by Alexis James
Laughing at his odd description of my boyfriend, I reply, “Well, he did send me roses, so he gets a few brownie points.”
Darkness threads over his expression, but he’s quick to force a smile. “Good for him.”
“How about you, hot stuff? You have any big plans for tonight?”
A leery grin lights his face as he moves closer, leaning down toward me and whispering, “Sweet cheeks, I promise you any plans I make will be big.”
I roll my eyes as his cheeky innuendo. “That’s what all men say.”
He’s saved from retaliating when Cruz’s office door opens and Mia rushes out, all flush-faced and apologetic. “Sorry, sorry. I got caught up in work.”
“Or Cruz got caught up in you,” Marco murmurs, stepping quickly aside when she lashes out and tries to smack him. Like a bad best friend, I start to howl with laughter, stopping only when she sends me a dirty look.
Cruz strolls out, looming tall and large over all of us, his hair a wayward mess that only her fingers could have created. Must be nice, I think as I gather up my bag and get to my feet, to work with the same person who you’re hot over. Makes the work day a whole lot nicer. A whole lot more satisfying too.
Big brother darts his blue-green gaze to his almost look alike younger sibling, snapping, “Did you need something?”
Marco grins. “Not really. Just thought I’d stop by and say hi to Amita.”
“Get to work.”
Marco rolls his eyes, clearly unmoved by his older brother’s warning, and turns his attention back to me. “Good seeing you, sweet cheeks.”
“You too, hot stuff.”
Cruz and Mia watch our exchange with curious eyes, but thankfully Mia remains silent until we’re downstairs and walking toward our favorite deli. “What was that all about?”
“All what?” My mouth is watering for a six inch turkey sub and most definitely not for the younger Moran brother sitting upstairs in his office.
“The flirting and the nicknames.” Her brow arches as we step into the deli. “What’s going on with you guys?”
“Nothing is going on. I’m with Victor. You know that.” We place our orders and settle at a small table in the back, large glasses of diet soda in front of each of us. “So, what do you and Cruz have planned for tonight?”
Mia’s eyes light with happiness. “We’re staying in.”
I waggle my eyes at her. “I bet you are.”
She snickers, takes a sip from her straw, then turns those knowing eyes in my direction. “All right, sister, what’s going on with you?”
I sigh heavily and give her a quick synopsis of the roses, the stupid dumb card, and all things Victor. She’s a perfect listener, like usual, nodding when it’s appropriate and occasionally reaching out to squeeze my hand. She waits until our lunch is served to speak, and when she does I practically choke on my large bite.
“Do you have a thing for Marco?”
I somehow manage to finish chewing, swallow thickly, and slurp down some soda. “What? No. Of course not.” I wave my hand dismissively and grasp my sandwich in both hands. “He’s cute and he’s fun to flirt with, but I’m with Victor.”
My comment earns a disapproving and doubtful look. “Keep telling yourself that, my friend.”
“I don’t cheat, Mia.”
She nods. “I’m not saying you do. I’m merely saying that I think you like Marco, that’s all.”
“Liking him would be considered cheating.” The words sound stale coming from my mouth and suddenly my voracious appetite is nonexistent. “Victor and I … well, we’re just going through a tough time. Things will get better.”
She sends me a doubtful look. “Why? Because you feel you have to make it work?”
Dropping my sandwich to the table, I give my hands a quick wipe and shrug. “I don’t know. But we’ve invested a lot of time in one another. I can’t just quit because I’m not having afternoon quickies in the office like you are.”
Her face blushes bright red, and she quickly averts her eyes. “We got caught up.”
I snicker. “I would too if I worked for such a hot specimen.” Leaning forward, I whisper, “Come on. Give me something. Let me live vicariously through you.” I love Mia to the ends of the earth, but her ability to remain tight lipped about her sex life drives me to distraction. I’m a firm believer in share and share alike.
