The One I'm With (A Sweet Somethings Novel Book 3)

by J. Lynn Rowan

  Driving would be almost as poor an idea as whatever was going through my head last night when I bolted out on Josh’s work party without confronting him. That would have been the adult thing to do. And it’s what I need to do right now. So after jotting a note for the girls, I call a cab, grab my sunglasses and purse, and go out onto the porch to wait.

  It takes about twenty minutes for a cab to show. Rather than risk the sound of the engine or slamming car doors waking up my friends, I launch off the porch as soon as I see headlights at the end of my driveway. The cab pulls to a stop about halfway to the house when the driver sees me jogging toward him.

  “Early start to the day,” he calls through the window. “Where to?”

  I hop into the backseat and buckle before giving him the name and address of Josh’s downtown hotel.

  The only people in the hotel lobby this early, not including the desk clerks, are a handful of hikers who are probably planning to hit the trails before the afternoon heat sets in. I watch them gather at one of the tables near the continental breakfast room, then find a comfortable armchair near the stone fireplace where I have a clear view of the elevators.

  Nerves bring a slick of sweat to my palms, and I rub them dry on my shorts. What am I going to say to Josh when he comes down? Is he even going to work today? I probably should have called him and asked to meet. I know his room number, but I don’t have the audacity to actually go knock on his door.

  The thought makes me sit up straight. The conversation Josh and I are doomed to have this morning is not one I want to have in public.

  “Come on, Marissa,” I murmur. “Just go up. Say your piece. Then go home.”

  Settling on my decision, I get up and head for the elevators. The ride to Josh’s floor takes a lifetime, and when the doors slide open, I almost lose my courage. But then, just before the doors start to shut, I suck in a breath and charge through them.

  The corridor stretches to my left, and Josh’s room is at the very end. I stride down the hall with purpose in my steps, but my pace slows to a crawl the closer I get to his room. I drag my feet until I halt before his door. My hand shakes, but I knock twice.

  Then I freeze, fist an inch from the door.

  This is a bad idea.

  I’ve almost talked myself into sprinting for the elevator, when the door swings open.

  Josh stands there, fresh from the shower. As in, jumped out of the shower and threw on the nearest clothing at hand. Rivulets of water wind down from his wet hair, making dark, damp spots around the neck of his t-shirt.

  “Marissa.” He breathes my name, shoulders dropping, though I can’t tell if it’s in relief or defeat. Dark shadows mar the blue of his eyes, and a pinched, furrowed look clings to his forehead.

  My hand still hovers in mid-air. I lower it and swallow. “Can we talk?”

  He catches my arm and tugs me gently inside. “You look awful. You didn’t drive over, did you? Do you need some coffee?”

  He doesn’t look so hot either. “No, I’m good. I called a cab.”

  I walk slowly into the center of the room, eyes sweeping the space. I’d expected Josh to be in a suite, but this is just a regular, every day room. Upscale, sure, but other than the quality of the furniture, this isn’t that different from what you’d find in any other hotel. Folding my hands in front of me, I wait while Josh grabs a towel out of the bathroom and dries the water off his neck.

  “Do you want to sit down?” He balls the towel and tosses it aside, then crosses over to the couch.

  When I don’t follow, he turns and shoves his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts.

  We should sit down, talk this out like rational adults before I cut the ties that need cutting. But my exit—or maybe my escape—will be easier if I stay standing.

  “I can’t decide which of us was hurt more last night,” I begin.

  Now Josh sits, resting his forearms on his thighs and frowning at me. “That’s where you want to begin this conversation? With who screwed up worse?”

  My throat constricts, but I fight through it. “Okay, fine. I owe you an explanation for why I ran out.”

  “Damn right.” He clasps his hands between his knees and starts jiggling his heels. Nerves? “All I know for sure is that you bolted and ended up steps away from a drunken hook-up. And not with me, I should point out.”

  From his perspective, of course that’s how it all looks. “For the record, I had no intention of hooking up with anyone last night. I went to the bar because I figured Boomer would be working, and I wouldn’t be waiting by myself for the girls to come pick me up.”

  “Why didn’t you just go home?”

  I don’t really have an answer. Now that I’m not riding an emotional tidal wave fueled by wine and rum, I realize I should have done exactly that. “Fine. Maybe I wanted to get drunk and hook up with some guy from the bar. Would you really be that surprised if I did? Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Whoa.” Josh shoots to his feet. He takes me by the shoulders and glares down at me. “It sure as hell is my business if my girlfriend decides to have a one-night-stand with somebody else.”

  “But it’s okay for you to do it. I would have been following your lead.” Twisting, I break out of his grip. The expression of shock on his face brings me down a little, though not all the way. “I was never going to hook up with that guy, or anybody else. You can ask Boomer. Or the other bartender, Christy. She was working when I got there, and I’m sure she saw the whole thing.”

  “Well, that makes me feel loads better.”

