by BK Rivers
“You should probably…” he says finally, his cheeks flaming red. Before a cramp has time to settle in my calves, I slide off his lap and can’t help but notice the state of his jeans.
“I’m sorry, I’ve never done that before,” I say, looking around for something to help him clean up. Ace’s eyes are closed, a hand rests over his eyes, and the muscles in his jaw flex and relax over and over. I can’t tell if he’s angry about the kiss or embarrassed that he just came in his pants.
“I’m just going to…um, finish cleaning up the kitchen.” Quickly standing, I move around to the back of the couch, lean over, and press a kiss to the hand covering his eyes. “That was the most amazing make out session I’ve ever had.” I need him to know it’s okay, that it doesn’t matter what happened in his jeans. It was really my fault anyway for getting a little carried away.
In the kitchen, quiet as can be, I fix my bra and work on the dishes, ignoring the ache in my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have walked away, giving him space, but I felt he needed it. Finally, food put away and dishwasher running, I return to an empty living room and my heart tumbles to my stomach.
He left.
I told him not to kiss me if he didn’t mean it. I told him. Biting the inside of my cheeks to fight disappointed tears, I sit on the couch and fall into the pillows. I turn on the TV, force myself not to cry, and stare mindlessly at the flickering screen.
An hour and a half later, the door to the basement opens and out walks Ace, sweat slipping down his face and bare chest and back. He carefully approaches the couch, leans over the back, and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“I needed to work out a few things,” he says, his voice thick with apology. “I’m going to take a shower. Can I come back and watch TV with you?”
I shrug, trying to look like the last ninety minutes hasn’t affected me so strongly. “Sure,” I say, returning my concentration to the television. It’s stupid of me to want something with him—he’s obviously still grieving. The chemistry between us is electric, and flares like a sparkler bursting to life whenever we’re near each other. The crackle from the sparks practically singes my skin like the popping embers from a raging campfire. When I’m not concentrating on the bookstore, my thoughts are filled with Ace and the first time we met on the plane.
He was different on the flight, still guarded but less tormented. Oh God, what if I’m the reason he’s all over the place? The reason for his mood changes and flip-flopping emotions? Shaking my head to clear the truth from my mind, I snuggle further into the couch and bring a pillow onto my lap. Moments later, Ace joins me on the couch and pulls me to him like he’s done every night since that first time.
***
Before going in to work the next morning, I stop by the house to check on the progress of the repairs. Ace let me choose the new cabinets and flooring. The hardwood was pretty much ruined after sitting under an inch of water overnight, so I put a neutral tile in the kitchen and new hardwood in the rest of the first level. Thankfully, the brick fireplace was spared, needing only minor repairs.
The workers have told us I can have the house back in about a week, which is both thrilling and sad because I know whatever this is between Ace and me will come to an end. And the sad truth is I don’t want it to end. Yes, he’s moody and temperamental, but he’s worth the effort. I can see through his thick layers and know somewhere beneath them is a man needing somebody to love him. I want that person to be me.
On the drive to work, I pull through a drive-thru coffee shop and grab myself a caramel macchiato and a double Americano for Julia. My time is growing short with her and I’m growing more and more nervous as the days and hours tick down. She helped me place an ad for an employee and today I have the pleasure of holding interviews for two candidates. Being on this side of a business is completely different than what I’ve ever experienced before. It’s both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
“You ready for your first interview?” Julia asks as I barrel through the door to the bookstore holding the two coffees precariously in my hands. I blow a breath through my lips, sending my red hair floating to the side. “Your first one will hopefully be here in about fifteen minutes.” She claps her hands, smiling eagerly, then accepts her Americano.
“You are a saint,” she says, breathing in the rich aroma of coffee.
“Are you sure I’m ready for all of this? I still feel so nervous about running the business you love.” I walk through the store to the back where I unload my purse and place my lunch in the fridge—leftover chicken parm and alfredo noodles. Yum!
“You’ll do great,” she says, smiling ear to ear. “I’ll always be a phone call away. Oh! And my phone has that video call thingy.”
“FaceTime?”
“Yes, that’s it. We can do that if you need me.” Over the next ten minutes, we run through some standard interview questions and then, when the bell over the door chimes, my stomach leaps into my throat.
Holy crap, I’m really going to do this. I’m the boss!
Forty minutes later, I’m thoroughly exhausted. And I still have one more interview to do before lunch. This girl—Ellery—would be fine; she’s bubbly, loves to read, and has a high school diploma. She’s young and could start tomorrow.
I glance at the clock, as does Julia; our next candidate is five minutes late. Punctuality is important to me, so, unfortunately, this is one strike against—I check the resume—Jodi. Seven minutes late and I’m ready to call Ellery and tell her she has the job. I really don’t want to hold another interview.
“Well, that was disappointing,” Julia says as we both check the clock again. “I guess she didn’t really want the job.”
“I think Ellery would do great here.” After a brief phone call, she agrees to start on Monday, making the rest of my day fly by now that I’ve taken care of hiring someone to back me up. Now if I could just spend the weekend convincing myself I’m fully capable of handling this job, everything would be perfect.