She laughs and fiddles with her straw. “He’s very … satisfying.”
Rolling my eyes, I throw my hands in the air. “I give up. I guess I’ll just have to imagine how hot it is with you two.”
“Enough about me. I want to talk about you and what you guys have planned for tonight.”
My stomach rolls and I sit back in the chair, tossing my napkin on the table. “Tonight will consist of takeout, maybe a movie that we’ve seen a few hundred times, and a quickie that will leave him satisfied.” The unsaid words about my own satisfaction hang in the air.
Mia’s sad eyes meet mine. “I’m so sorry, my friend.” She steeples her hands in front of her and cocks her head. “I hate to say this, but maybe you need to reconsider what you want for your future. Maybe it’s time to let this thing with Vic die a nice, easy death.”
Tears pinch my eyes, and I quickly blink them away. A deli is not the place for me to lose my shit, and frankly, I lost my shit over Victor years ago. Since then I’ve been existing, trying to make the best out of an impossible situation, reminding myself what I found endearing about him in the first place. What I found special about us as a couple at all.
Mia reaches for my hand again. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m honestly tired of seeing you so unhappy. If being alone will bring you happiness, you need to take that step.” She squeezes me tightly. “Cruz and I will do whatever we can to help.”
Her words weigh heavily on me for the remainder of the day and during the drive to my apartment that evening. I breathe a grateful sigh when I realize that Victor’s not home yet, leaving me a few minutes reprieve to gather myself. Kicking my shoes off, just inside the door and in the walkway (thank you very much), I pad directly to the kitchen and extract a beer. Twisting the top open, I guzzle the icy beverage, dropping it with a thud onto the Formica.
Glancing around the small space, I’m instantly peeved. His breakfast dishes are piled alongside his ones from the day before, like he expects me to take care of them. Sadly, more often than not, I do, simply because I can’t stand looking at the mess. You’d never know by the state of our bedroom, or the rest of the place for that matter, but I really do despise messiness. I have to ask myself if my lack of effort to clean up the space is reflective of my lack of effort in the relationship in general.
I’m a fairly neat person, but in the time we have lived together, I’ve let most housekeeping duties slide. For a time he picked up the slack and there was even a brief moment where we’d do chores together, putting on music and dancing around while we dusted and vacuumed. Those days are long gone and the only one doing chores of any kind now is me.
My mom would have hated seeing how I live. Even though we never had more than a few pennies to rub together, and her multitude of boyfriends constantly took up space in our one-bedroom apartment, she made certain that the space was spotless—the whole cleanliness is next to godliness thing. Not that my mom was a godly woman, not at all like Mrs. Moran, who lives her life by her Catholic faith. My mom was a fair, decent woman who would give what little she had to someone in need. More importantly, she loved me in such a complete, full way that the feeling seemed almost tangible, as if I could quite literally grasp the affection she felt for me in my hands.
My eyes tear once again, a record for me today since I’m not a big crier, and I do my best to blink them away and swallow the pain as I hear the key turn in the lock.
Victor steps into the apartment, quickly glancing around until his hazel eyes find mine. “Hey, Mita. You’re home early.”
I shrug and take another gulp of
beer before responding, “Slow day.” I try really, really hard, but I still flinch when he reaches for me, and again when he drops a brief kiss on my lips before moving past me to the fridge.
“What’s for dinner?”
Anger and resentment bubble up, long restrained by my constant need to remind myself of how much we’ve invested in one another. “No idea.”
He twists open a beer, tosses the cap aside casually, and it bounces off the counter and lands on the floor at my feet. “You hungry? We can order pizza?”
Wow, how underwhelming is this? Crappy takeout pizza and bottle caps scattered on the kitchen floor. How fucking awesome is my life? “I’m not hungry.” Turning, I quickly head down the hall to the bedroom, stepping over the piles until I reach the closet, marveling that the hamper is overflowing yet again. Apparently I’m the laundry queen as well as the housecleaning queen. Lucky me.