  The sarcasm coloring his tone rubs me raw inside. “I told you about my rules. I don’t do one-night-stands. You know that. But you, on the other hand, don’t seem to be against having one yourself.”

  Now Josh full-out scowls and crosses his arms. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, please.” I throw my hands into the air and spin away from him, starting to pace the room. “Brenda Connors was salivating over you all night, and it only took as long as my trip to the ladies’ room for you to get all comfy cozy with her.”

  “What?” His face goes ashen as the realization of what I witnessed finally hits him.

  Making sure I’m several steps away, I fold my arms and hold his shocked stare. “I happened to overhear her bragging to one of her friends about her plans to get you alone, how she’d researched you and was all excited about screwing Joshua Mattingly.” Disbelief and embarrassment mix in his expression, but I keep going. “She couldn’t wait to find out if you were as good in bed as she suspected, given how many women you’ve dated.”

  “Marissa, you know yourself that all the gossip about me is two years old. I’m not like that anymore.”

  “Really? Because you sure didn’t seem that conflicted about letting her practically sit in your lap and grope you.”

  Josh mutters a string of expletives and passes his hand over his face.

  “Yeah. Didn’t think I saw that, did you?” My vision swims. “So if I ran out and ended up at a bar, where one friend works and the rest would know where to find me, now you know why.”

  Heavy silence hangs over us. We stare at each other, me with a hard knot of anger and disappointment swelling in my throat, Josh with a look of total devastation.

  “I swear,” he says at last. “I’m not that guy. Not anymore.”

  “I wish I could believe you.” I press my palms over my heart. “I have spent so much time and energy protecting myself from getting hurt again. But I let you in. I let you get close enough. I trusted you. And I got burned.”

  He hurries to me and grabs my hands, engulfing them in both his own and holding them against his chest. “The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.”

  The urge to pull away battles with the urge to lean into him. I
bite my lower lip for a moment, hard enough to keep either impulse from winning. “You want to know the worst part about last night?” I say once I get my voice under control again.

  “There’s something worse?”

  “When I was in the ladies’ room and overheard all the kinky plans that woman had for you, she couldn’t seem to get over the fact that I was there with you as your date.” Now I do start to pull back as a funny ache runs down the center of my body, like I’m literally going to split in two. “I believe slumming it with a local nobody was the phrase she used.”

  His face darkens. “I am not slumming it with you. What a bloody horrible thing to say!”

  “She was being a bitch, but there’s a grain of truth to what she said.” I look down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “I said it the night we met. You and I live in completely different worlds. You’re wealthy, travelled, and you can surround yourself with influential people on a whim. You can have anything and anyone you want.”

  “I want you,” he insists, squeezing my hands.

  “And I’m just a small town girl . . .” I continue, pretending not to hear, “. . . still scrambling some months to make sure my bills are covered even though I’ve worked my ass off to make something of myself. No one will ever do a Google search for me, unless they’re local and looking for someone to redesign their master suite.”

  “Marissa . . .”

  I shake my head, finally looking into his eyes. “I’m a nobody, Josh.”

  “No, you’re not!” He lets go of my hands, but only to capture my face and kiss me, long and desperate, until I almost can’t breathe. “You’re the woman I love.”

  I close my hands around his wrists and try to pull his hands away. “You can probably flip the house in Montford for a decent profit, get some good startup capital for your company.”

  “I didn’t buy that house so I could flip it for a profit.” He slides one arm around my waist and locks the other hand around the back of my neck, eliminating any chance of escaping. “I’ve been floundering for years. It’s only been recently that I’ve felt like my life has any real purpose. That I might actually have a real future. That I’ve found my home.”

  My chin quivers, and I bow my head against his chest.

  “You make me a better man, Marissa. I love you, and I love who I am with you.”

  “We don’t belong together, Josh.” The words strangle me and come out as croaked snippets.

  His hands tremble on my back, my neck. “Don’t.”

  I raise my closed fists to his chest. “Your business in Asheville is almost done. You should go back to St. Croix, like you’re supposed to.”

  “Don’t!” The word comes out like a cry. Under my fists, his heartbeat takes on a wild rhythm, and his shoulders shake. Though I try to push away, he holds me close and buries his face in my hair. “Don’t say this. Please, Marissa.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I twist and shimmy out of his grip, then spin away.

  “Stay with me, Red.” The telltale throb of tears in his voice almost makes me give in.

  But I can’t. Not after last night. Without acknowledging his plea, I yank the door open and march into the hallway.

  I make the mistake of looking back.

  Josh stands in the center of the room, arms limp at his sides. He gazes after me, eyes glistening, and silently mouths my name.

  I see the instant his heart breaks.

  Then the door swings shut.

  Drawing in a hitching breath, I break into a jog toward the elevators. The door to Josh’s room opens when I’m three-quarters of the way down the hall, and quick, muffled footsteps trail mine. He’s taller. He can overtake me, and then . . . Well, I don’t know what would happen then. Fear, panic, and self-loathing send speed into my feet, and I extend my hand to hit the call button as soon as I reach the elevators. Fortunately, the car is already on this floor. Barreling inside, I repeatedly press the Close Doors button.

