Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)

by Claire Contreras

  “So I’ve heard.” She paused. “How long will it take you to draft up the contract?”

  “About an hour, maybe less. Why?”

  “You told me once that you tried to go surfing every day,” she said. “You still do that?”

  “Almost every morning,” I said, smiling at the fact she remembered.

  “I want you to teach me. Or try to. I can paddleboard, it shouldn’t be that different, right?”

  I chuckled. “Oh, Nicole, you have a lot to learn.”

  “Well, then, I’m glad I picked a capable teacher,” she said with a wink as she turned around. “I’m going to put on my bathing suit. Meet you downstairs in an hour?”

  “You’re . . .” I shook my head. “Yeah, an hour.”

  I spent the next forty minutes drafting up a contract and trying not to picture her getting naked in the room beside mine. Naked. In the room beside mine. Fuck. How was I going to sleep there? Maybe I should head home early. Maybe I should just say fuck it and get out of there as soon as I prepared the contract. I was good at coming up with excuses. But then I remembered how emotional she’d been on that balcony, and I decided to stay. An hour later, I’d sent her the contract, put on my swimming trunks, and headed downstairs to meet her by the beach. I saw Will on my way over and updated him on everything. When I reached the end of their backyard, and my feet touched the warm sand, I saw her. She was wearing the smallest bikini I’d ever seen, and I was grateful when I saw the wetsuit in her hand that she was about to put on.

  “Need help?” I asked as I walked over, when I saw her struggling to stay balanced on one foot. Her head snapped up, lips spread into a smile that promised the kind of trouble I enjoyed getting involved in.

  “Considering I just fell on my ass,” she said, pivoting a little to show a back covered in sand. “Yes.”

  I chuckled at the sight and gave not checking her out my best effort. When I reached her, she craned her head to look up at me as I extended my arm for her to hold on to as she pushed her foot into one leg of the suit. Our gazes held as she did it, and I was glad for the loud waves feet away from us. Otherwise, she would have heard my loud breathing, and I was sure I would have heard hers. As it was, the heated glances we were giving each other spoke volumes. I couldn’t have her touch me and not think about my hands on hers, her lips on mine. When she finished putting on her suit and zipping it, I thought I’d be out of the woods, since her skin wouldn’t be showing, but the way that thing fit her . . . fuck. I cleared my throat, looking out into the water.

  “The waves aren’t that good today,” I said. “Paddleboarding may be the only option we have right now.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, following my gaze. “I think I like that option better anyway.”

  We walked over and picked up the boards set against the house and pulled them toward the shore. I jogged back and got the sticks, and on my way back all I could do was look at Nicole and notice the way she seemed contemplative today, not the spunky woman I was used to. We both settled on our boards, but instead of standing, we sat in the water, our legs on either side of each of our boards.

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked, clearing my throat as we both faced the endless ocean, our backs toward the houses. She glanced at me momentarily and nodded. “You said the other day that I was the only one you’d ever . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

  “Had sex with in a bathroom?” she asked, smiling, her eyes assessing me. I nodded. “You are.”

  “I know you don’t need a reason to do anything,” I said. “You act on instinct more than anything, but I’m surprised.”

  “You think I’m a slut,” she said, but her smile didn’t falter. “It’s a fair assessment. I’m not, but coming from you it’s a fair assessment.”

  “I don’t like labels,” I responded. I didn’t. Slut, whore, promiscuous. Those were all labels I’d never understood for men or women. As far as I was concerned, what you did with your body was nobody’s business.

  “I know you don’t,” she said, “Mr. I Don’t Want a Girlfriend Ever.”

  “That’s not the kind of label I was taking about. I don’t have a problem having a girlfriend.”

  She raised an eyebrow and looked away from me, back to the ocean. “Maybe people do change, after all.”

  We were silent for a moment, the water moving us in small waves. We watched as a few families played in the shore with their kids, some joggers passed by, birds cawed.

  “I’ve never just hooked up with a guy,” she said finally, filling in the comfortable silence we had going. I looked at her. She was looking at me, but I could tell it was taking effort for her to keep her eyes on mine. “In college I used to make out with strangers, but that was as far as I got. Actually hooking up with strangers, though? Never.”

  “Why me then?” I asked, suddenly feeling a jolt of confidence. I felt like I needed to pat myself on the back for that achievement. She shrugged.

  “If I told you, you’d think I’m crazy, or knowing the way you are, it will send you running the other way,” she said, tearing her eyes away from mine again. My heart began pounding a little louder. Something about the way she said that. Fuck. Maybe I would want to run the other way, but I still wanted to know.

  “The good news is, you’re kind of stuck with me for a little while, so it doesn’t really matter what you tell me. I won’t run the other way,” I said, smiling, trying to lighten the mood, but when she looked at me she wasn’t smiling at all. The look on her face was a mixture of forlorn and uncertainty. “Just tell me,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

  “I felt something when I looked at you. Something weird. Something . . . not normal. I don’t know how to explain it other than maybe my soul recognized something in you. And I know you didn’t feel the same. I knew what we were,” she said, giving me a pointed look. “Or what we weren’t, since you said yourself we were nothing. But I felt it every time we were together.”

