Rebound Envy (Rebound #2)

by Jerica MacMillan

  Smart man. Brian and I have gotten to know each other pretty well since he's been dating Jenna. He's wrong about one thing, though. There won't be an option to try again later. The less I have to talk to Adam, the better, as far as I'm concerned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jenna rubs her hands together in glee before opening the pizza box on the coffee table.

  "I wonder how many times we'll get to do this again." My voice sounds a little maudlin even to my own ears. I'd blame it on the wine, except that I've only had a couple sips. Our evening is just starting.

  Jenna glares at me before turning back to the pizza and selecting a slice covered in extra cheese and double pepperoni. "What are you talking about?"

  I snag my own slice of pizza, taking a bite and chewing for a moment before answering. I gesture at the pizza and wine that is taking over the coffee table in Brian and Jenna's house. "This. Our pizza and ice cream fests. It's already a little different—we're drinking wine instead of Mike's. Things are changing. Your life is changing."

  Jenna sits back on the oversized couch, propping herself against the armrest so she can face me. "True. Things are changing." Her voice is thoughtful and she frowns a little while she chews her next bite. "But I can't see us ever giving this up entirely. Why would we?"

  I shrug, sitting back now, too. "You don't live alone anymore."

  "Amy, we did this the whole time Tom and I were together. I didn't live alone then, either."

  I look down, picking at the pepperoni and popping it into my mouth, enjoying the spicy bursts of flavor on my tongue. "I know. But it's different with Brian, somehow." I shrug, still not making eye contact. "I just feel like we're not as close as we used to be, y'know?"

  Jenna sets her plate down on the coffee table, sliding over to me. "I know. We spent a lot of time together after Tom died. And now I'm with Brian, so we don't see each other quite as often. But once the wedding's over and we're back from our honeymoon, things will calm down and we can hang out more."

  I snort at that. "Jenna, we spend a lot of time together now because of the wedding. I see you regularly to help you plan and organize it. Once that's gone there will be less of a reason for us to hang out. Not more."

  "Yeah, but we'll be hanging out for fun, not to go shopping for expensive dresses neither of us will ever wear again. Or hand address two hundred thirty-seven invitations. Besides, you're with Scott now, right? That's got to be keeping you occupied to some extent." She places a slight emphasis on the word "occupied" and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

  I laugh out loud at that. "Jenna, you used to be such a prude when it came to talking about sex. I had to drag details about Brian out of you, and now you're making innuendos about my relationship. You crack me up."

  She tips her chin up, her mouth pursed in a prim expression, nose in the air. "I don't know what you're talking about." The façade cracks, and she lets out a giant smile. "Seriously, though. You've been majorly holding out on me and I've let it go for quite a while now. How are things with Scott? You seemed to be getting along fine when we went out together last weekend. He touches you a lot."

  She's right. Scott does touch me a lot. He holds my hand or places his hand on the small of my back when we're walking or standing. When we're sitting, he usually has his arm along the back of my chair or his thigh pressed against mine. He kisses me hello and goodbye and frequently in between.

  I sigh, thinking about our relationship. Jenna quirks an eyebrow at me, but doesn't say anything. "He does touch me a lot. Just—not the way I want him to." I can feel heat creeping up my cheeks at my admission, and I take a large swallow of wine to cover it.

  Jenna's brows scrunch together. "You mean you still haven't had sex? But it's been—what? More than two months now, right?"

  I nod, still feeling embarrassed. "Close enough. It'll be two months next week."

  "What's he waiting for?"

  "Wouldn't I like to know."

  "Have you talked to him about it?"

  I shake my head, my face heating again. "It's embarrassing. Every time I try to push things a little further after a date, he stops me. He doesn't say anything, and I don't want to seem all desperate and needy. It's confusing. I know he's attracted to me. Trust me, I've felt it. But he keeps holding back, which makes me think he doesn't want me."

  Jenna's silent for a moment. "You need to talk to him about it. It's obviously bothering you."