  They slide shut just as Josh appears on the other side. His palms hit the outer doors with a thud, but it’s too late.

  I slump against the rear wall. Tears spill, and I wrap my arms around my stomach, doubling over with the power of a silent, wrenching sob.

  This wasn’t how I thought things would go.

  The elevator slows in its descent, and I force myself to straighten, to swallow, to wipe the tears off my cheeks. I know my eyes are already puffy and red, so anyone who sees me will know I’ve been crying like a madwoman. But as the doors open to the lobby, I step out with complete composure and walk to the front desk.

  The clerk looks me up and down, her eyebrows rising in alarm. Without batting a lash, I ask her to call me a cab. She stares at me, but picks up a walkie-talkie from the desk and calls for the doorman to hold the next taxi.

  Thanking her, I cross the lobby. Fortunately, the doorman has already flagged down a cab driver pulling into the drop-off circle. I hop into the backseat and give my address, then dig my sunglasses out of my purse and slip them on.

  I close my eyes, willing the push of new sobs to stay down until I get home.

  Chapter 17

  Examination of the Heart

  Ava, Mel, and Caitlin sit in the rocking chairs on my front porch, waiting when the cab pulls up. I pay the driver, then slowly climb the steps. The girls stand in unison when I reach the top.

  “Quite the walk of shame,” I quip with a lopsided smirk.

  Caitlin waves a piece of paper at me. “What the hell happened? This is hardly a note of explanation for why you were gone when we got up.”

  I take the note from her. Even I can barely decipher my scrawl. It says something about going into town, taking a cab, and not to worry, but that’s about it. “Yeah, sorry.”

  “So where were you?” Mel asks.

  Ava folds her arms. “You went to see Josh, didn’t you?”

  Crumpling the note into a ball, I brush past them into the house. “Some things needed to be taken care of.”

  The girls follow me inside, hovering while I drop my purse and sunglasses on the table by the door and slip off my shoes. As a unit, they cluster around me and herd me toward the kitchen, where Caitlin and Mel deposit me at the table in the breakfast nook. Ava pours a cup of coffee and stirs in a spoonful of sugar. She puts it in front of me. Then the three of them settle into the empty chairs, Ava and Mel to either side, Caitlin at the other end of the table.

  “What?” I take a sip of coffee, trying to act like everything is fine.

  Mel reaches over to rub my forearm. “Do you want to talk about last night?”

  I’ve had enough of explaining and hashing through things for one morning, and almost bark at her to leave me alone. But the concern on all their faces stops me. These women have seen me through my worst life crisis to date. If anyone can help me through this one, it’s my friends.

  With another fortifying sip of coffee, I focus my gaze on my cup and tell them everything. How proud and special I felt when we walked onto the Biltmore Terrace together. The way Josh tried to hint at but didn’t quite say he was planning to live in Asheville and start a life with me. Brenda Connors’s less than covert flirtations in front of her husband, the things she bragged about doing to Josh while she was in the restroom with her friend, and the way she felt Josh up right there in public. I even tell them about my stupid mistake of chugging three drinks within an hour and how I’d considered hooking up with that Trevor guy at the bar to get back at Josh, until Boomer showed up and saved me from myself.

  Last, I tell them about this morning, though the tightening of my throat makes it difficult to say much. All three of them have tears in their eyes when I’m done.

  “Are you totally sure it’s over between you?” Caitlin asks with a quiver in her voice.

  “It was never
going to be long-term. I knew that from the beginning. I just wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

  Mel takes my hand. “But it doesn’t have to end at all. He loves you. This could work out if you’d let it.”

  I shake my head and look down at my cup again. “Even if he really has given up his old habits, I’m not the right girl for him. We come from two different worlds.”

  “You’re selling yourself short,” Ava says. “From what you’ve told us, Josh isn’t like the rest of his family. He doesn’t care about appearances and expectations. And before you start speculating that he does, since he’s kept your relationship on the down-low, think about it. If he didn’t love and respect you, if you weren’t important to him, he wouldn’t care whether your name and picture was plastered all over the internet and gossip rags.”

  Caitlin and Mel nod in agreement.

  Ava’s words make sense, but my uncertainty is too powerful. “Someone who doesn’t care about appearances and expectations wouldn’t be ashamed to shout from the rooftops that he loves me.”

  “What do you want? A front page headline in the New York Times?” Ava shakes her head. “Usually people who do stuff like that are catering to others, or doing it for their own fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “If you recall,” Mel chimes in gently, “Jared Turner used to parade you around and make sure everybody knew you were his.”

  “And look how sincere his words turned out to be,” Caitlin adds.

  I go cold all over. A little whimper works its way into my throat. I fold my arms on the table and bury my face.

  Mel rubs my shoulder. “You need to look at what Josh has done and stop comparing him to Jared.”