Two is a Lie

by Pam Godwin

  His recovery rate is unparalleled, and since he’s gone without for so long, I’m certain it’ll be a sleepless night. I just hope I have the energy to keep up with him.

  “Not tonight.” He touches my face and kisses me tenderly. “Physical activity during a dive impacts decompression safety. You need to take it easy for the rest of the night.” He skims a palm down my back and slaps a stinging whack against my ass. Then his lips twist impishly. “You can just lie there while I do all the work.”

  By letting him into my body, I didn’t just open the door. I ripped it off the hinges. There’s no turning back now. He’ll fuck me as often as he can, in as many positions as possible, until neither of us can walk.

  I expect him to roll on top of me and take me again immediately. But he doesn’t. He climbs to his feet, all hard and naked and fully erect, and dives into the pool, entering the water like an aerodynamic bullet.

  We spend the next hour gathering and storing equipment, cleaning up the area, and changing into warm clothes. As he leads me into the dark parking lot behind the building, there’s a chill in the air that seeps beneath my coat and shivers my bones.

  I bend over the saddle of his motorcycle to unhook our helmets, and his hands catch my wrists. He stands behind me, his groin pressed against my ass as he wrenches my arms behind my back.

  “Cole?” My whisper echoes in the dark silence, and my pulse accelerates.

  “I thought I could wait until we got home.” He leans over my bent position with his breath ragged and hot on my neck. “But I’m done waiting.”

  My gasp shivers the air with white plumes, my chest rising and falling against the bike seat. The parking lot is empty, and we’re tucked in the shadows behind the shop, surrounded by tree cover. But it’s a commercial property. There would be some kind of security in place.

  I turn my head, straining to scan the perimeter. “Cameras—”

  “We’re out of view of the lens.” He folds my hands together against my tailbone, his voice gruff. “Lock your fingers. Yeah, like that. Now rest your weight on the seat.”

  I relax my chest against the bike and close my eyes. He unclasps the button on my jeans and yanks the denim and panties to my thighs with an impatient tug. Then he fumbles with his own fly, and the sound of his zipper spikes a jolt of heat to my pussy.

  There, in the hush of a dark parking lot, he caresses me, fingers me, and sinks into my body with a hissing groan. The strokes of his cock are unhurried, the hands on my skin firm yet soft with devotion.

  He rides me to orgasm before finding his own release. Then he takes me home and fucks me again and again.

  Hours later, I curl up against his warm body in my bed and sink into a satiated sleep.

  It’s still dark outside when I wake. I roll to my back and squint in the pitch-black of my bedroom. Sliding an arm across the mattress, I reach for him only to find the space beside me cold and empty.

  I lift on an elbow and glance at the clock. 3:12 AM.

  Where did he go?

  As I shift toward the edge of the bed, my attention catches on the shadow in the corner of the room.

  “Cole?”

  The dark outline of his head lifts. I can’t see his eyes, but I can make out his slumped posture where he sits on the floor with his arms resting on his bent knees.

  “What’s wrong?” I crawl across the mattress, closing the distance.

  His inky eyes hold mine for an elusive moment before he rests his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling.

  Dread slithers up my spine. I slide off the bed and kneel beside him.

  “Hey.” I trail my fingers along the tense muscles in his face. “Talk to me.”

  His nostrils widen with a heavy inhale, and he clasps his hands in front of him, pressing his palms together, fidgeting. Then he finds my gaze in the dark.

  “I’m just…” A swallow bounces in his throat. “I’m dealing with some shit in my head.”

  I run a hand through his hair, my whisper shaking with nerves. “Like what? Why do you look so scared?”

  He releases a sharp breath. “I’m terrified that one day I’m going to watch you walk away with the one who stole my dance.” His eyes cut away before shifting back. “You won’t even glance back at me, because you’ll be so absorbed by the life he gives you. A stable future, your career, his philanthropy. And the breathtaking smile on your face… I won’t be the one giving you that, either. That’s when I’ll know, when I’ll really truly know just how badly I fucked up the best thing I ever had.”