  I scrub my face with my hands before looking at her. "And say what? Why don't you want me? What's wrong with me that the last two guys I've dated haven't wanted me? One's acting like an asshole now and the other is super sweet, but still doesn't want me."

  "Ah, yes. Adam. At least I'm assuming that's who the asshole is." She waits for my nod of confirmation before continuing. "So, what's going on there?"

  I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. "What do you mean? Nothing's going on there. Nothing's ever gone on there."

  "What happened last weekend when you got your wine? You seemed really upset. Even Scott noticed."

  I reach for my pizza again, taking a huge bite and talking around my mouthful. "We already talked about that."

  Jenna shakes her head. "No. I talked. I asked questions and you didn't answer them. Maybe this is why you feel like we're not that close anymore. You don't tell me anything."

  My head snaps up. Her voice isn't accusing, just stating facts, like you'd talk about the weather last week or what you had for lunch. But there's hurt reflected in her eyes.

  "Jenna, it's not like that. I just—I don't even know what to think myself." I flap a hand at the boxes of invitations and envelopes waiting for us when we've finished our pizza. "And you're busy with all the wedding planning. I don't want to whine about my sad little problems."

  Jenna snorts in derision. "Please, Amy. Don't try to sell me that line of bullshit. My wedding isn't the reason you don't tell me anything." She points the crust of her pizza at me. "The real reason you don't talk to me about stuff that's hurting you is because you got too used to being the one pulling me out of my funk. Only I'm not there anymore, so it's my turn to be there for you. You've told me about Scott. Now tell me about Adam."

  I throw my hands in the air. "There's nothing to tell that I haven't already told you, Jenna. We flirted, we went out, it ended, now he's being an ass."

  She reaches for another slice of pizza. "I know that much. Brian said you showed up at The Barrel Room earlier this week."

  It's my turn to snort. I should've known he'd say something to Jenna about it. "Yeah, I did."

  She motions for me to go on. "Well? What happened?"

  "Brian didn't tell you?"

  She shakes her head. "He said he only caught the tail end of whatever was happening. And even if he'd witnessed the whole thing and described it to me in excruciating detail, I'd still want to hear your version."

  I let my shoulders slump in defeat. "Fine. I went on Tuesday to tell Adam to stop treating me like shit. He's the best man and I'm the maid of honor, so we're going to have to interact to some extent at the wedding and the festivities leading up to it, so I think it would be in everyone's best interests if we can at least be civil to each other."

  Jenna's eyes are wide and round. "What did he say?" She takes another bite of pizza. If she were eating popcorn, you'd think she were watching a movie.

  "He apologized, and then Brian came out and told us to take it in the back room. I declined the invitation and left."

  "Amy, why don't you tell me these things?"

  "It didn't seem like that big of a deal."

  She points at me with her food again. "When you go into my fiancé's business and start a shouting match with his business partner in front of the whole store, it's kind of a big deal."

  "What? It wasn't a shouting match."

  "Amy, Brian heard you from the back. That's why he came out and told you to finish away from the customers." She's looking at me like I'm not too quick on the uptake. Which I guess I'm not. Her
voice is measured and slow, like she's explaining something to a small child. "Do you even realize that you just shouted at me?"

  "I did not!"

  She tries and fails to suppress her laughter, so it comes out more like a snigger than her usual giggle. "You just did it again." As quickly as it came on, her laughter dies away. "Look, Amy, I appreciate that you don't want whatever issues you and Adam have to screw up my wedding. But you need to talk to that man and hash out whatever this is. For you. Not for me and not for Brian. For you. So you can move on, or he can move on, or you can actually get together for real this time."

  I laugh, but it's ugly sounding. This isn't funny at all. "He moved on months ago. There's no way we're going to get together. And, anyway, I'm dating Scott."

  She just shoots me a look. "Talk to them. Figure it out, Amy."

