by K. L. Kreig
“Hi, Landyn.”
Landyn is my sister, Samantha’s, twenty-five-year-old daughter. Sixteen years separate my sister and me, so I’ve never been very close to Sam, who escaped our household before things spiraled downward with our parents. Fortunately, I am close to Landyn. She’s almost like the sister I feel like I never really had.
“Hey, Auntie Ad. What are you up to? Did I interrupt a hot date or something?”
“No. That starts in T-minus forty-five minutes.” I laugh.
“Ooohh. Is he hot?”
“Very.” Cooper’s hot all right…then why doesn’t he set my blood on fire like a certain tatted, Ducati-riding sex god who’s probably creeping around the apartment somewhere just waiting for me to emerge from my prison cell? I wish I knew the answer so I could fix it.
“I’m so jealous. I haven’t had time to date in months.”
“Guys are more trouble than they’re worth. Trust me.”
“Maybe. But a girl needs to get laid every once in a while to keep the dust bunnies cleared.”
“Landyn,” I cry. “For God sakes, I don’t need to hear you talk like that.” And I don’t want you to follow in your mother’s footsteps. Please, let this cycle break with Sam.
“Why? You do know I’m not a virgin, right, Ad?”
“How could I forget the detailed accounts of all your escapades?” I laugh. Landyn tends to be an over-sharer and there are some things about your sweet niece you just want to ignore. “Just…be picky, okay?”
“I always am, Ad. You’re a good role model,” she answers quietly. Not hardly, however, I don’t correct her. I’ve fallen in love with the wrong men my entire life. I could already envision myself doing it yet again with my new roomie. I guess I’m not a quick learner.
“How’s your mom?” I ask, changing the subject. I already know the answer. If I could, I would have raised Landyn myself, but being only three years older than her, that wasn’t really an option. Much like me, she’s an innocent caught in the crosshairs of the unfairness of life.
My mom got pregnant with Sam when she was seventeen. She married Sam’s father and the relationship fizzled within two years. Good ol’ Mary tried her luck twice more before finally meeting my father. By that time, Sam was already ten and because her father was absent, Bob adopted her, treating her just like she was one of his own.
Three years later Eric was born. Two more, and I came along. And nine years after that, they divorced. The reason? Like all others before him, Bob Monroe was imperfect. My dad was victim number four, but he was far from the last. My mother can’t be without a man any more than she can go without her daily bottle of five-dollar store-brand white zinfandel.
My feelings about our estranged mother have always been a bone of contention between my sister and me. Unfortunately, Sam has followed too closely in my mother’s footsteps, so her judgment’s a tad clouded. Sam’s managed to maintain a good relationship with her, whereas I’m lucky if I talk to her once a year and that’s only because she calls me religiously on my birthday.
I may be a horrible daughter, but the fact of the matter is…she was no PTA, cookie-baking mother of the year either. I’m not even sure she knows how to bake a cookie or work the oven for that matter.
“You know…same old, same old,” her soft voice replies. It’s difficult sometimes to emotionally recover from a parent who’s fallen so far from the pedestal you put them on when you were a kid. Now I understand there’s nowhere to go but down once you’ve unfairly elevated them, or anyone, to that lofty platform. I try not to do that anymore. I wish Landyn and I didn’t share that camaraderie. Unfortunately, we do.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“Yeah, well…you know how it is.”
Boy, do I ever.
“How’s work going?” I ask, changing the subject to lighten the mood. I don’t need to be a Debbie Downer when Cooper gets here.
“Good. That’s actually the reason I was calling.”
“Oh? What’s up?”
Landyn finished nursing school last year, specializing in geriatrics of all things. I’m proud of her. She has the smarts to know this is an ever-expanding and growing field and she’ll have job security until she wants to retire.
“I was thinking about coming up to see you sometime in the next few weeks.”
“That would be awesome, Landyn.”