  “You didn’t fuck anything up.”

  “I left you!” He leaps to his feet, knocking into the dresser in his distress. “I deserted you, chasing some bullshit career—”

  “It wasn’t bullshit.” My heart hammers as I stand to face him. “It meant something to you.”

  “You meant more. Then and now. But that fucking realization is too little, too late.”

  “It’s not—” Uncertainty fists my throat, choking my words. “You’re not too late.”

  “Then marry me. Tomorrow. Be my life, Danni.”

  My breaths grow shallow and panicky, and my eyes burn with moisture. I want to say yes. I want to scream it, because I can’t bear the pain contorting his face.

  You’re trying to determine who will be less heartbroken.

  “Cole, I…” I press a hand against my mouth, silencing the tears in my voice.

  “Dammit.” He rushes toward me and envelopes me in a constricting embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m not pushing you. I’m just…”

  “Scared.”

  “Yeah.” He kisses my head, my temple, then my lips. “I’m afraid to close my eyes. Afraid that when I open them, you’ll be gone.”

  “I’m here.” I press my mouth to the corner of his. “I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”

  “Okay.” He nods, and nods again, as if assuring himself.

  With my hand in his, I guide him back into bed and pull the blankets around us. Eventually, his chest relaxes against my back, and his breaths even out. Only then do I let myself fall back asleep.

  Just as I slip out of awareness, his hand clenches around mine, snapping my eyes open in the dark.

  “You have my heart,” he whispers against my nape. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  The next morning, I hang my head over the toilet and vomit for the third time in two hours. My guts cramp through each wretched heave. My body shakes and chills, and sweat saturates every pore.

  “This is my fault.” Cole crouches behind me, holding my hair and rubbing my back.

  “Shut up,” I say weakly and drop my brow to the toilet seat. “Just let me die already.”

  “I should’ve made you stay in bed last night.”

  “We were in bed.” I wobble my head, sliding him a look. “A lot.”

  “You know what I mean.” Worry creases his face. “Are you done?”

  “I think so.” I push away from the toilet and lower the lid. “I don’t have anything left in my stomach.”

  He hits the flusher and pulls me to a teetering stand. “Easy.”

  “Need to brush my teeth.”

  He helps me, supporting my weight while I scrub the icky taste from my mouth. Then he lifts me in his arms.

  As he carries me out of the bathroom, the doorbell rings.

  I groan and rest my cheek on his shoulder.

  “Expecting someone?” He heads to the bedroom and eases me onto the mattress.

  “I messaged Trace an hour ago. Told him I was throwing up.”

  “Fuck.” Cole sets his jaw.

  “I told him not to come over.”

  “And you expected him to listen?” He drags a hand down his face and takes in my thin tank top and panties. “I’ll get you something to wear.”

  “I’m burning up.” I kick the sheet off my legs as an inferno blazes beneath my skin. “Just…please, go let him in and try not to kill each other.”

  I feel a little delirious, beca
use one second, Cole is glaring down at me. Then I blink, and it’s Trace’s blue eyes sweeping over me.

  “Did you swap bodies?” My mumble sounds logical, but I don’t really know what I’m saying.

  “You’ve been asleep for a while.” Trace touches a hand to my forehead then my cheek. “Fever’s still high. Think you can keep down some fluids?”

  He holds up a bottle of clear fruit juice.

  I nod. “Where’s Cole?”

  The instant the question leaves my mouth, my insides contract for reasons unrelated with nausea.

  I had sex with Cole, and guilt stabs painfully hard as I look at Trace. Can he see the shame in my eyes? Smell the betrayal on my body?

  “I’m right here.” Cole’s voice rumbles from behind me.

  I turn my neck and find him sitting in a chair next to the bed, his disgruntled gaze locked on Trace. If Cole loses his temper, I’m in no condition to intervene. I can’t even work up the strength to worry about it.

  Trace slides a hand beneath my head and helps me sit up.

  “Just a few sips.” He holds the juice to my lips.

