“Okay. I’m going to finish putting this shit away so you can stop glaring at every surface of my messy house,” she said as she walked away.
Thank God for that. I went back to the drill.
“You look really good when you’re doing housework,” Nicole said. I smiled.
“I believe you.”
She laughed. I could picture her rolling her eyes behind me, but then I felt the warmth of her breath on the back of my right shoulder and I stilled, gripping the drill a little tighter.
“Maybe I’ll make an honest man out of you and you can quit your job and stay home while I go to work,” she said in a low voice. I could tell she was having a hard time not laughing as she said the words.
I scoffed. “Fat chance.”
“What? You wouldn’t be a stay-at-home husband?”
My shoulders shook with laugher as I lowered my arms from the wall and turned around to face her. We were standing so close that if my sister walked in this very moment, she’d have a lot of I told you so’s. Nicole had a huge smile on her face, her cheeks a deep pink from the wine, or her laughter, or a mix of both. Either way, she looked gorgeous.
“Are you proposing? Because in the state of California one needs to finalize one’s divorce before jumping into another marriage,” I said, raising an eyebrow. Her smile dropped a little, just momentarily before she rolled her eyes and smirked at me.
“If only you’d be so lucky,” she said, backing away a little, her gaze lingering on my face, my eyes, and making their way down my body. She licked her lips as she appraised me, and my heart jumped. Thank God I could control my dick in situations like these, even though it was getting semi-hard from that look alone. I gripped the drill tighter in my right hand, but the only thing I could do was think about pushing her against the wall and drilling my dick into her.
“Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t even know what I was responding to anymore. I didn’t care. Her eyes widened slightly. We looked at each other for a long moment. Too long for comfort. Too long for my lips not to be on hers and her legs not to be wrapped around my waist.
“When is the mediation thing again?” she whispered thickly.
“Not soon enough,” I said, my heart hammering.
“God. I can’t wait for this to be over. I just . . .” She sighed. “I really wish you had no morals.”
I chuckled. If she only knew. “When it comes to you, my morals are very questionable, Nicole.”
She looked wicked when she smiled and turned back to sit on the couch. She stopped walking suddenly, frowning when she turned around again.
“Don’t you need help mounting?”
“I can assure you I do not need any help mounting,” I said, my eyes raking down her body. She crossed her arms and laughed.
“The TV.”
“What?” I paused. “Oh. Yeah. I need your help mounting that.”
Nicole was still laughing when Estelle walked back into the room. She didn’t bother asking and I was glad for that because the last thing I needed was another mental image fucking Nicole.
DAYS LEADING UP to the mediation, I caught the flu. I was sick, pissed, and panicked. I’d never called out of work, but between the way I couldn’t keep one pair of clothes on without sweating right through it, my eyes not staying open for more than two minutes at a time, and the pain in my throat, I had no choice. Thankfully Corinne passed by with the files I needed and I was able to call Nicole and speak to her on the phone about the mediation so she knew what to expect. I was in the bathroom, blowing my nose for the tenth time, when the doorbell rang. I really fucking hoped it was my mom. Fuck any man who can’t admit that when they’re sick they want their fucking mom. I opened the door and had to shield my eyes from the sun, and then blink to make sure my meds weren’t playing tricks on me and it was really Nicole standing in front of me.
“Didn’t we just talk on the phone?” I said. Fuck, it hurt to talk.
“Yes, and I brought you soup,” she said, holding up a white plastic bag.
“Those words have never sounded sexier,” I said, getting out of the way for her to walk into the house. “How’d you find my address?”
“I asked your sister for it.”
I nodded. That’s right. They’d exchanged phone numbers the day of the ice cream parlor drama. Nicole followed me into the kitchen and looked around.
“I was a little shocked when Corrine called me to cancel our meeting today, and I didn’t like the idea of my lawyer not being on his A game in a few days, so . . .” She shrugged and held up the bag again as she set it down on the kitchen counter.
“That was nice of you,” I said, my voice a croaked whisper. It was really fucking nice of her.
“Where are your bowls?” she asked. I pointed at the cupboard behind her. “And your spoons?” I pointed at the drawer beside me. “And,” she glanced around once more, “I found your napkins.” She smiled at me. “Okay, your majesty, go lie down. I’ll be right there.”
I groaned and did as I was told, going back to my living room and putting my feet up. I covered myself with the Chargers blanket Estelle and Oliver had gifted me for my birthday last year and let my eyes drift shut. I jumped a little when I felt a cold cloth on my forehead, and my eyes popped open to find Nicole’s concerned eyes right beside my face.
“That feels good,” I said, groaning. I tried to smile but I wasn’t sure my lips were working.
“Your soup is getting cold,” she whispered. I tried to sit up, but kept failing, and then I felt her hands reach under me and heard her groan as she pulled me up.
“You’re strong,” I said, and felt myself smile when she laughed.
“I try.” She leaned down to pick up the bowl of soup and sat beside me. “Open your mouth.”
“You’re going to feed me?” I don’t know why I was so taken aback by her gesture.
