Just Exes

by Charity Ferrell

  She crosses her arms, emphasizing her cleavage, and leans back against her car. “The loft was never going up for rent, was it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  A smile tilts at her lips. “I guess not, considering it’s now my place of residence.” She points to my bag. “Going somewhere?”

  I hold it up. “I have a date.”

  What are your plans for tonight? is the question I want to ask her, but I don’t.

  “A date.” She clears her throat, her face expressionless. “Well, you, uh … have fun with that.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have a blast,” I say with a wink.

  No, I won’t.

  “So, you’re Kyle’s partner?” my date asks.

  Her name is Susie … Sandy … something along those lines. I feel like an asshole for not paying attention to a word she’s said all night. I’m comparing everything she does to Lauren, something I haven’t done in years.

  After we broke up, it was all I did with every woman I attempted to move on with. I compared the way they ate, how they talked, how they sucked my dick, the taste of their pussy. No one ever came close to her. Eventually, I stopped myself … until now.

  Kyle was right, goddamn it.

  Letting her move in was a dumbass idea, but I can’t ask her to leave now.

  “A man in uniform has always been a turn-on for me,” she goes on, her dark purple lips curving into a flirty smile. “Your place or mine for a nightcap?” she asks after I pay the bill.

  “Yours.”

  Kyle grins and slaps my shoulder in celebration. “Attaboy.”

  My best friend was pro-Lauren years ago. He might hate her more than I do now. He blames her for my leaving, for his losing his best friend, for our falling out of touch. I’ve tried talking sense into him. She didn’t force me to bail on everyone and everything I ever knew.

  I was a big boy.

  I made that decision.

  And, now, I’m deciding to fuck Lauren Barnes out of my system.

  I should’ve drunk more.

  Shouldn’t have stopped after two beers to make sure I was okay to drive home … just in case.

  Maybe then, I’d be more turned on, my dick would be harder, and I’d be into S … something. Fuck, I feel like an asshole for not remembering her name.

  I’m on her couch, wearing only jeans, and trying to focus on her grinding against my dick and doing her best to get me hard, and she eventually does even though neither my mind nor my dick is thinking about her.

  My dick is hard because it’s imagining someone else is on my lap.

  A woman with a smart-ass mouth who could do amazing things with it.

  I cringe, hoping she hasn’t been honing in on those sex skills with someone else. Did she find someone who could fuck her better than I did?

  I shut my eyes and let my imagination take over. If I can’t have her, at least I can envision her, which makes me an asshole, I’m well aware.

  “Fuck, Lauren, baby, slow down,” I hiss, grabbing her hips and digging my nails into her dress that’s pulled up around her waist.

  The chick grinding on me stops. “Did you just call me Lauren?”

  I grunt when she climbs off my lap and I go to grab my shirt, preparing to get kicked out of her apartment, but she drops to her knees instead.

  “You want to forget about her?” she asks, licking her lips.

  “Like no other.”

  “I’ll fuck every thought of her out of you. You won’t remember her name.” She grabs my belt and unbuckles it. “You won’t even be able to say your own name when I’m done with you.”

  Eleven

  Lauren

  I open the blinds to peek out the window for what seems like the hundredth time.

  “I’m officially a stalker,” I say to Willow over the phone.

  Does this mean I still have feelings for Gage?

  That shouldn’t even be a question I ask myself.

  I’ll always have unresolved feelings for him.

  Jealousy ate at me when I caught him leaving for his date. He wasn’t as dressed up as he had been for his Operation Make Lauren Jealous and Crash Her Dinner Party date, but he still put in an effort to look good for her.

  Was it Phoebe again?

  Ugh. Quit thinking about his date.

  The worst part was the overnight bag. I stopped myself from asking him to hang out with me instead. To get my mind off him, I went to dinner with my parents, Hudson, and Stella and hoped Gage’s truck would be here when I got back.

  It wasn’t.

  I’ve been in freak-out mode since.

  “I won’t dispute that,” she answers around a laugh. We’ve been on the phone for nearly an hour while I updated her on the whole Gage situation. “Although I do like seeing you like this.”

  “Like what?” I tiptoe from the window and fall back against the couch. I’ve done this dance all night. “A freaking creep?”

  “All worked up over a man. You always seem so in charge of your feelings. It’s a nice surprise.”

  I sit up. “Whoa, whoa. I’m not all worked up over Gage. Call it curiosity.”

  “Curiosity, huh? Curious if he’s balls deep in another chick’s vajayjay.”

  “You’re making it sound like I’d rather he be balls deep in me.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said that, not me. Plus, I don’t believe your lying ass.”

  “Looks like you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “Then, explain this to me. Why’d you move in with homeboy then? Rooming with your enemy isn’t a common practice for most people. I’d never do it, for fear of getting shanked in my sleep or whatnot. So, why’d you do it?”

  I groan. “For the millionth time, I needed somewhere to stay.”

  “Hmm … I recall offering you a room here. I have cable, a man who knows how to throw down in the kitchen—aka free meals—and a stepdaughter who enjoys giving free pedicures. Not saying they’re good pedis, but they’ll save you some dollars.”

