by Lisa Suzanne
It shouldn’t matter, but it does. I can’t cohabitate with one man while another man I slept with funds our arrangement.
I’ve crossed too many lines already, but that seems to be my limit.
“Are you sure you want to live in your brother’s building?” I ask once we’ve looked at all three bedrooms.
Brian lifts a shoulder. “He doesn’t own the building.”
I nod, conceding, but don’t otherwise reply.
He heads over to the window to drink in the view. This particular condo doesn’t face the Strip. “I like the location. It’s close to work, not far for you to get to work, in the center of the action. Nice view.”
“I’ve never had a desire to live in the center of the action. Plus traffic’s a bear. I’d rather live on the outskirts than have to drive into it every day.” It’s a feeble excuse, and I suddenly feel like my opinion doesn’t matter. It’s sort of like we’re house shopping for Brian, and I’m moving in with him—not like we’re shopping for houses that we can share, even though that was what he indicated.
“I’ll have to drive into it every day,” he says.
“Your choice was to select an office space right off the Strip. My choice would be not to live directly on the Strip.”
“Fair enough.” He heads back toward the kitchen, calling Erica as he goes.
I hear them chatting with each other, but I’m not really listening. I’m looking out the window at the same view Brian’s bedroom in Mark’s penthouse overlooks. I’m thinking about Mark and what it was like that first night we were together. Also what it was like that second night together—the one that never should’ve happened.
I find that I’m not thinking about my boyfriend and the home we’re looking to share despite my vow to myself that I’d stop thinking about Mark. He keeps sneaking unbidden into my thoughts.
When we get back to my place after looking at a few more houses and going out to dinner, Brian grabs the wine glasses out of the cabinet where we keep them, a reminder about how far we’ve come. He knows where I store my wine glasses. That’s a check in the right column. He’s comfortable in my home. I’m comfortable having him here.
I watch Brian’s strong hands as he pours our wine. I ignore the flash of his brother’s talented hands that runs through my mind. He hands me a glass, and we both hold them up.
“What should we toast to?” I ask.
“To us. To our future.”
I nod and clink my glass against his, sure I’ve made the right choice.
We both take a sip.
“I have some bad news,” he says.
I raise a brow as if telling him to go ahead with it.
“I need to swing another quick trip to Houston.”
I press my lips together in disappointment. “When do you leave?”
He ducks his head before answering. “In the morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I take a sip of wine.
“We were having such a nice evening. I didn’t want to ruin it with work shit.”
My eyes soften. I was frustrated the other night when he had to run out, and I took it out on him. It sucks, but it’s not a deal breaker. He’s just starting his own business, and I’m trying to be more understanding. He deserves that after what I did. “It’s okay. You can’t change your work schedule.”
“Come with me.”
“Won’t you be working the whole time?” I take a sip of my wine, not sure why I’m looking for some reason not to go.
He nods. “Yeah, but you’ll be waiting for me when I get back to my hotel room. You’ll give me something to look forward to.”
“How long will you be gone?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “Less than forty-eight hours. It’s mostly prep work for my trip to Germany.”
“You go. I’ll be waiting here when you get back. You can still look forward to that.”
“Oh, I’ll be looking forward to it,” he says, smiling wickedly.
After a couple glasses of wine, we head to my bedroom. I need it to be something other than slow and sensual tonight—need it rough, need it to distract me. I won’t allow another man into my mind when I’m with Brian. It’s not fair to him.
The wine obliterated my inhibitions, so I strip naked and kneel not so patiently on the bed for Brian to get out of his suit. He drapes his clothes neatly onto my dresser while mine lie in a pool on the floor. He’s usually not this meticulous, and all it does is drive me to higher depths of need. He’s finally naked, and I feel like I should’ve had some part in getting him there. He gets onto my bed on one knee, and he comes toward me. We meet in the middle, both of us on our knees naked, and he wraps his arms around me.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” he says softly, tenderly, into my hair.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
His fingertips run up the front of my thigh in search of my center, and as he pushes into the wet flesh, I can’t help the images that dart through my mind of the last man who did this to me.
I push them away. I force myself to make all the right sounds. I allow my hands to move as they should, to find his erection, to grasp and tug. I go through the motions—a kiss here, a nip there, a touch here, a sigh there. When he pushes me onto my back and hovers over me, I force myself to meet his eyes. I’m thankful for the darkness that shadows my tumultuous thoughts.
When he pushes into me, I moan from real desire. He thrusts in and out of me, skin to skin, and I focus on the feel of him. I focus on his amber scent. I focus on his mouth as it finds mine.
He finishes quickly—it’s been a few days since we’ve done this, longer than we usually wait for each other. We just had a conversation the other night about how he always lets me come first, but not tonight. He gets me there with his fingers, and I can’t help noticing that our bodies seem out of sync for the first time in our relationship.
seven
Brian is already in Houston by the time I wake up the next morning.