  I take another bite of my pizza, not responding. The last thing I want to do is talk to either of them. Why can't my life be free of frustrating men? Why couldn't I find someone perfect and nice like Brian? Not actually Brian. Just someone who didn't blow hot and cold, kissing me one minute and then not seeing me again the next. Flirting to formal to frustrating. Bringing me my favorite wine without being asked, and then being mean and nasty.

  Someone who wants to have sex with me. Who just wants to be with me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "You should come with me this week." Scott sits down next to me on his couch, handing me the glass of wine and setting his water down on the coffee table in front of us. He slides his arm along the back of the couch behind me and places the other hand on my thigh, leaning in to give me a kiss. His lips are cool, holding the chill from the ice water he just drank.

  We just finished a casual dinner at his house after I spent most of the day helping Jenna address wedding invitations.

  I pull back. "Come with you where?"

  "To the gym. It would be fun if you would work out with me."

  I wrinkle my nose, taking a sip of wine to cover my grimace. "I don't know, Scott. You go pretty early, don't you?"

  He smiles. "Not any earlier than you normally have to be at work."

  "But it's my Spring Break. I don't have to get up early for work this week." I'm whining, but I can't help it. My plan every year for Spring Break is to sleep in as much as I can and relish the time that I don't have to go to work or grade papers in the evenings. I submitted my grades already, so I'm free and clear until next weekend, when I need to get organized for the final quarter. I need a break from the little demons as much as they need one from me.

  "Exactly. You don't have to be at work this week, so you have time in the mornings to come work out with me. I know you have to be at work too early to go normally, so I thought it might be fun."

  I look at him and arrange my face into a serious expression. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

  Holy crap, this guy has no response to my Princess Bride reference. It takes everything in me not to let my mouth drop open in shock and horror. Instead he just quirks an eyebrow at me, silently asking me to elaborate.

  "Fun. You keep saying it'll be fun. I think we're operating under two different definitions of the word."

  "Please, Amy? Just once. It would mean a lot to me if you did." His eyes are sincere and pleading. He really does want me to come with him.

  I let out a sigh, still not wanting to give in. Does this guy not realize how exhausting it is to deal with hormonal teenagers every day and get them to focus on Shakespeare and Hawthorne and a bunch of other dead white guys that most of them don't care about at all? Spring Break is completely necessary for teachers to maintain their sanity. Part of my sanity maintenance comes from catching up on my sleep. "I'll think about it."

  He studies my face for a moment. "Okay. Think about it. I'll ask again in a few days."

  I decide to change the subject, so I set down my glass of wine and move in to kiss him. The hand that's been resting on my thigh tightens, and his other arm moves off the couch and around my back, pulling me closer to him. He angles his head and deepens the kiss.

  This is encouraging, him taking control of our kiss like this so soon. I'm normally the one trying to push things, so I'm enjoying letting him lead a little. My hands travel up his chest, tightening in the fabric of his shirt. Both of his arms are around me now, pulling me closer, and he's letting out a little growl of frustration that he can't seem to find the angle he wants.

  Taking over for a second, I slide around into his lap so that I'm straddling him. His arms come around me, one hand sliding up my back to cup the base of my skull, holding my head where he wants it so he can kiss me.

  I can feel his erection pushing against me, straining against his jeans. Almost unconsciously I start grinding down on him, wanting him to alleviate the ache that has settled between my legs. And I want to feel his skin. My hands slide back down his chest, bunching his t-shirt near his waist, pulling it up until I can slide my hands over his abs. His skin is hot to the touch, taut over defined muscles, the product of all those early mornings at the gym.

  He groans into my mouth and then pulls back to look at me. "What are you doing, Amy?"

  I smile a little. "I just want to feel you, that's all."

  His eyes search my face, then he brings my head back down, my lips on his once again, his tongue sliding into my mouth, seeking and tasting.

  I'm grinding on him again, and one of his hands drops to my hips, stilling my movements. I figure he must be getting too close and doesn't want to come in his pants, so I don't fight it. I just keep running my hands over the skin of his torso, up to his pecs, brushing over his flat nipples, feeling the sprinkling of hair that I didn't know covered his chest. As well groomed as he is, it wouldn't have surprised me if he waxed his chest.

