by A. J. Pryor
I nod.
“That’s so sweet. I agree with Paige, he’ll wipe Matt from your memory. You should dive right into that.”
I’m sure for one night, Damian could briefly erase Matt straight from my mind, but getting him out of my heart is an entirely different story. Our relationship ended so suddenly. There was no fight, no cosmic event that clued me into the fact it was time to take a break, just a boy who wanted to fly off and become a man. I had to let him go, trusting he’d one day find me again. I never dreamed he’d cut me off . . . until he did. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.
“No way, Addison. Stop frowning.”
“I’m not frowning.”
“You have a sex god living next door who clearly likes to flirt with you. No frowning. It’s not allowed.”
“I didn’t frown.” I continue to protest.
“Um, yeah you did. What’s your problem?” Mia asks.
“Matt’s my problem.”
“Addy! Matt’s an asshole. Let it go.”
“I can’t. It was only two nights ago I was in Matt’s bed. Not like I can just move on.”
“Matt’s married,” Paige points out. “He’s moved on, it’s time you do, too.”
I’ve spent the past five years wondering what Matt was doing, if he ever thought about me the way I had him. Wishing my life could have been different. It’s amazing how one person burrows into the fractured parts of your heart, even when they’re the one responsible for creating the cracks in the first place.
“You know . . .” I have to think hard about how I want this to come across. Since the day the three of us got lost trying to find Human Anatomy 101 we’ve never kept secrets from each other, there’s no need to start now. “I’m not one hundred percent sure if Matt showed up on my doorstep divorced, I wouldn’t take him back. I may even go for separated.”
Paige rolls her eyes, and Mia sits forward in her chair, her hand on her chin listening to every word.
“It’s the dream. You know? The life I’d conjured up and never got to live. I want my dream.”
All is quiet, each of us deep in thought, and I’m lost to the memory of a night that should feel like closure, instead it feels like a new wound that will probably take another five years to heal.
“You need to get laid,” Paige announces.
“I’m pretty sure that’s what happened this weekend,” I reply.
She’s shaking her head. “Meaningless, no strings attached, fuckery,” she defines.
“Rebound sex?” I ask dubiously.
She leans forward, making sure I have her full attention. “Hot, sweaty and dirty rebound sex. Find the hottest guy you can,” her eyes travel to the balcony next door. “And rock his fucking world, or have him rock yours for that matter.”
She sits back like this is a done deal. Decision made. If only I could get on board.
It’s been a full week since the ‘affair,’ and I’ve never been happier to relish in the fact that it’s Friday night. Work has been a bitch since one of the partners in my firm took on a pro-bono case. He’s never had much interest in charitable acts of kindness in the past, but for some strange reason Thomas Feeley has developed a keen interest in this orphaned little girl. It’s a small office, but with so much of his time being spent on that case, I’ve had to pick up the slack.
My neighborly eye candy has been doing wonders to wedge Matt out of my mind. Every morning Damian appears with his coffee mug, usually something smutty, and my morning view, which used to be the ocean is now an eight pack. I can think of worse things to wake up to.
I’m settled in for a marathon night of American Ninja Warrior episodes. Nothing is going to stop me from finding out who makes it to the finals.
Planted on my comfy white sofa, Chardonnay and frozen pizza in hand, I’m about to press play when someone knocks on my front door. If this is Paige or Mia, I’m not letting them in. I’ve waited all week to see what happens on tonight’s episode. Looking through the peephole, my breath halts and I instantly start to sweat as my heart ratchets it up a notch. This is crazy.
“What are you doing here?” I’m both angry and confused, having no idea why Matt Bryson would be standing on my front porch, looking sinfully sexy, as I swing the door open wide.
He smiles, his straight white teeth brilliantly flashing at me, his dark blue eyes intense as he takes a step inside my apartment. “I needed to see you.” He removes his hands from the pockets of his dark gray trousers and steps closer. I back up, my heart in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry and my mind wondering why a married man would need to see me. Why a married man who somehow still holds a piece of my heart is slowly and gently closing the door behind him.
He locks it.
Shit.
“I tried to call you all week, but you never picked up. I need to talk to you,” he says, his voice smooth and rich, his heated gaze never straying from my own.
I’m drawn to him, too drawn, my mind erasing every reason I have for hating his guts, every minute I spent wondering where he was and what he was doing the past five years flies out the window. My body completely betrays me, reacting to his presence.
“Stop!” I throw my hands out. “You can’t come any further.”
His lip curls up on one side and . . . damn . . . he’s adorable. I scan him from head to toe. He’s tall, solid, not a body builder, but a swimmer with a broad chest and chiseled muscles that are visible through his light blue button down. His shirt is partially open where he’s taken off his tie, and taut smooth skin is peeking through the triangle at the top. The contrast between his dark hair and blue eyes makes my stomach flutter. His nose is slightly longer than it should be, but it complements his strong jaw and firm lips. He’s brilliant and it shows, intellect dancing in those sapphire blue eyes.
He’s married, I remind myself. But so far, he’s beating me in the battle to keep him at an arm’s length. Mentally I don’t want him here, but my body recognizes what we once had, what we so recently shared, and right now, my body is craving more.