Landyn still lives in Marion, Indiana with her mother and her mother’s newest boy toy, Fabron or Fabian or some stupid thing like that. I think my sister’s moved all over the country following men around. After my mother was diagnosed with severe cirrhosis of the liver a couple of years ago, she moved closer to help take care of her. Now her pool of men has dwindled considerably, but apparently, that hasn’t slowed her down.
“Yeah. I’m looking into a couple of graduate programs and I’d like to check out the campuses and meet some of the faculty before I decide to officially apply. And I have a couple of interviews I’m hoping to line up. Can’t very well afford school there if I don’t have a job.”
I don’t really think that’s true. I would never ask Sam, but I know Landyn has a fairly substantial trust from her birth father, whose identity Sam refuses to reveal. I don’t know the whole story and neither does Landyn. Landyn and I have talked about her trying to find her biological father on her own, but she said she doesn’t want to find a man who never wanted her. Whatever her decision is, I will always support her.
“Wow. That’s great, Landyn. That would be amazing to have you live here.” And get away from your whore of a mother.
“You still have that extra bedroom I can crash in for a few days, right?”
Uhhhhh….Shit.
“Ah…not really. But we’ll work something out.” Damn that Luke Colloway for moving in here without even consulting me.
“Really? You have a new roommate? Since when?”
I take a big breath and sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“Sounds like a cocktail’s needed.” She laughs.
“Or five.”
“Is he your date tonight?”
“God, no! Why do you think it’s a guy anyway?”
“Addy, please. The longing in your voice wasn’t a dead giveaway or anything. Is he hot?”
Sinfully.
Suddenly a little bloom of envy tries to sprout. Landyn is drop-dead gorgeous, just like her mother. Long lean legs, natural blonde hair, big brown eyes with lashes that mold them perfectly. Model figure.
Men fall at her feet. Luke will fall at her feet. And why wouldn’t he? He’s got eyes and a dick and I’m trying my hardest to push him away. But once he gets a look at Landyn, any thoughts he had of me will just evaporate like mist being hit by the sun’s hot rays. That thought should make me happy, yet it only stirs the dirt in my gut so those seeds root and grow.
“I’ll take your silence as he’s hands-off.”
“I didn’t say that,” I argue weakly.
“You didn’t have to, Ad. God, I can’t wait to hear all about what man drama you have gotten yourself into! Listen, I’ll let you go so you can finish getting ready for your hot date while you’re thinking about your hot new roommate. I’ll call you soon about the deets, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, ignoring her “man drama” reference. It hits way too close to home. As I disconnect, I’m irritated with myself for feeling this jealous over something that hasn’t even happened or that I shouldn’t even care about. Luke can date or fuck whomever he wants. It’s none of my business.
Oh God. But I don’t want him to do it here. Imagining it and hearing it are two totally different things. The thought of him bringing a woman back here and having to listen to them as he lavishes his “untold pleasures” and “blissful pain” all over her body makes me physically nauseous.
Christ. This man has infected me but good.
Pushing the sickening thoughts of Luke and a faceless woman to the back of my head before I vomit, I finish my makeup and straighten
my long hair. Half an hour later, I take one last look in the mirror, satisfied.
Tonight I’ve worn a simple curve-hugging, sleeveless little black dress that hits me just above the knees. The neckline plunges, showing a little cleavage, although nothing slutty. The most risqué part of the dress is the sheer back. I’ve paired it with some strappy nude three-inch open-toed heels. With a swipe of dark red lipstick, I’m good to go.
Not too shabby, Addy.
Finishing off the rest of my wine, I open my bedroom door, praying like hell Luke isn’t here. Somehow, I just know there will be a testosterone brawl in my living room if he is. I wouldn’t be surprised if Luke tried to throw down, staking some fictional claim on me.
When I walk into the main area, I already know he’s gone. Even though I was praying he wasn’t here, I suppress the stab of disappointment that he won’t devour me with his hungry eyes, making my nipples pucker and my flesh prickle under his intense perusal. I don’t think about the last hour I spent dressing and primping for one man and one man only.