  “Your house is too crowded. I need personal space.”

  “Personal space, my ass. You would’ve turned me down even if I’d offered you the house all to yourself. You’re there because you want to be around him.”

  Am I that transparent?

  I snort. “You’re so wrong.”

  “The girl looking out the window, hoping he comes home and doesn’t spend the night with his date—whom he’s most likely banging at the moment—is telling me I’m wrong.”

  “Gee, way to make me feel better. Why am I friends with you again?”

  “I told you befriending me was a terrible idea and that I was a disastrous mess, yet you kept showing up, uninvited, at my apartment, poking and prodding for details about my life.”

  “You were knocked up with my big bro’s baby. It was imperative I made sure you weren’t some weirdo. Although that’s still yet to be determined.”

  “I’m the weirdo? You eat pickles on your peanut butter sandwiches.”

  “That’s a delicacy in some places, you know.”

  “Where? Prison?”

  “Dorm rooms for poor nursing students.”

  “Now, let’s save the pickle-slash-friendship talk for another occasion because my time is almost up and I need a story more interesting about why you left him that’s better than the Winnie the Pooh book I’m about to read to Maven.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up on that happening.”

  “Did you run over his cat or something and can’t look at him without feeling guilty?”

  “No. What’s wrong with you? I’ve never killed an animal.”

  “My ex killed my gerbil. Accidentally, but that should’ve been the first sign that dating him was a bad idea. Now, spill. I only have a few minutes to spare before the bedtime festivities begin.”

  “There’s no story. It was for the best. We needed to find ourselves.”

  “Bullshit,” she coughs into the phone.

  “I was l
eaving for college. His only plan after leaving high school was to follow me and figure out his life from there. He needed to find out what he wanted in life without it revolving around me. I made the choice for him.”

  Crying erupts in the background. “That’s not the truth, but I’ll take it for now, considering my baby requires attention. Hold on a sec.”

  I yawn. “Attend to my niece and nephew and call me tomorrow. I have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn.”

  She says good-bye and hangs up, and I lean back against the couch, doing a once-over of the loft. It was a mistake, staying here.

  I run my hand over the couch cushion and smile as a memory hits me.

  Gage begged his parents for years to move into the loft, and they always said no. They planned on renting it out. That decision changed when his mother died. When he asked six months later, his dad Amos finally agreed even though I could see on his face that he wanted to say no. Amos feared to be alone, and only agreed because his heart broke for his son losing his mother too soon.

  This loft is where we spent most of our time together. The bed is the one I lost my virginity in. This is the same couch where I gave him a blow job for the first time.

  Memories surround me.

  Yes, most definitely a mistake.

  To put my mind on something else, I hop off the couch, open a cabinet, and unpack the bag of groceries sitting on the counter. I start making the only thing I know how to concoct from scratch. The asshole on a date with another woman is on my mind while I cut the chicken breasts. I wonder where he took her for dinner—hell, if they even had dinner—when I dice the peppers, and I curse them both while pulling out the Dutch oven.

  I hate myself for the relief I get when the headlights of Gage’s truck shine through the window. No night cuddling and breakfast the next morning for his date. I inch forward and slowly peel the curtains back, hoping he doesn’t notice me in stalker mode.

  He looks up, meets my eyes, and grins.

  Of freaking course.

  I run away from the window, pause the TV, and shut the lamp off. Maybe he’ll think I’m going to bed. The faint sound of a knock on the door echoes through the room, and I debate on whether to answer it. A groan leaves my throat while I pull myself up and check the peephole before answering, just in case his date is with him and he wants to rub it in my face.

  “Can I come in?” he asks when I open the door.

  I peek out, checking that he’s alone, while he waits for me to invite him in like a vampire from a horror movie.

  All clear.

  No date.

  No sex mate.

  Unfortunately, he looks like sex. Smells like sex, too.

  I should shut the door in his face, but dude is letting me stay in his loft, so I take a step back, a silent yes. I won’t admit that the urge to hang out and question him about his date tonight is biting at me.

  “You settling in okay?” he asks.

  Yes, if you don’t count my anxiety-induced cooking to punch out the thoughts of you with another woman.

  He still looks good, but his shirt is wrinkled at the bottom, evidence that there was a hand pulling at it. His hair is rustled, the messy look maybe brought on by another woman.

  “For the most part,” I say, turning on the light and stepping into the kitchen. “Not that I have much to settle in. The insurance company is giving me a hard time since Ronnie is accusing me of arson. No money for me until the investigation is complete.”

  “I’ll have a look and try to speed up the process.” He looks across the kitchen, his head tilting up. “Is that gumbo?”

  Crap.

  “Yep.”

  Don’t remember. Don’t remember.

  “You know that’s my favorite.”

  Busted and mistrusted.

  “Is it? I had no idea.”

  He raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

  I didn’t make it for him. Maybe, subconsciously, I did. Gumbo isn’t my favorite dish. Hell, it’s not even in my top ten. So, why is it the only dish I can make successfully without burning? It’s the single meal I know how to make because it was the favorite of my boyfriend.

  I shrug. “There’s extra if you want a bowl.”