“You don’t look like you’re in any condition to feed yourself. Unless you want me to call your brother-in-law and have him put in an IV?”
My eyes widened. Did she know I hated needles? Had I told her that before? I frowned and asked her. She laughed.
“I didn’t, but I’m glad I know now.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I said, opening my mouth to drink some soup. I closed my eyes. It was so good. “Did you make this?”
“Is it good?”
My gaze met hers. “Did you make it or not?”
She smiled and fed me another spoonful. “That really depends on whether or not it’s good.”
“It’s better than good.”
“Well, I didn’t make it,” she said, laughing. “My old housekeeper, Amelia, did.”
I nodded, swallowing the soup in my mouth. “Well, tell Amelia I may want to marry her.”
Nicole scowled, blinking away, her eyes trained on the soup. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” she said.
“Why?” I asked, opening my mouth for another spoon.
“I thought you didn’t believe in marriage.”
I frowned. “I never said that.”
She looked at me, one brow raised in a challenge.
“Okay, so maybe I said that, but I was a twenty-five-year-old idiot. People change.”
“Not that much,” she whispered.
“You did,” I said. “But you’re right, not that much. You were still willing to let me mount you the other day at my sister’s.”
She smiled. “Even if I had been willing to let you do that there, which I wasn’t, you wouldn’t have done it.” She paused. “So I guess people do change after all. Twenty-five-year-old Victor would’ve done that anywhere I asked him to.”
“Like I said, twenty-five-year-old Victor was a fucking idiot.”
“You were pretty hot, though.”
“Still am,” I said.
She shook her head. “I think that fever is really getting to you.”
I laughed, but stopped short because it hurt. I closed my eyes as Nicole stood and got the plate of soup, t
aking it to the kitchen. I heard the water behind me, but couldn’t even tell her not to wash the plate. When I felt her presence near again, I opened my eyes. She had a glass of orange juice in her hand.
“You have to drink this,” she said. “And then you’re going to get up and shower.”
I groaned. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”
“No.”
“Is this your way of getting me naked?”
She tried to stifle a laugh by pressing her lips together. “No.”
“Is this your way of getting me in the shower and having your way with me because you’d have to give me a bath since I’m so weak right now?”
She laughed. “No.”
I glanced up at her. She was so fucking beautiful. I hadn’t really paid attention to the red dress she was wearing, or the way it curved out at her hips to accentuate her small waistline. I hadn’t noticed she’d worn her hair loose or the way it draped over her shoulders and covered her tits.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I said before I could stop myself. Her eyes widened slightly. She took a seat across from me, placing the cup on her lap. From the way the orange liquid moved in the glass, I could tell her hands were shaking.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I don’t tell you that enough, but you are. I never told you that enough,” I said. “Before, I mean. Before I pushed you away and you married that fucking asshole. I should have told you how beautiful you were.”
“Victor,” she whispered, “just . . . drink this.”
My head felt light, as if at any moment I’d pass out again. It was definitely the Nyquil.
“This isn’t me telling you these things because I’m drugged,” I said. “I’m not him.” Not that I knew what he was like when he was drugged, but I felt the need to add that. “I liked you, Nicole. I really did.”
“Before?” she asked in a low voice. I nodded. Before, during, after. I really fucking liked her.
“But your dad was my boss, and I couldn’t . . .” I yawned. “I couldn’t take that chance.”
“I know. Priorities,” she said and smiled.
She didn’t seem upset about the admission. I didn’t really expect her to be. Nicole never saw me as her long-lost lover. She’d been whole before I found her at the club, and whole after I left her at the office.
“I had no idea you wanted to get married,” I said, yawning again.
“You wouldn’t have settled down even if you had known,” she replied, shrugging.
“It had nothing to do with you. That was all me,” I said. She sighed.
“That was a long time ago. A lot has happened since.” She stood from her seat and leaned down to place her hand on my forehead. I closed my eyes at the feel of it, tried to inhale the fresh scent she carried with her. “Do you just want to go to sleep then? Not shower? You should still drink this.”
She brought the cup to my lips and I took a sip, cringing as the cold liquid hit my sore throat. When I was finished, she stepped away and put the cup down.
“I should probably—” she started, and I realized, to my horror, that she may be about to leave me here by myself, and I really wanted her to stay. I wasn’t sure which one of those things was worse.
“Stay,” I said. “Stay with me.”
She let out a sigh and sat down beside me, and without a second thought, I put my head on her lap. She started running her fingers through my hair so softly, sleep didn’t stand a chance.
“I have some designs to work on,” she said. “Do you mind if I get my sketch book and do that here?”
“Please do. I want to see them,” I said, looking into her eyes. She nodded and gave me a small smile as she continued to touch my hair. “I always liked watching you sketch.” That was the last thing I remember saying before I fell asleep.
