by Autumn Piper
His gorgeous blue eyes turn to mine. “Did you come out in this cold to exercise, or to see me?” He still thinks I’m nuts, I can tell, but he’ll accept it better if it’s because I’m nuts for him.
“One is the mission, the other is a bonus,” I answer with what I hope is a coy smile. While he mulls this over, trying to decipher my code, I blindside him with, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re from Aspen?”
Definitely caught him off-guard. “How’d you find that out?” Why would it be a secret?
I’m tempted to tell him I Googled him. Turnabout is fair play, and all. His jaw is all tight and he’s been looking everywhere but at me since I said Aspen. Now he knows how I felt about my books.
“My brother. Knows everybody.”
Adam’s eyes narrow on me in pretty much the same way Mark’s did earlier.
“Mark House. He wrestled, and he remembers you. You must’ve been good.”
Adam’s smirk tells me he knows Mark House, but he shakes his head.
“Yeah, Mark the House. Manor Mark. That’s the one.”
He looks me up and down as if he expected Mark’s sister would be an Amazon, rather than utterly average in size.
While he’s still off-kilter, I move in again. “So you were a rich kid, then? Come from some family dripping with diamonds, grew up in a mansion?”
“Not everybody who grew up in Aspen is rich, you know,” he snaps. Maybe he was one of the poor slobs whose parents worked for the rich folks. It would be a sore spot, I suppose.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Now he looks guilty, perhaps feeling bad that he was so short with me.
“Why didn’t you tell me when I asked where you moved here from?” He’d answered truthfully, but it would have been simple to tell me he was from Aspen.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mandy.” He sounds weary, dismissive.
Nice. I’m pissed, and subsequently pissy, when I retort, “And just why is that, Adam? Why all the secrets? You take mystique to a whole new dimension, let me tell ya.”
He couldn’t possibly look any stiffer. “I have my reasons for why I do or do not tell you things.”
Period. End of discussion, huh? And if I don’t like it, tough shit.
I’m already wrapping my scarf around my neck. My headband is on. I jerk the coat around my shoulders and yank gloves over wrists on my way out. I’m biting back myriads of responses when I shut his door quite forcefully, and stomp my anger-warmed body back to my house.
Think you can go around keeping secrets from me and I’m supposed to just live with it? Who the hell are you, anyway? And Laura? What about that shit? God, how stupid am I for carrying on with this virtual stranger? The guy could be an ax-murderer for all I know. Well, a very cute ax-murderer, with a good job, anyway. Still, all those secrets… He has his reasons, does he? I know right where he can shove his reasons!
* * * *
Since I barely broke a sweat today, I’m skipping the shower. Not like anybody will be getting too close to me anyhow. Might as well hunker down in my hole-in-the-wall office and get some freaking work finished.
I have a message in my in-box, from Ferris.
Mandy,
I can’t believe you really left without saying anything. Call me when you get this, please?
Crazed and confused.
Ha! He can’t believe I did that, huh? Well, my tolerance level for bullshit has declined steeply the last three weeks. What really gets me isn’t even that he has secrets, but he flaunts his plans to keep them–I have my reasons for why I do or do not tell you things–and I’m supposed to kowtow and meekly accept it. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but Meek Mandy has left the building! I’m not calling him until later. Let him stew. I’m not calling him now. I’m busy. I’m…dialing his number.
“Hey.” Adam sounds relieved.
“Hi.” My voice is tight, like my jaw is right now.
There’s a pause, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s expecting me to apologize.
“I came across all wrong,” he says. “I have things I want to tell you in my own way, when the time is right. I won’t ask you to trust me, but please try to understand. You know how you felt when I went digging for info on you? Well, now I understand, because I thought you did that. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy.” This sounds like a snow job, but I think he has a point somewhere. I’ll need to think on it some, to be sure.
All I know is I hate feeling angry with anyone, and especially with him. There are many things I want to feel with him, but that’s not one. “I hate not knowing you.”
“I understand, but you do know me, the things that matter. Tell ya what, I’ll tell you something new about me each day, okay?”