“Hey, wanna do something tonight?” I ask Ace when I step through the front door and see him and Ethan playing a video game. They pause the game and both glance back at me. Ethan welcomes me with his appreciative smile—I saved him some leftover chicken and pasta—and Ace greets me with an icy, tight-lipped twitch of his lips.
So…we’re not as okay as he led me to believe last night when we were cuddling on the couch. Maybe spending this last week before the house is ready in separate spaces would be a good idea.
“Never mind. I think I’m going to grab some stuff and head to Reggie and Jordan’s for the weekend.” I turn and jog up the stairs to grab my duffle bag and shoot off a text to my BFF.
Me: Want a weekend visitor? I need some Reggie time!
Reggie: Definitely! Bring wine!
Yep. This is what I need. Time away from the cause of this growing hole in my chest where my heart should be.
Chapter 26
Ace
Stacey blew into my life like a tornado, ripped me off my firm foundation, rocked me at my core, and then faded away like the end of any good storm. She breezed into my life, taking me by surprise, and after she left, I still found myself thinking about her and the way I held her when we danced at her friend’s wedding last July. I knew I’d never see her again, yet when she showed up that day to rent my house, I let myself, for just that moment, feel the distant flutters of my heart trying to revive itself.
But then I turned it off as fast as it turned on. I made a promise to myself after Marley died that I would be faithful to her memory and honor our marriage despite her being gone. Fighting these feelings I have for Stacey is tearing me up from the inside out. She’s everything I could want in a woman and more. But with each desiring glance or lust-filled kiss, the promise I made five years ago digs a wedge between us. And it’s all my fault.
I’m the one who has kissed her. Twice. Yes, I wanted to taste her both times, press my lips to hers and feel her body against mine. But a promise
is a promise. I just don’t know what to do about it. Or Stacey.
Ethan and I spend the weekend holed up in the house playing video games or working out or drinking. When Stacey doesn’t return Sunday night, fear bubbles in my chest, thinking maybe she was in a car accident on her way home. After pacing the length of the house a dozen times, I send her a text.
Me: Where are you? If you’re driving, pull over and call me. Please.
Stacey: I’m still at Reggie’s house. Gonna commute to work until the house is ready for me.
My hand wraps around my phone, holding it tightly. My other hand slides through my hair as I groan, fighting the urge to slam my head into a wall. Of course she left. I didn’t give her a reason to stay and it’s like I enjoy stabbing myself with a red-hot iron rod repeatedly through my chest. If there was any question I actually had any part of my heart remaining, there is the proof of it. It’s burning through my ribs, falling to the floor for me to stomp on. Because I did this to myself.
“Dammit!” I toss my phone onto the counter and it slides into the backsplash. My hands scrub over my face before I lean over the counter, placing my palms on the cool surface.
“You want to talk about it?” Ethan says from behind. I turn to face him and he scowls at my pained expression. He folds his arms across his chest and leans on the counter, raising his eyebrows.
Do I want to talk to him about what a royal screwup I am? Not really. Do I want to share my feelings and hug it out over a pint of ice cream? Hell no. Am I going to talk? Yep.
“I kissed her and she left.” I move to the kitchen table, pull out a chair, and sit down backward with my arms resting on the back. Apparently, this is the new me: lay it all out on the line in the most matter of fact way.
“That was, like, almost two weeks ago,” he argues. “Besides, what makes you think she left? I thought she was having a girls’ weekend or something.”
I hold up my phone for him to see her text and his lips pull down in another scowl.
“I kissed her…again. The night before she left to stay at Reggie’s.”
“Obviously the girl has issues if she left because you kissed her.” Ethan pushes off the counter, pulls out a chair, and echoes my posture, straddling the seat and arms folded over the back of the chair.
“She’s not the one with the issues and you know it. We got a little carried away and I freaked out. That’s why she left.”
A wicked grin grows on Ethan’s face before his hand falls to his thigh as he slaps it three times. “How carried away are we talking? Did our Stacey finally break your dry streak?”
I flip him the bird, shake my head, and tug on my ear, hoping to ease the rapid beating of my heart.
“No, you ass. I didn’t have sex with her. Sex is off the table and you know it.”
“Sex can be on the table too. Or with her bending over the table and you—” Ethan tilts his head back and laughs when I cut him off.
“What the…Jesus, dude. She and I aren’t having sex. I’m married to your sister.” I scrub my hands over my face again and tug at the beard growing a little too bushy on my chin. Time for a trim.
“You’re not married to Marley anymore. Marriage doesn’t continue in this life when one person isn’t alive any longer. You know this. You’re just choosing not to believe it,” Ethan says, resting his chin on his arms. “My sister would want you to be happy. She’d want you to move on.”
“I wish it were that simple.” My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose in an effort to stave off a brewing headache. “Every time something happens between Stacey and me, I’m flooded with guilt. Like I’m cheating on Marley. I know I’m not, but it doesn’t change the tightening in my chest or the swirl of my stomach. It feels wrong, like I’m betraying my wife’s memory.”