VICTOR AND I had been talking on the phone for the past few days. Ever since I left his house after taking him soup, he’d been calling me. It was mostly talk about the mediation and him apologizing for canceling our meeting, which led to him thanking me profusely for bringing him soup. Bringing him soup, which I wasn’t sure was key word for a new page we turned or just literally bringing soup. It felt like a new page to me, though. With the late-night calls and the movie talk, and bowling challenges, and promises of surfing lessons, it felt like maybe we were becoming something. Something else. Something I wasn’t sure either of us knew or wanted to label. But all of that was gathered in just a few days, and I’d married a man I barely knew within just a few weeks once before and look at how that turned out. The reminder left a bitter taste in my mouth. I washed it down with the cup of coffee in my hand, gulping it until it was all gone.
Victor called me at six thirty in the morning to wake me up and make sure I’d be ready on time. The meeting was scheduled for eleven thirty. Who the hell calls somebody at six thirty in the morning? Ever since the girl from the ice cream shop ended up on the tabloids with a tell-all about Gabe and her, Victor had been on edge, trying to figure out how we could really stick it to him during the mediation. My dad had been livid. Chrissy and Talon were furious. “My wild night with Gabriel Lane” was the title on the tabloids. It was definitely catchy, and if I was being completely honest with myself, I didn’t care anymore. I was just . . . done.
Victor wanted to meet with me beforehand just in case I had any questions. I told him I didn’t. He insisted I had to as way of apology for the missed meeting and I agreed just so I could get him off the phone. At nine thirty there was loud knock on my door. Thankfully, I’d gotten dressed already and had just finished drying my hair. I walked downstairs and opened the door just as he was putting his hand up to knock again.
“You have absolutely no patience,” I said, gawking at him. He was dressed in a dark navy suit today, looking way too good to be my off-limits attorney. He gave me a quick, but thorough, once-over. I felt his gaze to the tips of my toes.
“You’re not ready.” He brushed past me and walked inside.
“I just need my shoes.”
I closed the door and locked it, turning around to find him looking up at the ceiling with his eyes closed and his hands in his pockets.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you know there were photographers outside?” he asked, walking toward my kitchen.
“No.” I paused, looking out the open windows in the front of the house. “Right now?”
“I was bombarded with flashing cameras on the walk from my car.”
I rounded the counter and set up the coffee machine again before facing him, butt against the counter arms crossed. “Is that why you stormed in here like you were being chased by a White Walker?”
“A white what?”
“From Game of Thrones, you know?” I paused. “Didn’t we talk about this last night?”
“Yes, and I told you I don’t watch it.”
I shook my head. “Have you tried to watch it and you just didn’t like it? Because, I mean, this could very well be the moment I fall out of like with you, or whatever.”
His eyes roamed over my face, a slow tease of a smile splaying on his face. “Fall out of like with me? Did I miss the middle school memo?”
“I’m just saying.” I turned around when the coffee finished pouring in the first cup and replaced it with another. I held the cup in my hand as I walked over to him and extended it for him to take. “If I could go on any set for a day, it would be that one. Too bad I have no connections there.”
Victor took the cup from my hand with one of his and picked out something in my hair before looking back into my eyes. “Have you tried applying for a job there?”
“Have I tried?” I scoffed. “Of course I’ve tried. They have the best costume designers ever, though. I mean, Michele Clapton is a freaking genius. That’s like if Prada hired Kanye West or something.”
Victor chuckled, taking a sip of coffee. “So now you’re throwing Yeezy under the bus too?”
I smiled, trying not to l
augh along. “I’m just saying. I’m good at what I do, but I’m not her.”
“I think you’re good,” he said, and added, “Really good.”
His words were serious, though the crinkles around his eyes were still present from his smile. I was tempted to run the tips of my fingers along each line. I loved it when he smiled like this, as if he were giving me a private showing of the Victor not many were allowed to see.
“I think you’re pretty good too,” I replied, smiling. “And for the record, I would have hated you in middle school. And also, I like Kanye’s music, I just think that when it comes to fashion, he thinks he’s better than he actually is.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think. You don’t have the answers, Sway,” he said. I started laughing. Hard. And he joined in, setting his mug down in front of him.
“You know, for somebody who’s all business, and thinks his job is the most important thing ever, you can be pretty fun sometimes.”
He appraised me for a moment, his eyes dropping to my chest. “I’m fun a lot of times.”
“Sometimes,” I said, my voice beckoning his attention back to my face. “And you haven’t been much fun in that sense.”
“With good reason. Let’s try to get today out of the way.”
“And then you’ll be more fun?”
“Considering I’m just about ready to explode every time I hear your voice, let alone see you, I’d say that’s a possibility,” he said, his gaze heating the longer we looked at each other.
“Hmm.” My heart did a series of wild pitter-patters as I put my mug in the sink and walked around the counter. We stood face to face, one of his hands gripping the side of the counter and the other in his pocket. I placed my hand flat on his hard chest and trailed it down to his stomach, stopping above his belt. His breath hitched. “A big possibility,” I said.
“A very big possibility,” he said, swallowing, eyes blazing.
I smiled and dropped my hand, stepping away just slightly. “I should probably go put my shoes on.”
“You definitely should.” From the way he was looking at me, the last thing I wanted was to put more clothes on. “You should probably go do that now,” he added, stepping a little closer and bringing his thumb to my face to wipe at the side of my mouth.
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