  Her words were claws that seeped into me and gripped the protective shell surrounding my heart. I couldn’t explain it any other way. That’s what it felt like when she said them. I swallowed past those unwanted feelings.

  “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She let out a single laugh. “What difference would it have made? If anything you would’ve ended things sooner.” She paused, getting serious again. “I’m not saying I was in love with you, Victor. I’m just saying that a part of me felt like something bigger than what we actually had was there. At least the possibility was there.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “You got engaged and married a few weeks later,” I said, frowning.

  Anger threatened to replace the feeling of confusion and wonderment I felt. I broke it off, but she got married. Who did that? A crazy person, obviously, but Nicole didn’t seem like she was legitimately crazy, aside from her spontaneity.

  “That should tell you what kind of state I was in. I guess I was a needy twenty-two-year-old,” she said, shrugging. “I’m not saying I regret it, because I don’t.”

  “Even now? With the divorce?”

  She looked away, her words were low when she spoke again. “Even now. I loved him. In a sense, I still do. I don’t want to be with him. I can’t be with him, but I’m grateful for our time together.”

  The way her words made me feel bothered me, though I didn’t let it show. Instead, I cut the conversation there and paddled to put a little distance between us. I wasn’t sure I could handle any more revelations from her, whatever it was I was feeling, from this moment. I slept like shit that night, tossing and turning as her words replayed in my head, tossing and turning thinking about her sleeping in the room beside me, wondering what she wore to bed, wondering what she looked like completely naked. I needed to get a handle on myself before shit hit the fan.

  MAYBE I WAS being selfish, but I really didn’t want her living in that house with Gabriel Lane. Especially not af
ter the day we had on the beach, with her confessions and my fucked-up emotions. The worst revelation I got was the sight of what life could be like with her, away from the press and the confinement of my office. I actually felt . . . something. Which meant trouble. Big fucking trouble. Nonetheless, as her attorney, I wanted her out of the house. As her friend, or whatever I was, I needed her out of the fucking house. Last night as I went to sleep, I caught myself thinking about her being in the house with that guy, and him sneaking into her room in the middle of the night, the way I wanted to do when I’d slept beside the room she’d been in. It drove me batshit crazy.

  On top of that, my other client at the moment, Sam Weaver, had the same thing going, except in his case he was the Gabriel and his estranged wife was the Nicole. He’d been making living with him nothing short of hell for the woman.

  We’d been to court once already, and she’d cried through the entire hearing, not because her children weren’t getting the attention they deserved, but because she was being treated like shit in front of them. It was moments like those that made it difficult for me to represent “the bad guy,” because Sam was most certainly the “bad guy.” His ex had made her share of mistakes, most of which we’d uncovered throughout the divorce proceedings.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk sense into Nicole. I could barely talk to her at all, which made my job insanely difficult to get through. Every time I saw her, though, I thought about the way her face looked at the peak of ecstasy and my concentration went to shit. I knocked on the door and waited. I needed to talk to Will before he left town.

  “Come in,” Will shouted. I stepped into his office slowly, taking in the dim lights and candles lit on the corner. “Meire’s idea of relaxation hour. She says it’s either this or I quit smoking cold turkey, so here I am.” He sighed heavily and pressed a button to turn the lights back on. “What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Nicole,” I said, undoing the button on my suit as I took a seat across from him. I put a hand up to keep him from jumping in. “I think she should move out of that house.”

  Will frowned. “The minute she moves out, she loses it.”

  “Not necessarily, Will, and she’s fucking losing herself by staying there,” I said.

  “Explain.”

  “I went over there to take some papers for her to sign and apparently Gabriel had a party the night before. The only reason the place wasn’t trashed was because Nicole had already cleaned up half the mess. His mess, while he walked around without a care in the fucking world, and the other day in Newport, she was upset over things with him. I just don’t think it’s good for her to stay there.” My voice and fists shook as I said the words. I hadn’t realized how pissed off that made me until I said it aloud. Will noticed, his brows rose as he appraised me. He stayed silent for a little while.

  “Should I be concerned about this?” he asked, signaling at me. “I’m glad you’ve taken such an interest with Nicole and her case, but I’ve seen you lose your cool in here and keep it contained in court, and I want to make sure that’s what’s happening here. Because you know if you lose it out there, they’ll have a field day with you, her, and this firm, and I can’t make you partner if you have a shitshow surrounding your name.”

  I took a nice, calming deep breath. “I’m fine. I have court in a few hours with Sam Weaver’s case and that has me riled up.”

  “How’s that coming along?”

  “Good. I think we’ll be done with it today. He’s giving her everything she’s asking for, so I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”

  Will nodded. “Focus on that, in the meantime, I’ll see what I can do about Nicole.”

  I looked at the man across from me one last time and nodded as I stood and walked out. I packed up my briefcase and left to pick up Sam before we headed to the courthouse. Nicole’s issues would have to sit on the backburner for now. When I pulled up to the Beverly Hills mansion, I lowered my window, pressed the bell and waited until the two massive iron structures in front of me opened. I drove in, going around the ornate water fountain with the bronze mermaid in the middle, and parked in front of the steps that led to the house. I put my car in park and checked my email while I waited, and after sending out a few replies, I realized Sam hadn’t come outside yet. I called his cell phone, which he answered on the first ring.