I jump at this. I’m sure he intended to be the one to choose what he reveals, but I ask anyway. “Are your parents still alive?”
Deep sigh. “Yes.”
“Where do they live now?”
Long silence, then a barely audible, “Florida?”
“Why weren’t you with them on Thanksgiving?”
“This is a lot more than one thing. Because I was covering so one of my guys could be with his family, remember?” He’s impatient. I can almost hear the hinges squeak as he closes the door to his Vault o’ Personal Data.
“Well, do you keep in close contact with them?”
“Mandy.” I just heard the vault door lock. Maybe he has family issues. “You’re a pushy broad, you know?” His tone has softened.
“I’ll call you at bedtime.” My heart races as I put on the seductive voice, and he knows what I’m getting at, because his voice is deeper when he says good-bye. I hang up thinking how bad I want him, whoever he is.
* * * *
Rachel’s Christmas program is tonight, so we walk to the school as a family, braving the cold together. It’s not worth it to drive. We’re only a block away and the truck wouldn’t warm up in that time.
Mike is holding my gloved hand when we enter the school, and I can’t tell if Ben’s expression is hopeful or anxious. I get my answer when I pull my hand away to smooth Rachel’s hair, and Ben looks relieved.
Mike tries to get the hand back, but I cast him a Please, what do you take me for? look. I’m still not sure how he got hold of it in the first place. I guess old habits really do die hard. I know I still wake up in the bed downstairs patting the empty space to my left, trying to find Mike. We used to snuggle while we slept, so when I miss him in my sleep it wakes me up. Why do I have to lose all this? Why did he have to mess it up?
When we start to sit down next to Mark’s family, Ben tries to sit between Mike and me. Mike insists on sitting next to me and Ben leaves in a huff to sit with Brian and his mom a few rows away. Mike must really want to make folks believe everything is normal with us, because he repeatedly tries to get his arm around my shoulders. I start feeling ridiculous, like a virgin in a car trying to wiggle away from my amorous boyfriend’s advances. At last he jerks away, rubbing his left side. Mark leans behind Mike’s head and gives me the A-OK sign, and I know he’s physically warned Mike to knock it off.
Happy I have a big brother to watch over me, I can’t suppress a smug smile.
* * * *
Mike corners me in the laundry room when the kids have gone to bed. “Why did your big ape of a brother practically break my ribs for putting my arm around my wife? He knows, doesn’t he?” Mike is ticked. He likes Mark, and it must sting for Mark to know what a small, small person Mike has become. “Why did you tell him?” He’s acting like I’m out to destroy his reputation or something.
“First of all, I can tell whoever I choose, Michael. If I wanta put an ad in the goddamn newspaper, I will. But I didn’t tell Mark. Apparently, Ben told Jake, and Jake told his dad.”
He’s thinking this through, which I can see step-by-step on his face. I see him going back to the part about Ben, and he looks at me accusingly again, but I stop him before he accuses me of telling our son hi
s father is a louse. “He figured it out on his own, because you kept buying me things, and he could tell I was still mad. He also knows I’ve been sleeping downstairs since Thanksgiving.”
“He figured it out because of you! See, I told you to come back to our bed. You shouldn’t have–”
“No, you shouldn’t have, Michael! This is your doing!” I point the finger of blame back at him, literally, jabbing his chest with it. “Ben guessed the reason I was mad with you was because you had ‘sex’ with Lana.”
Mike pales. He should feel sick to think his son knows what a jerk he’s been.
“And here’s the kicker. He knows because he’s seen you two morons playing grab-ass whenever there weren’t any other adults in the room. Good job, shit-for-brains! Must feel pretty good to know your twelve-year-old son has mental images of you feeling up that tramp, huh?”
My formerly proud husband slumps over the dryer, holding his face in his hands. It’s finally hitting him what an idiot he’s been. Good. I hope he gets a bleeding ulcer from the worry and guilt that keep him up nights. Bastard. And he was actually going to blame me for Ben finding out!