  The cherry flavor trickles down my throat, cool and refreshing. I grab his wrist, wanting more, but he sets it out of reach.

  “I talked to the pharmacy.” He lifts a plastic bag from the floor and places it on the bed. “There’s a stomach bug going around.”

  “I hope I don’t get you guys sick.” I rub my head, swaying with dizziness. “You should probably fumigate or something.”

  “I’m not concerned about that.” Trace reaches into the bag and looks at Cole, hesitating. “I also picked up this.”

  He removes a rectangular package and drops it on my lap.

  A pregnancy test.

  Denial slams into me, tightening my shoulders. I have an IUD, and it doesn’t expire for years.

  Cole surges from the chair, his features twisted in pain and horror. He paces a tight circle beside the bed, his hands raking through his hair and shoulders bunching. Then he stops at the window and stares outside.

  “I’m not pregnant,” I say to his back.

  If I were, the baby wouldn’t be his. I got sick before last night, and he knows that.

  “Take the test.” Trace straightens and clasps his hands behind his back. “We need to know for sure.”

  He looks unruffled and indifferent in his fitted navy suit and pinstripe button-up. His wide stance and natural scowl emanates intimidation and sternness, but I see beneath it. The brightness in his blue eyes, the twitch in his clean-shaved cheek, and the way his body leans slightly toward me—all of it radiates emotion. Eagerness. Hope.

  I don’t know if he wants to be a father, but if I were carrying his child, that would certainly give him the fate he’s waiting for. It would tie us together forever.

  “Let’s get this over with.” I slide off the bed, waving them away when they move to help me.

  I’m not going to pee on a stick while they glare and growl at each other. The bathroom isn’t big enough for the three of us anyway.

  My legs shake, and the floor spins as I trudge toward the toilet and take the test. I’m so certain it’ll be negative, I don’t wait for the results before returning to the bedroom.

  Trace plucks the stick from my hand while Cole tucks me in. Then we wait.

  The tension in the room is so thick it’s hard to breathe. Cole and Trace want different results from the test, and one of them will be disappointed. I wish I can say or do something to make it easier for them, but I’m struggling just to keep my eyes open.

  Trace doesn’t take his focus off the plastic stick. Another minute passes before creases bracket his scowl and his shoulders fall.

  “It’s negative.” He tosses it in the wastebasket, staring at it with unblinking eyes.

  My heart hurts for him, but he must know that a baby would’ve put a terrible wrench in an already confusing situation.

  Cole releases a heavy breath and lowers into the chair beside the bed. He doesn’t smile or shout for joy, but relief is evident in his soft expression.

  Since he returned, he’s mentioned numerous times he wants a family. I don’t know how I feel about that, and this is probably the worst time to bring it up, but it’s on my mind.

  “Can we talk about this?” I lean back on the pillow.

  Two pairs of eyes turn to me and widen.

  “Don’t freak out.” I pull the sheet over me and instantly feel too hot. I kick it off. “What I need to say has to do with both of you.”

  “You need to sleep.” Trace sits on the edge of the bed.

  “I will.” I pull in a breath and slowly release it. “Cole, you said you want a family.”

  “Yes.”

  I peer at Trace. “What about you?”

  He considers the question, staring at his hands before meeting my eyes. “I find that my love for you is ever-expanding. If you give me children, I’ll love them and protect them with my life. If you don’t, I’ll still be the happiest man in the world. As long as I have you.”

  A shiver sweeps over me. From his words. And the fever.

  “Motherhood has never been an aspiration for me.” I close my eyes and speak into the silence. “Maybe I’ll change my mind as I get older, but right now, I’m not in a place where I even want to think about it. So if that’s a deal breaker for either of you, I understand.”

  I open my eyes and lock onto Cole’s.

  His eyebrows gather, and he chews on his lip. Then he slides into a casual recline and rests a foot on his other knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Trace leans his arms on his thighs, bending toward me. “You know where I stand.”

  Right here. That’s where they both stand. Stubborn till the end.