And it’s not the man it should have been.
I’m just pulling my turquoise pashmina from the coat closet when the doorbell rings. Steeling myself, I walk the short distance and open the door after verifying it’s Cooper through the peephole.
“Hi.” I smile. I’m surprised to find myself actually happy to see him. He looks great in his black dress pants and tan crewneck sweater.
He’s silent, his eyes skating slowly over me. Cooper Jensen is handsome, successful, fit, and masculine. He’s every woman’s man. But all I feel, as his eyes rake my body, is a slight tingle. The smallest of warming that one may feel when they stand over a hot stove. I don’t feel the scorching inferno that burns me from the inside whenever Luke sets his eyes on me.
When his gaze finally lands on mine, his emeralds sparkle with heat and appreciation and I can’t help but smile.
“Wow, Ms. Monroe. You look…wow. Breathtaking.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Jensen.”
“How about we make a deal?” he rasps, moving into my personal space.
“Okay,” I answer hesitantly, tipping my head to keep hold of his eyes.
Bringing a hand up, he runs a strand of my hair through his fingers, watching it slip all the way through before lifting his eyes to mine again. “Let’s drop the formalities. I want to hear my first name roll off your lips.”
Wow, the heat just turned up a notch. “Cooper…”
“Yes. Just like that,” he whispers seductively.
“I thought you were going to be a gentleman?” I manage to breathe when my lungs fill again.
A smirk tilts one corner of his mouth. My God, he really is sexy. “You make that hard, Addy.” He takes a slight step back, before adding, “You ready?”
I nod rapidly, breathing deep. “Let me grab my purse.”
When I return to the door, with my wrap and clutch, he takes my hand in his. Closing the door behind us, he leads us down the stairs.
On the three-flight descent to Cooper’s car, I decide to leave all thoughts and dreams and fantasies about Luke at the door and enjoy my first date with Cooper Jensen. We may not have the sparks that Luke and I do; maybe it’s more of a slow burn instead of a raging fire.
Slow is better, right? Right.
Riiiight.
Chapter 12
I was just pulling into the parking lot when I saw them.
I saw his hand on the small of her back.
I saw the way that dress hugged her curves like a walking wet dream.
I saw the way he looked at her like he knew he was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive to have such an incredibly special woman on his arm.
I saw her genuine smile as he opened the car door for her.
I saw him already falling.
Then I saw his murder in vivid detail play on a reel through my mind.
I have spent an entire week, since dinner at Gray’s last Friday, avoiding her. Trying to convince myself to leave her alone. Reminding myself that I’m not nearly good enough for her. Remembering the blood on my hands and the fact I don’t want to stain her with it.
But seeing her with Cooper Jensen has me seeing red. Blood red. His blood.
I may not be good enough for her, but the fact of the matter is…no one is. I’m good at walking away and I’m the motherfucking master at faking shit, yet after seeing her leave on a date with another man, I’m done. I’m not walking away from her, and I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch someone else snatch what’s mine out from under my nose.
Fuck that shit.
He’s not taking my color.
She is mine. And I don’t share.
I’ve wasted too much time pining away like a lovesick fool for this woman, pretending that I don’t want her. I want nothing but her. I’m done pussyfooting around. It’s time to up my game to a full-court press.
A better man would let her go, let her be with someone like Cooper Jensen. Hell, a better man would push her toward someone like him, which apparently I’ve unconsciously been doing.
But I’m not a better man.
And I’ve finally just accepted that the only way I can possibly be one is with her by my side.
Chapter 13
“So when was your last serious relationship?” Cooper asks, staring at me intently across the dimly lit table.
He’s taken me to a very romantic Spanish restaurant on the south loop of downtown Chicago. Dim lights dangle from the ceiling at varying levels, and the large arched windows give the open space a unique ambience. He managed to finagle us a fairly private booth in a less rowdy part of the restaurant.