I’m just stepping into comfy yoga pants and a loose white tee when he comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and immediately cups my breasts in his hands. “Should have just left the clothes off.” His lips land on my neck and he groans, “I don’t know about you, but I say we fuck before dinner.”
Jesus, really? “Can’t. On my period.” A total lie, but he’s so damn oblivious he’d never know. I can only be grateful that Victor has always been completely repulsed by even the idea of menstruation. It is a guaranteed way to get a few nights of peace.
His fingers work my nipples and his breath drifts across my face, hinting that he ate garlic for lunch. “Can you get me off then? It’s been a few days and I’m horny as fuck.”
Briefly, I consider his request, but then I hear Mia’s voice in my head, reminding me all too clearly that being alone has got to be better than this. Am I ready to go there? Ready to sever all ties with this man who I’ve called mine since we were in college together?
The truth is that this used to work for me, long ago when I found his frank, unsexy talk a turn-on. We’d each state our demands, shuck our clothes, and fuck like the world was going to end. Funny, but what I remember most about that time is that I barely knew him then, not at all to the extent that I know him now—all the predictable behavior and silent expectations.
Tears fill my eyes and instantly roll down my face, and I take a step away and turn toward the bathroom so he won’t see me fall apart. “I’m not feeling well. Rain check.” Moving quickly, I shut and lock the bathroom door. Turning the shower on to mask any noise, I slump down on the edge of the tub and exhale a shaky sigh.
It would be all too easy to end this thing tonight, pack a bag, and walk out and never have any contact with him again. But even as miserable as I am, I know I owe him more than that. I owe him an explanation, the chance to make promises, to insure that he’ll try harder. I owe him that and so much more because I’ve chosen this life with him. I’ve chosen to stay when it’s less than perfect. I’ve sat back and accepted less than we both deserve, been silent in the process when I should have been putting a voice to my unhappiness.
A sob gurgles up and I muffle it in a towel, miserably acknowledging that I’ve allowed this to happen. I could have said something months ago, years ago, but I’ve chosen to remain silent and hope that things would change on their own. It’s not his fault he’s settled and doesn’t try anymore, because honestly neither do I.
I’m as much of a disappointment to myself as he has been to me—more so actually. I mean, after all, he is just a guy and he’s probably been thinking I’m just fat and happy and loving this life we’re living. He’s not a mind reminder and even my casual, subtle clues haven’t been enough to make him question the direction we’re going.
I think about Mia and the full-body happiness she feels each and every day because of the man who loves her. That’s what real love is, the kind you feel on a physical level, the kind that envelops you completely in its warm embrace. The reality is that I’ve never had that with Victor, and the longer I allow things to go on as they are, the chances of it developing recede substantially.
We’ve been biding our time together and as my tears subside, I know on a deep, intense level that the clock has stopped ticking. Stepping up to the sink, I quickly splash water on my face, take a few deep breaths, and reach for the door. Mind made up, firmly resolute.
Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.
You know how there’s all this buzz about women’s intuition? Well, I’m here to confirm that we guys have a healthy dose of that as well. We may be a little slower at the outset, but we’re a curious bunch who know when something just stinks.
And right now, something fucking reeks.
It started a few weeks ago, when I first noticed a small change in my good friend Mia. Every time I stepped up to her desk, she was whispering hotly into her phone—not the work one, but her cell. She always managed to turn a bright (though fake) smile my way and every time I inquired if she was okay, she immediately changed the subject.
Then last week at our Sunday family dinner, I noticed the same thing, only this time Cruz was as distracted as she was, and they left before dessert touting a work emergency.
I’m not exactly your garden-variety idiot and even though I don’t know all the ins and outs of the business, if there was an emergency, I’d know about it. But I kept my mouth shut and as soon as I could make a getaway without being too obvious, I headed straight to the office. Let’s say I wasn’t exactly surprised to find it dark and empty.
