by A. J. Pine
She laid on her back and reached for an unopened condom left over from the other night, still sitting on her nightstand.
“Show me what you want, Wes,” she said, handing it to him.
He tore it open and handed it to her to roll on. She did.
He lowered himself to her, nudging his tip at her opening. Without any foreplay, it took several moments to ease his way inside. He was gentle, waiting for her body to ready itself, and when it did, he thrust inside her, and a tear leaked out the corner of her eye. Not because it hurt. But because it felt so right. Because she was so devastatingly in love with this man, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive if it ended.
This wasn’t a game anymore—no secret arrangement between two people who claimed they only wanted fun. This was her heart, and she had given it to him without the guarantee of the happy ending.
When she opened one of her favorite romance novels, she always knew the couple would find their way. But this wasn’t fiction. It was real life, and she realized there were no guarantees, and that was the scariest part to admit.
His movement was slow at first. Long glides in and out, each time sinking deeper. No, that wasn’t possible. They were as close as they could get when he entered her the first time. But she felt it deeper. With each thrust—each arch of her back and tilt of her pelvis, she loved him further, harder, without limit.
But she couldn’t say it again. She couldn’t say anything, too terrified of her own emotions. So she made love to this man and hoped he was doing the same. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she kissed him, raked her hands down his back as he filled her again and again.
“You can let go,” she whispered against his lips. “Let go, Wes,” she said again.
“Annie, I—”
“Yes, you can.” She cut him off, not letting him doubt her anymore. “You can with me.”
He nodded and kissed her hard, his movements speeding up. He was so close. She could feel it. And when he slipped a hand between them, swirling his thumb over her swollen center, he brought her there, too. Annie cried out in glorious release while Wes let out something akin to an angry, frustrated growl as he plunged deep inside her again and again and again before he finally collapsed against her, his head resting on her heaving chest.
She kissed the top of his head and ran her hand through his hair, along the temple where his scar was buried, to the strands at the nape of his neck that were drenched in sweat.
Annie had broken through. She knew she had. Tomorrow everything would be different.
Annie had expected Wes to have a revelation. If not that, maybe a little morning delight and then that revelation—the one where he realized he hadn’t reciprocated in the I love you department.
What she hadn’t expected was the imprint of Wes on the sheet next to her but not the man himself.
“Come on!” she yelled aloud. But exasperation quickly turned to a sinking feeling in her gut. She’d told him she loved him. And maybe he hadn’t said it back, but last night wasn’t just sex. It was her proving the words were real and him responding without any words at all.
Or was it all an act? After all, how many of Ethan’s lovers in Down This Road thought that they were going to be the one to change him? How many of them fell for him just to find an empty bed the next morning?
She’d broken through. Hadn’t she?
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed back the threat of a sob. This. This was why she played it safe. But she hadn’t seen it coming—hadn’t seen him coming. All this time she thought she’d be the one to knock Wes Hartley on his ass, but maybe he’d done just that to her first.
Her phone vibrated with an incoming call, and she filled with her last shreds of hope that it was Wes, that there was a perfectly logical reason why she’d professed her love to him last night and woken in an empty bed. Because things couldn’t be worse than what her mind was dreaming up.
Then she looked at her phone.
Things got worse.
“Mom. Hi,” she said. “Is everything okay?” The last person she wanted to talk to when she was having trouble keeping her emotions in check was her mother, but the woman didn’t randomly call on a Tuesday morning, which meant one thing only. Something was wrong.
“Hi, honey. I wanted to catch you before you went to work. Are you working today?” Annie opened her mouth to answer, but her mother kept going without pause for her to do so. “Anyway, I figured this would be best heard in the privacy of your own apartment, so enough beating around the bush. Your father and I are divorced.”
Annie shook her head, like she was trying to clear it to process what she’d just heard.
“What? When? Does Jeremy know?”
Her mom sighed. “We got divorced your senior year.”
Annie was pacing now. “My senior year of college? Mom, that was—that was six years ago!”
She listened for her mother’s response, but instead a long silence rolled out between them, and the world Annie thought had just flipped on its axis fell out of orbit completely.
“No,” Annie said, eyes wide in recognition. “Tell me you’re joking, Mom.” Still no response, so she filled in the blank. “High school? You and Dad have been divorced since freaking high school?”
“That’s it, sweetheart,” her mom finally said. “Embrace what you’re feeling. Let it all out.”
“Let what all out, Mom? What the hell am I supposed to feel about this news?”
Her parents had a happy marriage. They were what she aspired to—longevity. Proof that what came after The End in a book could last beyond the honeymoon phase. They were the bridge to reality, that it could be done. And now that bridge crumbled to dust in the revelation of a lie. She thought she’d found her chance at the same happiness with Wes.
And now he was gone.
“This is good, Annabeth. You’re angry. Feel it. Really get in there and roll around in that ire. You’ve spent too much time burying your nose in that unrealistic fiction. Take a bite out of reality and savor the bitter taste of freedom.”
Annie let out something between a groan and a scream. “Freedom? What about commitment? About love seeing you through the good and the bad?”