  “I’m outside,” I said.

  “Going right now.”

  He was saying the last word when he stepped out of the house and closed the door behind him before jogging down the steps to the car. I was glad he was wearing a suit, even if it was orange as fuck and made him look like a Starburst.

  “I thought you were gonna get out of the car,” he said as he opened the passenger door and adjusted the seat so it was basically lying all the way back. I looked at it questioningly, but didn’t comment.

  “I’m your lawyer, not your prom date,” I said, and started driving. Sam chuckled, rubbing his hands together nervously.

  “Damn. I can’t believe we’re finally getting this done with.”

  “Let’s hope so. We had to pull in a lot of fucking favors to get this done on a Saturday.”

  Sam exhaled. “I’m just glad this bitch will be out of my life forever.”

  I shot him a sideways glance as we reached a red light. “Not really. You have two kids with her, so you’ll be stuck with her for life.”

  “But I’ll only have to deal with her during birthdays.”

  I shook my head and started driving when the light turned green again. No use in bringing up school functions, sports activities, or basically any other life event that would technically include him. I didn’t know what his goals or plans were for his family, and quite frankly I would rather keep it that way. One thing I learned about this job was not to get emotionally attached to anybody involved, and shit got complicated when minors were at stake.

  We reached the courthouse with just enough time to spare, and when the media started huddling around my car, I was glad for that. I knew it would take us at least ten minutes to get from the parking lot to the front of the building if Sam stopped to chat as much as he liked to.

  “Don’t say anything negative about the divorce,” I coached. “Don’t say anything negative at all. Keep it positive. You’re co-parenting. You’re getting along. You’re looking forward to sharing custody of the children.”

  Sam nodded and put on his megawatt smile and straightened his suit as he faced the first photographer. As expected, they started asking him questions about the divorce, his alleged affair, how he allegedly kicked his ex out of the house, and Sam answered everything like a pro. We walked with the cameras alongside us and took turns answering questions. When we got to the front of the building, we turned around and Sam said his final statement of gratitude that he’d surely practiced in front of the mirror.

  “I’m so thankful to you guys, to my fans, to the team for standing behind me. I’m glad to put this behind me, and I’m looking forward to a good year on the field.”

  The cameras snapped, snapped, snapped.

  “One last question,” one of the reporters shouted. I squinted to see at the guy in the middle of the crowd.

  “Last one,” I said, glancing at my watch. We had five minutes to spare.

  “Mr. Reuben, what can you tell us about Gabriel and Nicole getting back together?”

  That made me stall. I was caught off guard, not only by the question, but by the way my chest tightened in response. My first thought was, “she wouldn’t do that,” and that scared me ten times more than the one that quickly followed which was, “I hate when clients don’t keep me informed with the decisions they make.”

  In the end, I dreaded that my two seconds of silence would be misconstrued and used against that case, but I was able to compose myself. “I’m not here to comment on that case. I’m here representing Mr. Weaver. Thank you.”

  My phone rang the second we walked in, and seeing Corinne’s name on my screen ha
s never made me feel more anxious and relieved at once. Unfortunately, I had to put it on the dish and walk through the metal detector before calling her back.

  “Why are these fuckers asking me about Nicole and Gabriel?” I said when she answered the call.

  Her silence was telling. My heart sunk a little more.

  “Don’t tell me,” I said when she started to speak. “I’ll call you back when I get out of court. I can’t deal with unfortunate news right now. Handle whatever you can handle without me.” I hung up the phone before she could say a damn word. It must be the premiere. It had to be. There was no other explanation for it. Fuck if I liked the sound of it, regardless of the situation.

  PICTURES. PILES OF pictures sat on top of my desk. In magazines, in newspapers, in print from what my buddy in the gossip industry was able to gather for me. Images of Nicole and Gabriel kissing on the carpet for the premiere of his newest blockbuster. Images of them gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Images of her laughing at whatever he was telling the interviewers from major networkers. Was it an act? Was it real? If it was an act, she had a real future in Hollywood and it had nothing to do with costume design. I hated those pictures. I hated the way he looked at her. I hated that she looked at him—period. I wasn’t a jealous man, but damn did that shit fester inside me.

  “At least she only agreed to a premiere,” my secretary said as she walked into my office with her laptop in hand.

  “What do you mean?”

  Corinne sat in the seat across from me, setting her computer on my desk. She turned it over and pointed at the headline of a popular gossip blog.

  Gabriel Lane vows to work on his marriage.

  “It’s gossip,” I muttered, running my hands over my face, feeling the exhaustion take hold of me.

  “I know, but still. They look pretty freaking happy,” she said, turning her computer to look at it again.

  “Do you need anything else?” I asked. Corinne’s eyes widened.

  “No. You told me to show you whatever was being talked about, so that’s what I came to do. I think this is it, though.”