  He does, and I go back to my spot on the sofa and turn the TV back on. He plops down on the other side of the couch with a full bowl.

  “This still the only thing you know how to cook?” he asks.

  “Yes. For some reason, I haven’t been able to master anything else without burning it.”

  He chuckles. “Perhaps you shouldn’t admit to burning shit to anyone else for a while.”

  I smile. “Good idea.”

  He takes a bite and groans while pointing to the bowl with his spoon. “I appreciate you making sure your landlord is fed … with his favorite meal.”

  I roll my eyes with a laugh. “Oh, shut up. I made it for myself. I’m sure you had plenty of food on your date.”

  “Food sucked. This is better. Everything you made was always better than anything I could pick up at a restaurant.”

  “Yeah, right. You do know every good luck cupcake I made before your games was burned or tasted like shit.”

  “Yet I still ate them, didn’t I?”

  “To be nice and not make me feel bad.”

  “Yes, to be nice, but also because I loved that you took the time to do something special for me. You didn’t give up. You kept trying to make them better with each game, and I loved that. I missed those bitter-ass, burned cupcakes after you left.”

  “I’m sure you’ve met someone who doesn’t burn everything she touches.”

  “I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t burn shit as well as you.” He leans in. “And, honestly, I haven’t been looking either.”

  My lips pull up, ready to smile, but the air drifts my way as he goes to take another bite.

  “J’adore,” I whisper. “Dior.”

  His spoon drops into his bowl. “Huh?”

  “You smell like her.”

  At least he screwed someone with decent perfume taste.

  The reminder of him with another woman ruins the moment, ruins the memories that were rushing into me like waves. He’s questioned me about whom I’ve been sleeping with since he moved back, but he thinks it’s okay for him to do whatever he wants.

  I shake my head. “How’s that for a double standard? Don’t you dare question me about my sex life anymore.” I want to snatch the gumbo from him and pour it over his head. “I’m going to have sex with whomever I want to have sex with, too. If I didn’t have to work tomorrow morning, I’d have a collection of men here, an orgy, getting screwed in every position possible while hanging from the ceiling.”

  A hard laugh interrupts my rant. “Keep lying if it makes you feel better.”

  “I’m not lying. I’ve had experiences, plenty of experiences, with other men.”

  He leans forward to settle his bowl on the table and slumps down in his seat, looking defeated. “Well, that ruins a man’s appetite. I’d appreciate your not going into details, please.”

  “Why are you here?” I question.

  His arm stretches along the back of the couch, settling behind me. “I have no fucking idea.”

  He needs to leave. He needs to stay.

  Jesus, what do I want him to do?

  “So, you hit it and quit it?” I ask. His bringing up the fact that he was with another woman tonight might lead me away from wanting his company.

  An exasperated sigh leaves his lips. “I didn’t fuck anyone tonight, Lauren.”

  “Yeah, right,” I snort.

  “I tried to.”

  “Tried to? Is your cock broken now?” I’m silently calling bullshit with the dirty look on my face.

  “I couldn’t get … into it. I was thinking about someone else. I called her by someone else’s name. She gave me a free pass and dropped to her knees to suck my cock. A trooper who was ready to rid me of my thoughts of the woman who didn’t deserve them.”

&nb
sp; God, I don’t want to hear this, but I have to.

  I can’t stop myself from interrupting him. “If a man said another woman’s name while I was grinding on him, I most likely would’ve poured battery acid on his junk.”

  “Are you sure you should be in the medical field?” He kicks my foot with his. “Better yet, are you sure you should be around anyone’s junk? I’m suggesting you change professions and seek employment at a convent.”

  I roll my eyes. “Go on. So, chick gave you a blow job to rid your thoughts of a woman you shouldn’t be thinking of—aka, most likely me. How is that any different from me talking about my sex life?” It’s weird, sitting on the couch where I did the same thing with him.

  “I shouldn’t be having this conversation with you.”

  “Nuh-uh. You started it. You come in, smelling like the perfume of an expensive hooker, and start this story. You’d better finish it.” My tone changes from friendly to annoyed. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”

  “She stroked me twice, and I stopped her.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “You don’t have to lie.”

  “Trust me, Dyson, you have no idea how much I’d love to go into detail about fucking another woman to hurt you.”

  “Then, why didn’t you have sex with her?”

  “Because, every time I tried to go through with it, I would stop because I didn’t want to fucking hurt you. I couldn’t think about her lips wrapped around my cock while you sat in this apartment, alone. It would’ve been wrong for me to have her suck my cock when I wished she were you.”

  What the hell do I say back to that?

  “I, uh … appreciate it, but don’t think our situation has to stop you from having … sexual encounters. I’m looking for a new place, and I will be out of your hair as soon as I can.” That’s a lie. “Then, you’ll be free to go back to screwing women in here again.”

  His brows scrunch together. “You’re the only woman I’ve had in here. Never felt the urge to have anyone else.” He lets out a stressed breath. “I’d appreciate it if you extended the same courtesy. Go to their place. Screw them in their car. Let’s have a mutual understanding that this is a no-fucking zone.”