Her mom laughed. “My therapist says that’s a bunch of bullshit. She says we both settled but didn’t realize it because we’d gotten so used to the routine. But one night over your father’s cedar plank salmon and a bottle of wine, we both realized we needed to spread our wings, and we’ve never been happier.”
Spread her wings? Who the hell is this woman?
“Okay, okay,” her mom continued. “I owe you an explanation. Look, I was your principal. Your father was a teacher. We didn’t want there to be—” She paused. Dramatically. Because apparently her mother was all about drama now. “Talk,” she continued. “We just didn’t want to tell you until you and Jeremy were out of the house for good, and after grad school and your brother’s failed engagement, we feared he’d move back in, that we might not get rid of him until he was thirty. Then your father would have had to move back in and—let me just say it would have been odd. But look at our boy! Twenty-five and independent. We’re so proud.”
Annie’s hands clenched into fists. “Odd?” she cried. “Odd is faking a marriage and retroactively fucking up your kids!”
Her mother sighed. “Oh, sweetheart. We did what we thought was best for you and Jeremy at the time. Newsflash—adults don’t have all the answers. We’re really all imposters, messed-up teens in the bodies of those who should be wiser. But I’m still figuring it out, you know? Life and all that. You’re so young, honey. Maybe you can figure it out earlier than I did.”
Annie opened her mouth to say something, but no more words would come. She had to sit and digest the lie that had been her life since she was a teen.
“We’ve both been very happy, you know,” her mom said, more quietly now. “He’s been seeing a very nice young woman for a few years. We play Bunco together, actually. Her name is Th
eresa. And I have to tell you—I’ve been enjoying being single for the past decade. I have my fun. I go home. And no one’s nagging me to pay more attention to them. There’s this app called Tinder—”
“Ew, Mom. No. You may be used to your divorce, but I’m not. I need a minute here. Or a lifetime, really. Please don’t ever tell me about your singles escapades. Like, ever.”
When she realized she, herself, was still naked, Annie pulled on a pair of yoga pants and her hoodie that read don’t judge a book by its movie. She brushed her teeth and threw on her knit cap while her mother was going on about an anger retreat she was attending this weekend and that Annie should join her so they could howl at the moon together. Howl at the freaking moon? Oh, she was going to howl all right. Only with ten years of repressed emotion, she might go full-on werewolf if she wasn’t careful.
“I gotta go, Mom,” she said when she was ready to walk out the front door.
“Okay, sweetie. Good talk. I’ll call you after the retreat. But let me know if you change your mind. Oh, and I haven’t told your brother yet, so let’s try and keep this between us until I track him down, okay? Whenever I call it goes right to voicemail.”
Annie nodded but knew her mother couldn’t see.
“Bye, Mom.” She ended the call.
She swiped open her blog app and readied herself to type but realized she couldn’t fake reading a book about a woman’s parents who were divorced ten years without her knowing—or the man she’d fallen in love with making love to her and then disappearing. She had enough to worry about without wondering how her brother was going to react to her parents—or her and Wes for that matter—and she sure as hell hoped her brother wasn’t home. Because she was going to head over to his apartment, use her key, and march right in, demanding an explanation.
She just hoped it was one that wouldn’t break her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wes had already ordered when he got the text.
Max: What are your plans for lunch?
Max: Like I give a shit. You’re having lunch with me and Leslie Alexander from the studio. She’s making us an offer.
Max: Yes, I’m coming to Chicago. I’m on a fucking plane right now.
Max: I’ll meet you at that piece of shit bar you’re “working” at. 11:00.
Max: Don’t argue with me. I live on the Upper East Side. Everything, by comparison, is a piece of shit.
Max: Joanne loved the new pages, the hero getting ready to fuck things up again. Now give her the happy ending you wouldn’t in the first book, and we’re gold, Ponyboy. Print out what you have and bring it for Leslie to read. If she likes it, we may be looking at a two-title option.
Max: 11:00. Don’t be late.
Wes shook his head. Incoming texts from his agent were no different than a face-to-face conversation. Max only listened if he needed information from you.
“Double espresso and caramel apple cider for Wes!” the barista called.
He checked the time on his phone. Ten fifteen. Shit. He wasn’t going to make it back to Annie’s—and he barely had enough time to make it home, shower, and print his three-quarters finished manuscript.
He grabbed the drinks and held the cider in the air.
“Free cider!” he called out. “My plans just changed.”
A woman and her teenaged daughter took him up on the offer, and Wes hustled through the door and in the direction of his apartment. Of Jeremy’s apartment.
Shit. Everything was happening out of order. He was supposed to sneak out for the coffee and cider, bring it back, and tell Annie what he’d been too overwhelmed to say last night. Then they’d go to Jeremy together and tell him the truth—and everything would be fine because Wes wasn’t messing around with his best friend’s sister.
He was in love with her.