Cooper ordered the chef’s luxury tasting menu for two, so sitting in front of us is a variety of cheeses, meats, olives, garlic shrimp, bacon-wrapped dates, some type of croquet, scallops, chorizo, and braised rabbit flatbread. It’s more than I could even comprehend eating, although I’ve enjoyed tasting almost everything. Except the rabbit. I just can’t force myself to take a bite of Peter Cottontail.
Sipping my bourbon, agave nectar, and blackberry cocktail, which contains a hint of mint and black pepper and is like sex in a glass, I think about how I’ll answer, deciding on the truth.
“Eight months ago.” Eight long, dry lonely months. Which is probably why I’m panting like a dog in heat every time I look at my sexy new roommate. I need to get laid. Maybe then I could forget about the fact I want to mount Luke and ride him into the sunset.
“What about you?” I ask, trying to get my mind back to the man in front of me. The man I should want instead of the insanely frustrating one my mind keeps drifting to.
“Two years.”
“Two years? Wow. By choice?” Two years is an awfully long time for a man like Cooper Jensen to remain single.
“Until recently, yes. Did your last relationship end badly?”
How about every relationship I’ve had. “Don’t they all?”
He chuckles, taking a sip of his own inventive concoction, which includes tequila, making me immediately think of last week and Luke’s insistence that I not drink it. I admit I may not have ordered it tonight with him in mind.
Sucker. That’s me.
“Most, I suppose.”
“Yours?”
His expressive eyes answer before he verbally does. “Yes. Very badly.”
“I’m sorry.” I can relate all too well.
“Me too,” he replies, the pain of that last relationship still evident. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I look down and twirl the ice in my glass, the blackberry bits hypnotizing me. It’s been five months since I found out Aiden was engaged and I should be over the sting by now, but I’m not. Our lives always look clearer in the rearview mirror. We pick up the signs we missed while staring blissfully ahead into the sunrise of our future, which only served to blind us from reality. I missed the signs Aiden gave me, some of them blatant. I missed the signs Alison tried carelessly to hide. Love didn’
t make me blind; it made me reckless and stupid.
I won’t make that mistake again.
“Well, let’s see…he told me he didn’t love me and started dating his old girlfriend three days after we broke up. He’s marrying her in two months.”
“Holy shit. That is bad.”
“Yeah. Good times.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Too long,” I sigh. Long enough to know that he didn’t love me the way I loved him, but I tried to overlook it. He never did the little things for me, like open my car door or pull out my chair or leave me goofy notes in the morning. He never helped me on with my coat or called me during the day just to hear my voice. I tried to brush it off, telling myself he just wasn’t romantic. Turns out that wasn’t it at all, as I ever so painfully found out.
“He proposed to his fiancée when they were on a getaway to Aruba. He had the hotel concierge draw a huge heart in the sand on the beach and fill it full of red and yellow and orange flower petals. The whole thing was surrounded by tiki torches. Then he took her on a long, romantic walk on the beach that night, ending there, kneeling down, and asking her to marry him. It was all graciously filmed by said concierge so it could be shared on every social media site possible.”
“Ouch. God, Addy, I’m sorry.”
I smile sadly, finally lifting my eyes. At least, they aren’t filled with tears. “I’m not. I was never first with Aiden.”
“You deserve to be first,” he declares passionately, taking hold of my hand across the table.
“Yes, I do,” I whisper softly. Our eyes lock and the heat that was just a hot summer’s day earlier has turned into a sizzling crackle. I think if I let myself, I could eventually fall in love with the man sitting in front of me.
On paper, he has every quality I’m looking for. Outside of his insanely incredible physical characteristics, I can already tell he’ll be an attentive lover, a devoted husband, a doting father. He seems mentally stable, has ambition, and owns a successful business. He’s not playing the field anymore; he’s looking for a mate.