The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2)

by AC Netzel

  “Everything is fine. Ben’s just been really tired lately.”

  “Are the two of you fighting?”

  “Fighting would require spoken words. Lately even when I’m with him, I feel like I’m alone. He’s fading further and further away. I don’t know where his head is lately. He’s so damn sad. I tried to encourage him to see his therapist, to talk it out.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Yeah, let’s just say he was less than receptive to my hint. I think he was a little annoyed, to be honest. I’ve learned it’s easier to keep my mouth shut. We have dinner together, some forced small talk. Then I go home.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, my mother warned me things might be a little rocky.”

  “Did she use one of her water analogies?”

  I laugh and nod. “Yes.”

  “Ocean or bay?”

  “Ocean. She told me to ride the wave. So I’m riding it. And I know this is terrible to say and inappropriate… but I don’t want to ride a fucking wave. I want to ride my boyfriend. I miss him so much. And it’s not just sex. I miss cuddling with him and lying in bed together. I miss kisses that have a little more passion than a peck on the cheek. I want to make-out with him. Does that make me a terrible person?”

  “That makes you human,” she says. “You love your boyfriend. You want to show him. I get it.”

  “Well, you’re the only one getting it,” I whine, placing my hands over my face. “God, I’m awful. I’m going straight to hell.”

  “Are you complaining to him?”

  “No, I would never.”

  “Then you’re not awful. And you’re probably not going to hell. Don’t worry, Jules; I’m sure you’ll get a visit from Mr. Big and Pretty soon. Give him a little time to get his head screwed back on straight. The guy’s crazy about you. This won’t last forever.”

  “I hope not. We’ve never gone so long without… He usually can’t keep his hands off me. You don’t think it’s me, do you?”

  “Noooo,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. The way he undresses you with his eyes from the second he catches a glimpse of you, even I see you naked. Trust me, if there’s one thing I can spot a mile away, it’s lust. There’s a lot of lust when you two are in a room together.”

  I look down at the floor, my cheeks heating up. “Thanks, Al. And thanks for making time for me. I missed this too. Our morning chats. I love you, Allie.”

  “Love you too, my horny sexless friend.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight.

  I hug her back, laughing.

  She leans back, her arms still wrapped around me. “I know I’m new to this love crap… but I recognize the real deal when I see it. The guy loves you. And I don’t mean a casual, ‘Hey, I love ya.’ He really… truly… fairytale… loves you. And if a cynic like me can see it that clearly, it must be true.”

  I nod, taking in a shaky breath, my eyes brimming with tears.

  “Oh crap, now I’ve gone and made you cry. Stop before your makeup runs,” she says.

  “I can’t. That was the nicest cynical thing you’ve ever said to me.” I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand as quickly as I can before my mascara runs and I have to reapply my makeup.

  “All this hearts and flowers shit is softening me up,” she complains. “Don’t get used to it. It was a temporary moment of weakness. I’m going to kill Vince for doing this to me.”

  I snort out a laugh. “Okay, I won’t get used to it… but I’ll take it while it lasts.”

  “Seriously, Jules. It’ll work out. The guy’s just a little fucked up in the head right now. Soon his pretty pecker is going to perk back to life, and you’ll complain that he won’t let you up for air.”

  “Oh Allie, I hope so. I really hope so.”

  ~o0o~

  I stroll into my office building, keeping my iPod’s earbuds in my ears. I found keeping them in, even if I have nothing playing, is a good way to avoid idle chitchat. I squish into the crowded elevator, looking down to avoid eye contact with anyone. It’s too early in the morning for socializing.

  There’s a light tap on my shoulder. I cringe and a chill runs up my spine. I turn my head and right behind me is Jake, Wisteria Hill’s leech. Despite the fact that Jake knows I’m in a relationship, he still lays on tons of bad, cheesy pick-up lines. I can’t imagine any self-respecting girl falling for them. The guy should write a manual on how not to get a girl.

  I nod at Jake and half smile, hoping that will satisfy his good morning tap. He points to his ear, hinting for me to take out my earbuds. Glutton for punishment that I am, I take one out.

  “Hey Jake,” I say dully.

  “Can you press the alarm button? We may need the fire department,” he says smoothly.

  “Why?”

  “Cause you look smoking hot today.” He wiggles his brows.

  And so it begins.

  I nod politely and plaster on a fake smile. “Good one, Jake. Been working on your material?”

  “You are so sugary sweet; you give me diabetes.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. It didn’t fit into our conversation. You’ve got to work on your delivery.”

  “Still with that guy?” In Jake-speak “that guy” means Ben.

  “Yes. Still with ‘that guy’.”

  “I’m waiting for you to wise up and leave him.”

  “Maybe you want to move on. I’m sure there’s someone unique out there for you.”

  Someone waaaay out there… like Mars.

  “I hope that guy appreciates how lucky he is.”

  I better play the lottery; Jake said something sweet and sincere.

  “Thanks, Jake. That was a nice thing to say.”

  “I can be nice. Know what else would be nice?”

  I hold up my hand. “I’m going to stop you before you utter another word. Don’t ruin this special moment. Let’s end this on a high note.”