“Were you always a two-timer? Did you cheat on me?”
He stills, his smile fading as he shakes his head, and sympathy swims in his pretty blue eyes. “No. Never.”
Taking a step closer, I take one back.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I should have told you about Helen.” Not making another move in my direction, he searches my eyes, looking for some clue that I forgive him. But all I can focus on is the name Helen.
The wife has a name. The woman who gave him that wedding ring, the ring I accidentally stumbled upon in the bathroom Saturday morning, revealing that he wasn’t as available as he’d appeared. Suddenly, she’s not a distant being, but a real living breathing person, standing between me and the man I once thought was going to be my husband. The man I didn’t think I could ever live without.
It feels like I may faint, my head is spinning, my breathing jagged and uneven, and before I have a chance to turn and sit on my sofa, Matt has pulled me close, my cheek resting against his solid chest, his strong arms wrapping around me, holding me against his beating heart.
Somewhere, I find my voice. “Matt, you left me.”
“I did. And now, I’m back.” He releases his hold on my body and cups my face in the palms of his hands.
“Why?”
He looks at me in confusion.
“Why are you back? Why were you here last weekend if you’re married?”
I feel him stiffen, and I search his eyes. The sympathy swimming there gives me my answer. “You didn’t come back for me did you?”
He takes a deep breath and releases his hold on my face. “Today, yes.”
Pushing him away, I level a gaze at him. “I’m not talking about today! Last weekend, were you in town for me or not?”
No hesitation. “No. I was here for business. It was late, and I became unusually nostalgic. You were at Joe’s and every feeling I’ve tried to deny for the past five years came rushing back. I saw you
sitting with Mia and Paige, just like old times, and I knew I royally fucked my life up.”
God, I feel sick. How many times has he been back to Santa Barbara and never bothered to find me?
“Addison,” he whispers. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Addison—”
“You’re married,” I lash out.
A slight tic in his jaw and a hardening of his eyes lets me know I’ve hit a sore spot. “A slight technicality. One I plan to remedy.”
“She’s your wife. How can you talk about her like that?” I ask in disgust.
“Because I don’t love my wife. I love you, Addison. I’ve always loved you.”
One step is all it takes for him to be in front of me. He kisses me. His hands gently cup my cheeks, and my argument falls off my tongue. It’s sweet and tender and nothing like the ravenous way we attacked each other last Friday night.
Pulling slightly away, his eyes are filled with hope, and his thumbs make a constant sweeping motion along my skin. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you I was married. I never should have put you in that position.” He kisses me again, soft and tender, his lips barely grazing mine. “But Addy, I don’t regret last Friday night. I don’t regret coming here today, and I plan on fighting for you, finally fighting for us.” He clears his throat, and I find myself pushing Helen to the back of my mind as I focus on every word he says, every intonation in his voice, his devastating smile, his endless blue eyes, trying to remember a man who once consumed my every waking thought, a man who sometimes comes to me in my dreams as well.
“I filed for divorce, Addison.”
My heart takes a leap out of my chest, not sure where it wants to land. I don’t trust this man standing in front of me, and I don’t know if he can ever earn that trust again, but this admission does something to my insides, something it shouldn’t. I should be running for the nearest exit. Reminding myself of the lonely black hole I found myself in these past five years, but instead, I desperately need to hear more, I want him to still crave me.
I begin to shake my head, I shouldn’t want this, it’s not healthy . . . not going to end well for me.
He pulls me up against his chest, his arms folding me into his body. “Addison, I want you back.” Leaning in to kiss me, I step away, out of his embrace, evading the touch of his lips that my body desires.
My hands push against his chest, creating the space I should have the minute he barged in here. I can’t allow my body to rule my mind. His clean male scent, his striking eyes that are boring into my own, and I can’t think straight, my body betraying me.
“You left me knowing I had to take care of a sick dad, a bar that he’d run into the ground, and a crap load of debt to crawl out of. You told me you’d be here for me, said you’d help me pick up the pieces, and then you left.”
“I’m here now.” He reaches for me again.
“You’re too late,” I say the words but they’re meaningless. I know it, he knows it, and when his fingers graze my arm—when he steps further into my zone, my protective space no one is supposed to invade without being invited, all the fight leaves me as I’m not strong enough to ask him to step out of it.
“Ten more!”
I grunt in agony as Reed unleashes a torment of unnecessary commands in my face. Dusk is setting in, and I can see my breath with each exhale. We’re at the track at the Santa Barbara City College, our go-to place when we meet for our workouts. He has some sort of rap blasting from his portable Bluetooth device, and I want to laugh at him as he tries to yell over the volume of the music.
“Come on pussy! Ten more pull ups!”
I pause mid-stride, my chin grazing the bar in front of me. “Quit the dramatics, Reed, this isn’t the army.”
He steps closer, his hands on his hips. “Get moving, Damian, I’ve got a date, and you’re fucking with my time.”
Laughing, I finish the ten pull-ups, and do five more for good measure. Releasing my hands from the bar, I drop to the ground and wrap a towel around my neck.
“With who?”