Stomping out of the laundry room, I hear him sob once, and no matter how angry I am with him, it tears at my heart to hear him hurting. Big dope. I put the clean clothes in the room we used to share before he screwed everything up, then I end up going back to comfort the fool.
“That’s why he tried to sit between us, isn’t it?” Mike asks against my shoulder.
“Mmm-hmm.” I hate feeling tender toward him after what he’s done. Damn him! He’s as miserable as I am, and I’m certain if he had it to do over, he wouldn’t have sex with Lana. But he can’t take it back, and I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Can’t and won’t. “Okay. I’m going to bed now.” I push him off me, and leave him to suffer alone. I have a phone call to make.
* * * *
I’m still locking both the downstairs door and the door to the room I sleep in. I doubt Mike will ever try anything crazy again, but I won’t chance it. I’ve pretty much convinced myself he wasn’t forcing himself on me, just trying very hard to seduce me. He was desperate, that’s all. It feels much better inside my head when I think of it that way.
I get snuggled in bed, propped up on my multiple pillows, and dial Adam.
He answers on the first ring. “Sloane,” he says softly.
“Hey, handsome.”
“How was your evening?”
I see his dimples in my mind’s eye.
“Rachel’s Christmas program. Mark gave Mike a good whack to the ribs for trying to get his arm around me!”
“Why the hell does he think he can put his arm around you?” Oops. That wasn’t the right thing to bring up. “Goddammit, I knew this would happen! What goes on when Mark isn’t around to protect you? Why don’t you go stay with Mark until you get your own place?”
God, if he only knew. What would he do if he knew I lock two doors when I go to bed at night? How can I get around this one?
“I’m fine, Adam. Mike was putting on a show for the kids and the public, trying to look normal. And it’s not like I’m here alone with him. Our kids are with us, for God’s sake.”
Like that makes it safer, huh? Or maybe it does, I don’t know.
“He’s not going down without a fight, or he would’ve left by now. He’s gonna try to get you back. I’m sure of it.” Lord, if he knew. “I hate not knowing what goes on in that house, Mandy. I hate it.”
“Trust me, you don’t wanta know everything that goes on in my life right now.” I shouldn’t have said that. Shit. Why did I say that? I smack my palm against my forehead and hold it there, as if I can get a grip on the stupid and pull it out of my head.
“What are you talking about? Tell me!”
I know he’s worried, but he cannot order me around. I’ll just toss his words from earlier in his face. “I have my reasons for why I do or do not tell you things.”
He’s silent awhile, except for some angry breaths. “Don’t pull that with me, Mandy, or I’ll be over there in a second, making sure that guy doesn’t ever touch you again.”
My heart is racing, and it’s not anger or lust causing it. It’s fear. I can’t have him coming over here. I have my righteous anger with Mike now, but if he knew about Adam, he’d play it against me. I can’t have Mike treating me like an equal on the infidelity field. Adam needs to know I mean business in this area.
“If you ever threaten me again, Adam, we’re finished.” I manage to control my voice and sound calm.
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. And we’ll never be finished.”
Is this the soundtrack to a stalker movie? Am I totally crazy or is Adam way too intense? I do have to admit I, too, doubt we’ll ever be finished, but I’m not certain whether it’s a good or bad thing, right now.
He didn’t go for my taking a stand, so maybe if I play it weak… “Adam, please?”
“Tell me what you meant when you said I wouldn’t want to know.” His voice is calmer now, but still insistent.
Here goes nothing. “I can’t share with you what it feels like to end a fourteen-year love affair. You don’t want to know how much it hurts me. Something I counted on having forever is going away. Imagine waking up one day to find that part of you, your arm, say, is damaged and dying. They can’t fix it, and you just have to watch it and wait for it to shrivel into nothing. Only it’s not only your arm that hurts. It’s inside. You don’t feel whole. A part of you is gone forever. You don’t want to eat. You sleep badly because the arm is going numb, and you wake up at night, wondering how did I let this happen? Why me? Why can’t I feel it anymore?’ Want me to keep going?”