I suppose it’s possible that not everything is rosy in Mia and Cruz land. They sure as hell appear to be thick as thieves, whispering together about who knows what and hiding behind the closed office door for hours on end. Clearly, whatever is happening is personal, so the question remains … what’s going on and why don’t I know about it?
My worry—and yes, my nosiness—takes me to their house the following Saturday afternoon and as I pull up to the driveway, I see not only Mia’s green Mini but Amita’s red, beat-up Dart as well. Any other time I’d be elated to see her, but since my concern far supersedes my ability to flirt, I can only hope that I’ll find a moment alone to pull my brother aside and find out what the hell is going on.
Cruz opens the door after the third bell ring, greeting me like usual and standing back to allow me entrance. Like the time before, the two girls are perched outside on the deck, only this time there’s no animated conversation, just silence as they sit there together staring at the water.
“What the fuck is going on?”
He shrugs, trying to make things appear light. “Nothing. Let it go.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that with you and Mia keeping secrets and lying about business emergencies?” I lower my voice, not that I think the girls can hear, but I do it anyway. “Are you and Mia okay?”
His smile reaches his eyes, which does a lot to ease the worry that’s been weighing on me. “We are fine. I promise you that.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
We talk about work while he opens two beers, though my eyes drift constantly toward the deck outside. I can’t see either woman’s face, but it’s clear by the silence between them that something is very, very wrong. “Is Amita all right?”
A shadow falls across his face. “She’s fine.”
I know he’s lying as clearly as I know they are all hiding something from me. It’s the why that worries me. “She’s not fine. They are not fine.” I gesture to the two stoic girls on the deck. “Are they fighting? Is someone sick?”
“Let it go.”
Anger and worry take over, and I snap, “Fuck letting it go.” Moving quickly across the room, I yank open the slider and step out onto the deck. Mia’s turns to face me, a pained smile across her face as I step around in front of them and get my first look at the woman who I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
Her face is white, eyes lifeless as she glances up at me with the most vacant expression I’ve ever seen cross a woman’s face. Clearly, I’m not the type of guy to hang around
when things get emotional, but this is a different monster all around. This time, I’m crazed with worry about her.
Dropping to my haunches in front of her, I reach out and take her hand, murmuring, “Hi, sweet cheeks. How’re you doing?”
Her eyes flood with tears and she shrugs. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, babe, sure you are.” Reaching forward, I cup her chin gently and wipe a stray tear away with my thumb. “You want to talk about it?” Her eyes dart to mine and she shakes her head. “You want to get drunk?” A weary smile lifts her kissable mouth and she nods once. “That’s my girl. Come on. Let’s go find us some tequila.”
She willingly lets me lead her inside the house while Mia and Cruz make a quick escape upstairs to give us some privacy. I settle her at the bar then locate the tequila, two juice glasses, the salt and a lime. I remain standing on my side of the bar to give her some space while I cut the limes and so I can clearly see each and every emotion as it crosses her face.
Filling a glass, I slide it and the condiments toward her. “Drink.”
Like the tough bitch I know her to be, she drops back the entire amount in a few big gulps, ignoring the salt and lime and going in for the kill, demanding, “Again.”
I refill her glass and watch in silence as she repeats the process twice more, before finally sitting back with a heavy sigh and dropping her chin in her hand. Our eyes meet, and for once I’m thankful that I’ve refrained from drinking. I have a hunch she’s only just begun.
Shoving a glass of water toward her, I let my gaze drift over her body, encased yet again in workout gear. She seems tinier than before. Like she’s lost weight she didn’t need to lose, though those tits of hers still look fine as wine as her nipples wink hello.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
I shrug. “No need to thank me, sweet cheeks. That’s what friends are for.”
She cocks her head to the side, her eyes taking on the hazy glaze of the pain reliever known in some circles as ta-kill-ya. “Are we? Friends, I mean.”
“I’d like to think we are.”