  He smiles and nods. “Gotcha.” He winks and gives me finger guns.

  The elevator stops at my floor. I dash out before he changes his mind.

  ~o0o~

  I take my seat and boot up my work computer, unwrapping the lemon poppy muffin I picked up at Starbucks on the way in. I take a deep breath and get right to reading chapter twenty-three of the zombie manuscript I’ve been married to.

  I hate sending editing notes back to this author. He’s a chatty guy; the phone is his preferred way of communication. He says conversation is “more organic” to his process. Weirdo. It wouldn’t be half as annoying if he didn’t go off on some random tangent every time we speak about how there are real zombies that rule the earth at night. The guy is a crackpot… A crackpot who happens to be an excellent storyteller. Since I’m still proving myself to Vivian, I have to suck it up and indulge him. I need good feedback.

  As soon as he opens the document I forward to him, I know a phone call is soon to follow.

  It’s nine-thirty, and I haven’t heard from Ben. My new norm. I grab my cell from off my desk and send him a quick text message.

  *Hi Handsome. How are you today?*

  Surprisingly, I get an immediate text back.

  *On my way to the lawyers office. Probate, will, etc.*

  I thought they had taken care of all that lawyer stuff before Kitty passed away. It makes sense that after she died, they’ll have to follow out the will.

  *You should have told me. I would have come with you.*

  *You’re working.*

  I sigh, exasperated.

  *I would have taken the day off.*

  *It’s ok. I can handle the lawyers.*

  *I know you can. I thought you’d like the moral support.*

  *Thanks. It’s fine. I got this.*

  Okay, I can take the hint. He doesn’t want me there.

  *Call me later?*

  I stare at my cell waiting for a response. After ten minutes of nothing, I place the phone back down on my desk. I straighten
my posture, making sure I’m sitting tall. At least I’ll look the complete opposite of how I feel right now.

  Fighting the urge to cry, I swallow the lump in my throat and resume editing the zombie manuscript.

  ~o0o~

  It’s two o’clock. I’m deep into a book about a golf widow when I’m startled by Vivian clearing her throat. I look up and see her standing in her doorway. Her expression is tense and serious.

  “Julia, can I see you in my office?”

  “Um, sure,” I say uneasily.

  She nods, walking back into her office and takes a seat at her desk. I follow behind and sit on one of the two leather chairs in front of her desk.

  Did I do something wrong? She looks troubled. Oh, maybe something happened to her husband Jim or her son, Justin. I hope not.

  She leans back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She only does the finger steeple thing when there’s bad news or she’s amused. Judging from her expression, there’s some bad shit about to hit the fan.

  I grab onto the arms of the chairs, bouncing my knee up and down, bracing myself for whatever she has to say.

  Clearing her throat, she fidgets in her chair.

  “Have you spoken with Ben today?” she asks.

  “No. I got a few texts earlier this morning,” I answer, confused by her question.

  “I’m not trying to pry into your personal life, but were these texts regarding his book?”

  Leaning back in my chair, I frown. “His book? No. It was about lawyers. He mentioned probate. I guess for his grandmother’s estate.”

  “I see.” She leans forward; pushing her glasses over her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I received an email from Ben about fifteen minutes ago. He stated his intention to dissolve his contract with Wisteria Hill. He plans to return his advance along with any expenses Wisteria Hill has incurred plus interest. He supplied the name of a lawyer and a contact number. I didn’t see your email address cc’d, and judging by your expression, I’m guessing this is news to you?”

  Staring at her incredulously, my mouth gapes. I must look like a carp in shock. I blink a few times, trying to compose myself.

  I look down at my lap then back up at Vivian, my eyes already watery and shake my head. “No, I had no idea,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.

  My God, what has he done?

  She nods thoughtfully. “I didn’t think so. You don’t have to answer this, it’s none of my business, but is he going through a difficult time right now?”

  I nod without saying a word.

  “I’m obligated to forward this email to our legal department,” she begins, gazing at me sympathetically. “But, as his editor, if you believe this was all an innocent misunderstanding… maybe a joke email.” She winks. “It just may land in my spam folder for a few days. Do you think this was a joke?”

  I know it wasn’t. Vivian knows it wasn’t.

  “Yes,” I answer quietly. “I do.”

  She steeples her fingers again in front of her lips and nods, lost in thought.

  “I can give you until Monday afternoon. I can only hold it until then. If things stand, I have to forward it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Okay. Well, look at the time. The work day certainly does fly by, doesn’t it?” She puts her glasses back on, peeking over the top.

  “It’s only a little after two,” I say, frowning.

  “I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend, Julia.”

  Oh, I see what she’s doing.

  I stand, fighting the urge to lunge across her desk and hug her for giving Ben a chance to undo this.

  “Thank you, Vivian. Thank you.”

  She frowns with a hint of a smile curling from the corner of her mouth. “Thank me for what? We’re talking about editing. It’s what we do.”

  “See you on Monday.” I turn to leave her office.

  “Julia?”

  I stop in my tracks and turn back to her.

  “Good luck,” she says sincerely.

  “Thanks,” I mouth, then head out the door.

