop filling up my inbox with psychotic messages about how it’s all my fault you won’t speak to her, I’m going to kill her. And then you’ll have a cheater for a mom and a murderer for a dad.”

  “Fuck.”

  “And a prison sentence, well. That’s the kind of thing that could really spoil my wedding day.”

  Chapter 3: Carrie

  I hadn’t been sleeping well since Simon’s betrayal, but Ben had given me a whole new reason to toss and turn all night.

  But as I considered different ideas for his club over the weekend, I knew my heart was inappropriately into it. I’d worked on enough projects to know the difference between taking pride in my work and trying to impress a guy, and I was decidedly mucking about on the wrong side of the solid white line.

  On the plus side, having him on my mind seemed to be helping me feel less sorry for myself, and that was a very welcome attitude adjustment indeed.

  Of course, the brilliant one night stand might also have had something to do with the new pep in my step.

  When Saturday night rolled around, I half expected to hear from him, but I guess he didn’t feel that maintaining our fake relationship required the occasional texting of smiley face emoticons.

  Which was a little disappointing since it would’ve been nice to have my phone buzz from male attention for a change.

  What’s more, I couldn’t help but wonder if our fake dating required exclusivity. I should’ve asked. Not that I could’ve with the way my brain and body went to mush after he had his way with me.