He shrugs. “Some chick I met at Starbucks the other day.” He’s busy packing up our training gear, not looking in my direction. It’s getting dark and the lights from the stadium are illuminating everything in a soft glow. My heart is pounding furiously inside my chest, and I love every second of this massive endorphin high my body is on right now. I couldn’t feel more alive.
“And?” I ask as I begin to take off my weight lifting gloves.
“And what? She has a great ass and a nice rack, so I asked her out.”
Rolling my eyes, I take a swig from my water bottle.
“Good luck with that one,” I say sarcastically.
Stepping back to document the set we just hammered out, my leg gets a slight cramp, and I’m reminded how different my life is from six years ago. You can either be slapped in the face with a reality check, or slowly shown that your life is going to need to change. I was punched in the gut when a drunk driver slammed into my car, destroying . . . everything. My leg eventually healed, and my body was mended, but my heart never quite recovered.
“Damian – watch out!”
The pain is violent. Bones are shattering into dust . . . skin ripping apart. Blood is everywhere, the smell of warm copper surrounding me. And it’s loud. Pain is a deafening sound, and right now, it’s pulsing between my ears.
I open my eyes to try to find a focal point, something that will bring me back to the here and now, but all I see are headlights blinding my vision, and I realize the noise isn’t so much the throbbing torment pulsing in my leg, but a car, its horn blaring. “Stop honking your damn horn!” I scream into the bright light.
Looking away, I try to shield my eyes from the blazing light, and that’s when I see her blonde hair fanned out across the middle console. Streaks of blood growing thicker and darker by the second.
How could I have forgotten I wasn’t alone?
Shaking off the memory, I record the workout we just completed, thankful for the life I have now. After the accident . . . slowly, with Reed’s help, I built my body back up, working out and training like it was my profession was the only way I knew how to live my life. It wasn’t until a few years ago Reed and I decided we could grow a business out of what we did best—mass market our workouts to people all over the world, that I started to believe my life once again had purpose. And it’s the belief that I can make a difference in other people’s lives that helps me find peace with my past.
“Let’s go Reed. You have a date with a nice set of tits.”
Grabbing his water bottle, he points a finger at me. “I’m going to ask my date if she has a friend.”
“No thanks.”
“I think you need to get laid, Dude. When was the last time you had a piece of ass?” He puts his bottle down and grins. “A real piece of ass, not some relationship chick.”
Ignoring him, I walk to the car. My dad is a man whoring asshole. Casual sex is not high on my priority list, and Reed knows it. He should keep his mouth shut.
“Exactly, you can’t even remember,” he mocks.
I do remember. Two years ago, auburn hair, hazel eyes, and I recall the experience wasn’t something worth remembering or doing again. There hadn’t been a chick in recent history that had an effect on me worth going back for seconds. The first time in six years that my blood heated at the sight of a woman was last weekend when Addison Peacock fell at my feet. But she’s my neighbor and most likely off the market. Girls like that don’t stay single, and they’re smart enough not to mess with the boy next door.
Every morning that tiny, colorful ray of light is on her balcony drinking coffee and reading some smutty novel. Her dark hair pulled up away from the delicate features of her face, her eyes, soft with the early morning sun and her lips, fuck those lips always deliciously turned up in a sweet and seductive smile that instantly makes me hard. It’s the highlight of my day wondering if she’ll still be in her pajamas
or dressed for work. Either scenario has me needing a cold shower, and I’m not one for torture, so I normally turn the water on hot and take care of business on my own, imagining it’s her mouth working my cock up and down, instead of my own right hand.
Packing up the rest of my gear, we head to the car.
Throwing my shit in the back of my 4runner, I hop in the driver’s side. “Random sex isn’t on my agenda, Reed.” Buckling my seat belt, I mumble, “I still have a shit load of unpacking to do, anyway.”
Reed slides into the passenger seat and glares at me.
“What?”
“I know you’re thinking about your new neighbor, Dude. You shouldn’t shit where you sleep, trust me, it never works out well.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Huffing out a huge breath, he looks me square on. “I did a little research.”
“And?” Fucking Reed and his theatrics.
“And, Addison is an associate at Martin, Feeley, and Partners.”
“The Family Law firm?” My body tenses. “The one representing Emily?”
“One and the same.”
It takes me ten seconds to come to some lame conclusion. “Doesn’t mean she’s on the case, Reed.”
“She’s not on the case, and it’s probably fine, but it also looks a bit sketchy if you’re dating one of Thomas Feeley’s associates.”
“Dude, I’m not dating her. She’s my neighbor.”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “You know what I mean.”
“Feeley is an ass,” I say petulantly.
“I’m not disagreeing with that.”
“Well, don’t worry. My plan really was to go home and finish unpacking.”
Dropping Reed off at his house, I decide to stop by and visit Emily before I head home.
Pediatric Oncology
Room 434
The sign still twists my gut whenever I see it. No child should have to go through what these kids do day in and day out.
Stepping into her room, it’s dark, the light from a lamp on her bedside table casting a yellow glow on the walls. I was hoping to get a sight of her big blue eyes before I took off for the night, but she’s asleep looking so tiny in her white hospital bed.