I’m not sure when he sleeps, exactly, because he was up late with me and up early to run home to pack before catching his flight. He texted me an hour ago letting me know he was safe and sound, and some of the heavy weight I’ve carried on my shoulders dissipates as I realize I can stop lying to Brian’s face now that he’s in another state.
I get out of bed and take a shower, allowing my hair to air dry and skipping the make-up for now so I can eat some breakfast. I’m in the middle of a bowl of Cheerios as I scroll my Instagram feed when there’s a knock at my front door.
I’m not expecting anybody.
When I glance out the peephole, my heart races and drops seemingly at the same time. I blow out a breath before I open it.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is defeated and weary, and I can’t help but think it’s his fault that the weariness is there. I stand with one foot behind the door so he can’t push it open and force his way in. I don’t plan to invite him in today.
“Do you always greet people that way?” he asks. He’s clearly going for a light tone, but he fails.
I raise my brows pointedly.
“I’m just keeping my word,” he clarifies.
“What word?”
“That I’m not going to stop pursuing you.” He pushes on the door a little, but my foot blocks it from opening.
He raises a brow at me then leans one arm on the doorframe. We’re less than a foot apart, yet it feels like we’re oceans apart.
“You should leave.”
“I don’t want to.” His voice is low and sexy and again it breaks my heart all over again that I’m fighting this—fighting him.
I don’t want you to, either. “You have to.”
He presses his lips together. “He’s really what you want?”
I don’t know. “Yes.” I can’t help the crack in my voice. I’m sure he picks up on it, but my defenses are crumbling. How am I supposed to keep pushing him away when deep down, I want him just as much as he claims to want m
e?
I’ve already chosen. I just need to remind myself that I chose correctly the first time. I want Brian. I want a traditional relationship. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, they hold hands in public and go out to dinner and a movie and no one cares. They chaperone prom together. He supports her job and she supports his—it’s not one or the other. It’s not fighting off female fans or wondering if he’s staying faithful while he’s on the road. It’s not paparazzi or appearing together in pictures posted on gossip websites. It’s not becoming a household name. Those are things I’ve never wanted for myself, but committing to a relationship with someone like Mark would throw all those things right in my lap.
As I gaze at the man standing on my porch, though, it’s a lot easier to think about the good things. The way he makes me feel like the most important person in the room with just one simple glance, the way he makes my insides burn with a passionate fire for him, the way just his green eyes press an ache of desire between my legs, the way his tongue moves against mine, the way he holds me in his arms. The way he makes love to me.
I force those images away and try with all my might to replace them with images of Brian, but it’s futile.
I expect his face to fall at my confirmation that his brother is what I want, but it doesn’t. Instead, he shoots me a smug look.
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is fierce and direct.
“I’m not.”
“I might believe you if your words weren’t so full of emotion,” he says.
I draw in a deep breath and do my best to steady my voice. “Please leave me alone. Please give me a chance to work things out with my boyfriend.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“How do you know I haven’t already?”
He barks out a laugh. “Trust me, I’d know.”
“How?”
Mark glances away from me. “He’d have said something to me.” He looks back at me. “Why haven’t you told him?”
I lift a shoulder. “I’m trying to move past it. I don’t want to be the cause of more division between you two.”
“The divide isn’t because of you. I own what we did.”
“I do, too, and I hate keeping it from him. But it won’t happen again.”
He presses his lips together. “We’ll see about that.” He leans forward, and I catch his familiar scent in my nose. I almost throw myself at him, but I force myself to hold onto the door as I lean back from him, to stand strong in the ethics I’m slowly gaining back. To stand strong in my decision that Brian is the right man for me. To fight my feelings for the rock star on my porch.
“I refuse to believe this is the end,” he says softly. His eyes gleam with the same passion I feel.
“Believe it,” I say. “I want him, not you.” I shut the door in his face, but I don’t miss the agonizing pain that darts through his eyes before the door latches shut.
My hands shake when I finally allow the tears to fall down my cheeks as I to crumble to the floor.
*
It’s a little after ten that night when Brian calls me from Houston.
“How’s the work going?” I answer.
“Fine. We’re prepping to head to Germany and our new plans are turning out much better than our original ones.”
“That’s good news.”
“How was your day?” he asks.
I think of Mark showing up at my house and the way my chest has ached since I shut the door. “Good,” I lie.
“Do anything fun?”
“Cleaned my closet.”
“Exciting. Find anything good in there?”
I can’t believe I’m making small talk about cleaning out my closet with Brian after everything that’s happened, but I remind myself this is the normal I’ve been seeking. I had to keep myself busy today after seeing Mark, so I went on a cleaning spree. “A bunch of old stuff that’s in the donation pile.”
“Good. Less to have to move.”
I still haven’t agreed to move in with him, but I make some mm sound of agreement.
“I’m still thinking about the second house Erica showed us,” he says.
“The one on the golf course?”
“Yes. Did you like that one?” he asks.
“It was nice.”