She was passed out asleep when he left, so chances were he had time to get home, get done what needed to get done, and then call her on the way to Kingston’s. But when he got to his apartment door, Max was there waiting—in what looked like one of his signature tailored Italian suits, wingtips, and his overgrown dark hair just barely holding its intentionally tousled style. The guy would have been a movie star himself if it wasn’t for the unfortunate case of his five foot, six inch frame.
At least, that’s what Max would tell you.
“Where the fuck have you been, Hartley?”
He snagged the Hot Latte cup from Wes’s hand, finished the espresso like it was a goddamned shot, and pushed through the door as soon as Wes turned the key in the lock.
“You look like shit, by the way.”
Wes laughed. “Yeah, well, for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like shit.”
Max tossed the empty coffee cup on the counter and crossed his arms. “You know, that makes a fuck load of sense,” he said. “You’re so fucking gorgeous when you’re cynical, makes sense that happiness would suck some of that away.” The man chuckled. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Wes toed open the door to his bedroom and undressed, wrapping himself in a towel.
“Make yourself useful,” he said to Max as he walked out of his room and into the doorframe of the bathroom. He nodded toward his laptop on the coffee table, hoping it still had some juice in it. “I have a wireless printer on the kitchen counter. Just wake it up and print the file that should still be sitting there. That’s the manuscript.”
Max scoffed. “Did you just give me an order?”
Wes was the one crossing his arms now. “I suppose I did. You do work for me, right? If I don’t make money, you don’t make money, and I think you want me to make money. So print the manuscript. Please.”
He closed the bathroom door behind him, turned on the shower, and laughed quietly before stepping in. He let the hot water wash away the years of grief and guilt and blame. Things were far from perfect between him and his father, but last night was a start in the right direction.
Everything was different. He was different. Last night kicked the shit out of him, and he might not have survived it if Annie wasn’t there. It’s like she knew exactly what he needed at every turn. Or maybe it was just that she knew him. Because as hard as he may have tried to keep that from happening, he couldn’t keep Annie Denning out.
She loved him, and it was time to start believing that he deserved someone like her in his life. It was time to start believing that it didn’t have to get as messy as it got for his parents. He just had to let Annie know he felt the same way—as soon as this meeting was over.
He laughed quietly to himself, imagining the satisfied grin of the woman who’d finally proven his outlook on life wrong.
“Three hundred pages in four weeks, huh? You find your muse here in the Windy City, Hartley?”
Wes had just emerged from his room in a clean pair of jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled past his elbows.
“I think I did,” he admitted. Though he wasn’t quite ready to tell Max he was staying.
“Once we sign this option deal,” Max said, “the tour stops are going to multiply. Joanne has fast-tracked this one to launch next summer. You get her those last fifty pages, and we’re set. Then get that apartment sublet because after we kick this baby off in June, you are on a two-month tour—possibly three. My inbox is exploding with booksellers who are already hearing buzz about the new book. They want you, Wes. They fucking want you. If we play our cards right, we can tack on a European tour after the U.S. one ends. We could have you booked through the new year.”
Wes cleared his throat. A couple weeks ago, this all seemed too perfect. Even now he was still happy about the buzz his publisher was generating—about the possibility of both books being optioned for film. But it wasn’t just about him anymore. Annie was part of the equation, too. How did he tell her he was in love with her, that he wanted to move back to Chicago because he was in love with her, but that in eight months he was going to leave? Possibly until the end of the year?
He checked h
is phone, which was almost dead. It was a quarter to eleven.
“We should go, yeah?” he asked his agent.
Max nodded, manuscript tucked away in a leather messenger bag. “But I’m not getting on your Harley,” he said. “Some men need to ride around on a replacement for their manhood. I got mine right here.”
He shifted his junk.
“Jesus, you’re an asshole,” Wes said.
Max winked. “You say that as if I’m not proud.”
“We’re walking,” Wes told him. “My bike’s in Edgewater, and you know I like to avoid the taxis when I can.”
He’d work on that, too. But for now, he’d start with his relationship with his dad. His relationship with four-wheel motor vehicles would be next. Baby steps.
Max narrowed his eyes at Wes.
“You’re walking, then. I’m heading out to grab a cab. Don’t be late.”
Max was out of the apartment before Wes could answer him. He woke up his phone again. Or at least he tried. It was dead. He threw on his jacket and shoved the charger in his pocket.
Just stay asleep, Annie. He wasn’t sure if she was in the store today or not, but the fact she was still asleep at ten was promising. He was exhausted from last night, emotionally and physically. All he had to do was make it through this meeting. Then he’d head back to Annie, wherever she was.
…
Annie hesitated, key in hand, as she stared at the lock to her brother’s apartment. She knew she wasn’t going to walk in on Wes and another woman. That wasn’t his style. He seemed to have exes all over the city—even though he’d been in New York since college, everyone who found their way into his first book was back here, lurking. But that didn’t mean he wanted any of them.
She loved him. Annie loved him, and she was finally ready for the one part of the happily ever after she’d always protected herself from—the risk. Because her heart beat so savagely in her chest that she thought it might explode. And Wes—he was simply scared. That was the only explanation that made sense. But she’d show him they could be scared together.