He clears his throat. “No. But if it’ll make you feel better, you can.”
Unexpected tears well up in my closed eyes. He’d let me continue, if it helped me? I think I love him. Which is a whole new level of stupid. How can a person love when her heart is dead? Maybe I should talk to Aunt Clara about this. She knows everything. She’s lived everything.
“Mandy, you okay?”
“No. But one day I will be.” Always the optimist. It takes me a minute to get a handle on things, bring my focus back to the reason for my call. “Are you in bed?”
“Yeah. We don’t have to do this. Why don’t you just relax, and I’ll stay on with you until you’re asleep again, okay?”
“I want to do it. Tonight I’m wearing…” I can’t think of anything sexy, can’t pull my mind to that place yet.
“Just tell me what you’re really wearing.”
“Yoga pants and a sweatshirt aren’t very sexy.”
“They are with you in them.”
Okay, that helped a lot.
“The pants are black, and tight across my ass. The shirt is ripped along the bottom, making it easy for you to slip your hands up it.” I pause to picture it, imagining his big warm hands sliding inside my shirt, moving up. “I want your hands on me, Adam.” I feel my pulse quicken as I tell him these truths. My voice floods with lust, and I can hear him breathing heavier already. “My nipples are hard with wanting you, please rub them more.”
“Join me this time,” he urges.
“Uh, it’s not really my thing, touching myself.”
“Try it.”
I forge on, hoping he’ll let it go. “God, your hands feel so good on me. Take my nipple in your mouth.”
He moans soft and deep.
I can tell he’s very aroused. I let myself moan back, losing myself in the fantasy. “Slide the pants down my hips, Adam. I need to feel you against me. My skin is hot, and I’m writhing, needing you so much. You’re touching me now, God it feels so fine. Where’d you learn to do that?” I hear him chuckle amid his rustling. “Put it in me Adam, all of it.”
“All of it, are you sure?”
Now I chuckle. “Sock it to me. I’m hot, and ready. Isn’t it wet? God, I want you.”
That does it for him, he’s a goner.
Wh
en he’s back on Earth, he says, “You’re sure good at that.”
“Better in person.”
An answering groan. “I bet. Wanta cuddle awhile before you fall asleep?”
“Boy, do I.”
Chapter 9
I wake with my cellphone next to me. I’m certain this would be cheating if I wasn’t already finished with Mike. As it is, maybe... But I haven’t done the deed myself, just talked Adam through it. I’m in the murky waters, almost as far as guys who think oral sex isn’t really sex. Like our former president. And he wasn’t even splitting up with his wife. This is how morality deteriorates. Some figurehead does a thing previously considered immoral, and others follow suit. Hey, at least I haven’t let Adam cigar-poke me. Ew.
It warmed up overnight, under cloud cover. On my way home from walking Rachel to school, it starts raining. I hate rain in the winter. It’s so wrong.
By walk time, the rain has stopped. And, though nearly freezing itself, it’s managed to melt away our pretty white snow, leaving a sloppy gray mess outside. I bundle up with a baseball cap and pull the windbreaker hood over it, a tank and sweatshirt layered under my jacket, and I climb into the slick pants which match my windbreaker. It’s only drizzling when I set out walking, so I shouldn’t get too wet.
Almost a mile into my walk, it starts pouring buckets of rain. Water runs down my pant legs and into my shoes. My hair is soaked under the hood, wicking icy water under the windbreaker and into my sweatshirt. Nice and glacial.
Through the heavy rain, I see a vehicle heading my way, so I step off the edge of the pavement, slipping on a clump of ice and snow piled there by the plows. I fall to my knees, but instantly pop back up, embarrassed that somebody saw me. Now my pants are muddy, but not for long. The rain comes down so fast, it’s already washing the mud away, carrying most of it into my shoes.
Caught up in watching rivers of mud flow into my hundred-dollar running shoes, I barely notice a second truck coming by until it passes, then stops behind me. It backs up and stops abruptly alongside me. Now that he’s close, I see it’s Adam’s work truck.