  I have the stomach flu. Trace called in a doctor—an elderly man with a grumpy disposition—who helpfully advised, “It’s utterly miserable, and there’s no cure.”

  Oh, and avoid coffee. Fuck me.

  The flu persists for the next forty-eight hours, rendering me nonfunctional and completely useless. Trace and Cole force fluids like drill sergeants and restrict my menu to bananas, applesauce, toast, and sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

  Trace spends the days at my house, but I make him leave when Cole gets home from work. He’s gracious enough to not argue that point, but I see the hurt in his eyes when he kisses me goodbye on my forehead.

  Maybe it’s selfish on my part, but I hear his heated whispers with Cole in the other room and feel the constant tension vibrating between them. I need to recover, and I can’t do that with all the damn negativity in the house.

  Cole carries his own share of disappointment, since I won’t let him sleep in my bed. They’ve both been exposed to my cooties, but letting him roll around in my sickly, sweaty sheets? That’s just gross.

  By the third day, I feel well enough to putter around the house, disinfecting and doing laundry. But I hold off on going to work.

  The morning of the fourth day, I’m back to one-hundred-percent health. The severe aches and muscle pain that plagued me for almost a week are gone. Energy buzzes through my blood as I shower and drink coffee and ponder how I’m going to spend the day.

  Oddly, neither Trace nor Cole are here. The motorcycle’s gone, and Trace hasn’t stopped by to check on me.

  I have the house to myself.

  With a grin, I head to the spare room that serves as my closet and change into a black beaded bra and bikini dance bottoms. Then I run through a stretch routine in the dance studio.

  Bouncing on my toes, I scroll through my song selection on the stereo. I should work on the ballroom dance Nikolai and I will be performing at the mayor’s Christmas party in a couple weeks. But the dance pole in the corner draws my attention.

  I haven’t touched it since Cole left almost five years ago. Chewing my thumbnail, I eye it with longing.

  It’s time.

  I select a song, put it on repeat, and approach the pole. My freestyle moves will be rusty as
hell, but I already feel the adrenaline speeding up my pulse and quickening my pace.

  As the electronic pulse of Undisclosed Desires by Muse bounces through the room, I walk around the pole, grasping it lightly above my head. My feet cross, one in front of the other in an exaggerated fashion, and I let my toes drag the floor behind me while pushing out my hip.

  On the next rotation, I slide my back down the pole, kicking a leg high as my butt descends to the floor. Climbing back up, I swing upside down into a chopper position with legs straight and spread above my head. My core muscles engage, my fingers clenching hard around the pole as I suspend my inverted weight.

  I transition through all the standard moves, splaying my legs open, arching my back, and setting my underused muscles on fire. By the time the song restarts for the third time, I’m swinging my head, rolling my hips, and working up a delicious sweat.

  When I climb the pole again, I focus on my spins, full-turns and U-turns, while flipping, leaning back, and stretching into horizontal variations of the superman and the slingshot.

  Oh man, I missed this—the sensual movements, the coordination and muscular exertion, and the liberation in hanging from the ceiling by one leg.

  Once my feet return to the floor, I close my eyes and swing with the hypnotic beats of the song. With a hand on the pole, I circle my hips and bend my knees, dipping down and sliding back up while flipping my hair round and round.

  It’s been so long I probably look like a fumbling amateur, but the movements feel second-nature. Pole dance is rooted in belly dance, after all. In the era of traveling sideshows, belly dancers undulated on the tent poles to draw crowds for the shows. And like belly dance, I find it impossible to dance on a pole and not feel sexy doing it. Every movement fosters a carnal emotion that can turn an innocent girl into a seductive temptress.

  The temptress in me has definitely been unleashed. I push my butt out as I climb, splitting my legs open and arching into a deep back bend that inverts my body and gives me an upside-down view of the kitchen doorway.

  And the two pairs of legs standing on either side of it.

  My breath hitches, and my grip slips. I quickly tighten my fingers, stopping myself from plunging face first to the floor.