“So that’s it? You’re just going to give up?” Ethan sits up, shrugs, and rubs his hand over his chin. “Is she not worth it?”
A frustrated huff blows from my lips as I roll my eyes.
“Seriously, Ace. Have you seen the way she looks at you?”
“Stop.” I’ve seen it. I recognize the longing in her brown eyes, the hope she’s holding on to. But I don’t want to hear it from my friend. My brother-in-law.
“No, I’m not going to stop. You need to know what I see in her. What I see in you.” He stands up, the chair slides across the tile, and he walks to the fridge and pulls out two beers. “But first, I need a beer and so do you.”
“I have to work in the morning,” I say, accepting the glass bottle regardless. I have a feeling I’ll need this if he’s going to tell me things I already know.
“Dude, whatever. Just drink and shut your trap while I sound like a chick for a while and talk about feelings and shit.”
We laugh, twist off the bottle caps, and take a swig of the cold amber liquid. I don’t know what I would do without Ethan. He’s been right here with me since the day after Marley died and truth be told, if it weren’t for him, I may have drank myself to death. For the first month, I drank my meals. I wasn’t even sober the day of her funeral—talk about guilt sinking its claws deep in my chest. I can honestly say that day is about as clear as mud in my memory.
After a month of drinking myself stupid, Ethan literally held my head up as he poured the rest of the alcohol in the house down my throat. I gagged, coughed, and eventually threw up. He left me lying in the mess and when I woke up the next day, he told me I was done drowning myself in liquid death. I was pissed but eventually realized he was right. Since that time, drinking has never been something I do to forget anymore.
But right about now, I’m considering it.
“You remember that first day last summer when you walked into the house with that stupid look on your face?” Ethan asks, knowing full well I know exactly what he’s talking about. I had agreed to go out with her and her friends and was completely perplexed about what to do. “What about when you went to her friend’s wedding? The next day you came home, you walked like you felt lighter. Like some invisible weight had been lifted.”
Dancing with Stacey at the wedding had felt good, had made me lose myself in something other than the sad and painful memories of my life. Holding her so close and moving her around the dance floor was easy and natural, almost like breathing. Even now, a smile finds its way to my lips.
“See,” Ethan says, a wide smile of his own taking over his face. “You’re thinking about that night, aren’t you?” I shrug as if it’s no big deal, making Ethan roll his eyes. “She’s good for you. You haven’t kissed anyone in five years and I’m guessing you haven’t seen any action either considering you don’t put yourself out there. How anyone can go five years is beyond me.”
Beer finished, Ethan stands and returns to the fridge. “Want another?”
I shake my head and finish off mine before laying it down on the table and spinning it. I watch the bottle until it stops and wait for more of Ethan’s pep talk. Or whatever it is.
“Has it really been five years?” he asks, sitting on his chair again.
I nod once, stand the beer bottle up, and sigh. “And the other night I freaking came in my pants when she was grinding on me while we were making out.”
Ethan stills, his beer halfway to his gaping mouth. “What the hell, man? That’s just gross!” But then he laughs, making me feel like an idiot. “What did you do? I mean, that really sucks and must have been embarrassing.” He’s still laughing while I ball my hands into fists.
“Shut it, jerk-face. She obviously knew it happened, it wasn’t like it was easy to hide. Neither of us said anything and she got up to do the dishes.”
“You didn’t explain to her about why it happened?” he asks. I shrug and begin to peel the label off the bottle. “Well, maybe that’s the real reason she isn’t coming back. She probably thinks you’re not worth spending time on if you’re too quick on the draw.” Once again, Ethan erupts into laughter and a part of me wants to throw this bottle at his head just to see if he’ll still think
the situation is funny.
Chapter 27
Stacey
It’s moving back in day and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve spent the last week at Reggie’s house and commuting to work—it’s been pretty much terrible. Driving a little over an hour to and from work every day has me appreciating my short commute now that I’m back in the house. Everything looks and feels fresh and clean and for the first time in my adult life, I have brand new furniture. Ace’s insurance covered the purchase of a new couch and kitchen table and a couple other small pieces. And I love them.
I stopped by Ethan’s house when I knew Ace would be working to grab the rest of my things and then slid the key under the door. I needed to be done with that part of my life. Our relationship needs to stick within the realms of business only. He’s my landlord and nothing more…no matter how much I wish it could be different. He’s not ready for it and I can’t handle the back and forth.
With everything back in my closet, cupboards, and cabinets, I sit down on my new soft couch and run my hands over the gray chenille fabric. Love this house, love my couch, and I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. Ace’s couch, though comfortable, wasn’t a bed, and Reggie’s guest bed is lumpy. I feel a little like Goldilocks when she’s trying out beds to nap in. This bed’s too hard, this bed’s too soft…Ace’s bed was just right. I shake my head. No…my bed’s just right.
Not wanting to dirty my pretty kitchen, I order pizza for delivery and realize Halloween is in three days. I have a newly remodeled house, and very few friends. What better way to meet people than to throw a party where everyone lives out their fantasies in one night? I scoop up my phone from the coffee table and call Ace, knowing I should make sure he’s okay with me having a party.