  He leaves his left hand on my hip, but his right hand slides down my back and sneaks under my shirt, hot and immediate on my bare skin. I let out a small sound of pleasure, making sure he knows I approve.

  His right hand is soon joined by the left, running over my lower back and around to my sides, never venturing past the barrier of my bra.

  Deciding he needs a little more encouragement, I break the kiss and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it on the couch next to me.

  Scott's eyes widen at the sight of my breasts clad only in black lace. It's the first time he's seen me without a shirt on.

  I lean in to resume our kiss, when I feel fabric being thrust against my chest. Then I'm toppled onto the couch, and Scott is up, pacing on the other side of the living room, running his hands through his hair.

  He looks at me and looks away, his jaw clenching and unclenching. I'm on the couch, still half lying on my back, clutching my shirt to my torso, stunned by the sudden change.

  "Put your shirt back on, please." Scott's voice is tight and low, and he won't look at me.

  I sit up, my movements slow at first, but then quick and jerky as I shove my arms into the sleeves and tug the t-shirt back over my head. I stand up and look around, trying to remember where I put my jacket and purse through the fog of embarrassment that's clouding my mind.

  "Amy, wait." Scott's looking at me now, one hand reaching for me. "Don't go. Not like this."

  I finally locate my things. My jacket is draped over the armchair next to the couch and my purse is on the floor next to it. My shoes are by the door, where I slipped them off when I got here. Feeling more centered just knowing where my things are, I face Scott once more, waiting for him to say what it is he wants to say so I can get out of here.

  He lets his hand drop. "I told you I want to take things slow."

  "Slow? We have been taking things slow." My voice is rising, but I can't help it. "Our pace is practically glacial."

  His face tightens, his mouth a firm line. "I just don't like … rushing into things. Especially physical relationships." He looks away from me. "In my experience a lot of women look at me and just want a quick fuck. I don't want that with you."


  I snort, think about what he just said and snort again. "Scott, we've been dating for two months. There's no way in hell anyone could classify us having sex now as a quick fuck. If it weren't for that"—I fling a hand in the direction of his crotch—"I'd think you were gay or don't find me attractive. I don't understand what you're waiting for!"

  He looks at me and doesn't speak. I cross to the chair and pull on my jacket with the same jerky motions that I used to put on my shirt.

  His eyes follow my movements, and when I bend to retrieve my purse he finally speaks. "So, what? You're leaving? Just like that?"

  I straighten my jacket, zipping it up partway, my eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Scott. Just like that. I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

  He gapes at me, his mouth open. "You're breaking up with me because I won't have sex with you right now?"

  I pause and think about that. Then I nod once, short and sharp. "Yes. I'm breaking up with you because you won't have sex with me. Ever. I'm tired of being rejected. I'm a grown woman, and I like having sex. If I'm going to be using my vibrator, I'd prefer to just be single and enjoy it, rather than feel disappointment every time I get it out because my boyfriend isn't willing to take care of the issue for me." He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't let him. "And because you don't get my movie references. You don't like books. Not that you don't like the same books, but you don't like them at all. I see the way your eyes glaze over every time I talk about my classes or something I'm reading."

  He finally interrupts my tirade. "Your eyes glaze over when I'm talking about work, too. I'm not the only one that gets bored here." His voice is tight and controlled, but the anger underneath is unmistakable.

  "That's because there's only so many times a woman can listen to detailed discussions of organizational systems before she wants to kill herself!" I close my eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the angry flush that has risen to Scott's cheeks. "Anyway, you're just proving my point. We have different priorities, different interests. This isn't working, and it's better to just cut our losses now." I let my tone soften further. "You're a wonderful man, Scott. You're sweet and polite and you hang out with my friends. You never got onto me about eating or drinking things that you don't, and you even bent your diet rules to go out with me and my friends. That's wonderful. But we're not a good fit. Surely you have to see that, too."