“The kitchen was big.” He says it like he expects I’ll be spending a lot of time in there, and I’m not sure if I’m offended because of his insinuation or if I’m offended because I’m looking for reasons to be offended by him. I let it slide.
“It was very nice.”
“So nice you used the word twice?”
I let out a giggle, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.
“Do you want to move in with me, Reese?”
I feel like this isn’t an over the phone kind of conversation. “Of course I do. I’m just not sure we’re ready for all that yet.”
“It’s okay to say no, babe. I’ll understand. I know we’re moving quickly.”
He’s making it easy, but I still feel bad. I feel like moving in with him now might be a great way to press forward with him. I’m not sure that’s the best reason for moving in with someone, though. “My lease is up in October. Jill and I haven’t discussed what we’re doing then, but what if we revisit this conversation in another month or so? We’ll have to let our rental company know by the beginning of September if we want to renew.”
“But I want to move out of my brother’s place before then.”
“And you should. So you buy the house you want, and if it’s right for both of us when the time comes, then we’ll make it work.” Just please don’t pick the Mandarin.
“I loved that condo at the Mandarin,” he says, and my heart drops. “But I think I need to separate my life from my brother’s. You liked that second place?”
I try to mask the breath of relief I let out. “It was really nice. I loved the tub in the master bath.”
He laughs. “I may call Erica and put in an offer, then.”
“If it’s the one you liked best, you should.”
“I love you, Reese.”
“Love you, too.”
“I need to get ready for tomorrow, but I’m glad we talked.”
“I am, too.” I do feel a sense of relief that I’ve bought myself another month. “Have a great day tomorrow.”
We hang up, and I feel good about our conversation. He took the idea of postponing my decision well. A month is a good amount of time to push all this drama behind me. It’ll give me enough time to get on the right track with Brian and leave that night with Mark well in the past.
*
Our house is beyond spotless by the time Brian gets back from Houston, and we only get two nights together before he has to leave for Germany.
I can almost convince myself that I’m over Mark…except at night when I sleep and my subconscious attacks me with dreams of our two nights.
When Brian takes me to my bed the night he returns from Houston, he’s tender. He’s not slow—he’s never slow—but he cherishes me as he tells me how much he’ll miss me while he’s out of the country. And after we have sex, he holds me in his arms in the quiet of night, and that’s when the guilt is the worst.
I wake from a dream about another man, and I wonder why I’m fighting against Mark so hard. I wonder what I’m doing, exactly. I wonder if I could just let both brothers go and move on with my life as if the Foxes never stepped into it. Sometimes I think that would be easiest, but my heart belongs to them. Both of them, still, but time will help me pull it out of Mark’s hands so I can place the whole thing into Brian’s.
The next day, which is the day before Brian leaves for Germany, he invites me to stay at his place over text message.
Brian: I have a few things to finish at the office and I still need to pack. Can you meet me at my place tonight?
I’m hesitant to go back to Mark’s condo. I’m afraid I’ll see him in his home—the place where he made love to me twice—and all the feelings that I’ve bee
n fighting against so hard will come rushing back to me. The more I can avoid him, the better.
Me: We should stay at my place instead.
Brian: Why?
I scramble to come up with any reason why, but I’ve got nothing.
Me: We just usually stay here.
Brian: I won’t have much time to get to your place and also get everything done I need to. My flight’s early. I’m so sorry.
Me: Okay. I’ll meet you there. What time?
Brian: Seven.
Me: See you then.
I pack an overnight bag with my chest aching again. I feel a sense of impending doom. This is a bad idea, but I don’t know how to convince Brian of that. I’m tired of keeping the secret, tired of fighting against myself. I’m exhausted, and it hasn’t even been two full weeks since that night.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this charade going—lying to Brian, denying how I feel about Mark, fighting my feelings and suppressing them like I’m not in love with two men who happen to be brothers—just in two very different ways. I’ve convinced myself the feelings I have for Brian are stronger, but the potential of seeing them in the same room together is overwhelming.
I make my way over to the Mandarin Oriental at twenty until seven, and I drop my car at the valet. I text Brian to let him know I’m here, and he meets me on the first floor.
I flash back to that first night Mark brought me back here. We took the elevator from the second floor because there was less chance of someone spotting him. That’s not what I want; this is what I want—for my boyfriend to meet me on the first floor because nobody cares who he is.
Brian takes my bag then presses his lips to mine as we wait for our elevator. When the doors open, we step on and ride up to the top floor as my heart pounds wildly. I watch the numbers on the panel as they carry us closer to Mark Ashton. I listen to the chirp as we pass each floor, each chirp in my ears causing a pulse of fear to shoot down my spine.
The doors open and 4701 is immediately in front of us. Brian walks through first and I walk through second, and there sits Mark Ashton at his kitchen table. He’s typing on his laptop. He’s not wearing a shirt, and my mouth waters.
He glances up when we walk in. He looks surprised to see me, but he masks it well. He looks back at his screen. “Hi,” he says, otherwise ignoring us.