  Chapter 17

  I’m not giving him any advanced notice. I haven’t called or texted Ben as I storm over to his apartment, grumbling to myself like a lunatic. He didn’t give me the courtesy of a heads-up when this bomb dropped on me, so I’m returning the favor.

  There are so many emotions swirling around in my head. I don’t know if I’m devastated, sad, upset or angry. I just don’t know anymore. The person who did this behind my back without even a hint of warning is a stranger—not the man I fell in love with.

  I paste on my fake smile and wave politely to the doorman at Ben’s building. He holds the door open for me and I walk in. On the way here, I was afraid Ben may have called down and had those rights taken away from me as well. Luckily, I was wrong.

  I get on the elevator and press the button to the twentieth floor. Leaning against the wall as the elevator ascends, I inhale deep breaths to calm my nerves. It’s not working. My hands and legs are trembling. I can’t stop them from shaking. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard I feel it in my throat; it may burst out of my body.

  The elevator reaches the twentieth floor, the doors slide open, and I step out. I march to Ben’s apartment and stare at the door. I don’t know what to expect on the other side. I don’t even know if he’s home. I don’t know a whole lot lately. I dread to find out what else he’s keeping from me.

  I ring the doorbell four times in rapid succession while tapping my foot anxiously and wait for the doorknob to turn. After a long minute and no one answering, I curl my hand into a fist and pound on the door.

  “Open the damn door, Ben. I’m not leaving,” I yell. I don’t care if the neighbors hear me.

  Nothing. I pound on the door harder until my hand stings.

  Finally, I hear the top bolt unlocking. The butterflies I usually get when I see that doorknob turn are in full force, but this time it’s not a good thing.

  The door swings open. Ben stands there, bloodshot eyes, barefoot, and unshaven in a pair of sweats and no shirt.

  “That didn’t take long,” he says sarcastically. He spins around and walks back into his apartment, leaving the door wide open for me to follow.

  “What the fuck, Ben?” I ask, trailing close behind him as he strolls into the kitchen.

  He leans against the counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at me with an unreadable expression. On the counter behind him is an open bottle of scotch and a clear glass tumbler. The residue of his drink is still present as a small amber liquid is lining the bottom of the glass.

  “A little early for that, don’t you think?” I ask, pointing my chin toward the counter.

  He turns his head and looks at the scotch, then looks back at me and shrugs a shoulder.

  “I was thirsty. You’re welcome to join me,” he says. He twists around and pours himself another drink.

  “No. Someone in this apartment needs to think with a clear mind. You’ve clearly lost yours.”

  “More for me,” he says. He downs the scotch in one quick gulp. When he lifts his glass, I notice dried blood dripped down the side of his hand.

  “What happened to your hand? There’s blood on it.”

  He turns his hand around and looks at the blood, unfazed. “A little mishap.”

  “Let me clean it for you.”

  “Just leave it.”

  This is worse than I thought. He’s in real trouble. He’s lost control.

  Spiraling.

  Spiraling.

  I’m too dizzy to figure out how to stop him from spinning.

  “Were you planning on telling me? Or was your intention all along to keep me in the dark with your news?”

  “I knew you’d get word,” he says flippantly. “Eventually.”

  “You knew I’d get…” I blow out an exasperated breath and shake my head. “Why did you go behind my back?”

  “Because I didn’t
want to listen to this. I didn’t want to hear you try to talk me out of it. Now you can’t. It’s done.” He’s speaking so calmly. He’s completely disconnected from the enormity of his actions. I don’t think he cares.

  “It can be undone. We have time.”

  “What does that mean?” He frowns.

  “We have some borrowed time to undo this.”

  “You had no right interfering.”

  My eyes widen. “I had no right? I’m your editor… you should have given me the courtesy of a heads-up instead of embarrassing me in front of my boss when she announced your intentions. You blindsided me. Do you know how foolish I felt being the last to know? Do you know how heartsick I was that you did this without even discussing it with me, like I didn’t matter? You hurt me. You had to know it would hurt me. But you don’t care.”

  I take a deep breath to calm myself then continue. “Besides all that, I’m your fucking girlfriend. I have every right to interfere. I love you, you asshole. I’m not about to watch you throw away your dreams because you’re going through a tough time. We can fix this. Ben, let me help.”

  “I don’t want help.” He’s so blasé. It’s like I’m talking to a total stranger.

  “No? Are you going to look for a new publisher?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not writing at all?”

  “I’m done with it.”

  My stomach sinks. This is breaking my heart. “Why? You’re so talented. Don’t do this. Please.”

  “This is my decision to make and I made it. Respect it.” His gaze is dark and cold. I feel an icy chill creeping throughout my body.

  He pours another drink, from the looks of it a double and walks out of the kitchen. I screw the cap back on the bottle of scotch and place it in a cabinet below the counter, hopeful that the old phrase out of sight, out of mind is true.

  I follow Ben into the living room and find him sitting on the couch. I walk over to him and sit on the opposite end and watch him twirl the amber liquid around and around in his glass.

  “How many of those have you had?” I ask.

  “Enough,” he says, knocking back the remainder of his drink.

  “Can we talk about your writing?”