by Shen, L. J.
“Well, I don’t see no ring on either of y’all’s fingers.”
“That’s right. We’re updating the diamonds in her ring, so we had to send it to South Africa. Best 500k I’ve ever spent.”
“And what about your ring?” She parked her hands on her waist, while Fred waited for her inside the room, holding the door open.
“Mine was lost while we were playing a very grown-up game at the buffet today. Let me know if you find it in your dessert tomorrow morning, will you?”
With that, I proceeded to the elevators.
I looked for Tennessee (almost) everywhere. To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of that woman. One second she was the ball-busting, mouthy little thing I’d grown to admire, fear, and want to bed the past decade-and-a-half, and the next, she was sensitive, withdrawn, and shy. Almost like the girl who’d dated Rob.
I knew a better man—or maybe just a man who hadn’t spent his entire life with an imaginary golden crown on his head—would’ve simply owned up to what’d happened in the past and cleared the air.
Growing up, I’d always had something for Nessy Turner. How could I not? In my mind, she was supposed to have been my high school sweetheart. Beautiful, kind, and dignified, with straight A’s and a spot on the debate team (no surprises there).
Even when I’d found out that Rob had a boner for her, I didn’t do the usual Cruz thing and step back. We’d rock-paper-scissored it, three times, in fact, and I ended up winning.
But then Rob went ahead and asked her out anyway, beating me to the punch and revealing the first sign that he was a horse-crap friend in the process.
After that, there was nothing I could do about it because Tennessee told him yes.
She. Told. Him. Yes.
She didn’t like me, and that was a big enough blow to wreck my teenage ego and make me dislike her for the rest of high school.
Of course, in retrospect, I’d wondered.
Wondered what would have happened if I’d been the one to ask her out first.
Would she have said yes?
I suspected I knew the answer to that.
She didn’t like Rob all that much, yet she still gave him a shot. He’d taken her for an ice cream downtown and secretly laughed in the locker room about how he hoped to hell she didn’t order more than two scoops because his ass had been broke that week.
I knew I never would have let us end up in the position she and Rob were in. I’d have never taken her virginity the way he had, unprotected, publicly, with people watching.
And if I had, for whatever reason—if we’d been drunk or high or just completely witless one unfortunate night—I would have owned up to it and married her.
I would have.
But I wasn’t the one she chose.
So, this was my truth.
My two-whiskeys-and-a-beer truth.
And I was taking it to the grave with me.
I ended up finding Tennessee on one of the decks, leaning against the pulpit, watching the black waves crash against the massive vessel. Her hair had submitted to the wind, dancing around her face in ashy, frosty tendrils.
She hugged herself with her back to me.
It physically hurt to see her like this. So vulnerable and out of place.
Not wanting to startle her, I spoke before I advanced toward her.
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t turn around to look at me. Instead, her head shook a little, the gesture so light I couldn’t even tell if it was intentional.
“What for?”
“Being an idiot.”
“Consider yourself forgiven. Most men are.”
“That’s no excuse.”
I came to stand beside her and saw that her face was full of tears. Black mascara crawled across her cheeks like spiderwebs, and her nose was red, swollen, and puffy.
She looked less than gorgeous, and my chest felt full and warm. She looked…real. Without all the plastic smiles and dramatic eyeliner.
“I know today has been challenging for you, and—”
“Don’t,” she cut me off.
“Don’t what?”
“Do the whole nice guy shtick. I can’t handle it right now.”
I pursed my lips. She’d had a disastrous day, with a slime ball who’d put his hand on her, a woman who accused her of being a thief—and a whore—Rob, who for reasons undisclosed, took it upon himself to bypass her and speak to their son for the first time ever, and then the cherry on the shit cake was my beating her—then telling her she must be used to losing.
Real class move, Costello.
“For the record, I don’t think you’re a loser,” I said somberly.
“Why?” She spun her head my way, the tears drying on her face caking her distorted makeup into place. “You were right. Hit the nail right on the head. I am a loser. In fact, I can’t even recall the last time I won something. Anything. I’m an embarrassment to my family and will bring shame on my son once he grows up and realizes just how much of a cluster pluck I am. I don’t have a real job, any prospects, or anything to look forward to. And you’re also right that I’m bitter about it. I’m an idiot, a failure, and I—”
I kissed the living hell out of her.
Pulled her into my embrace, circled my arms around her, shielding her from the world, from the wind, from herself, and did what I should have done all those years ago—I put my lips on hers, hoping to hell she wasn’t going to reject me.
Her lips were cold, her nose was freezing, but I didn’t care, because she didn’t push me away. She smelled of her coconut-and-marshmallow cocktail and that high school girl I used to follow with my gaze under my ball cap when no one was watching.
I wanted to open my mouth, dart my tongue out, taste more of her, all of her, but I was afraid she’d withdraw.
She was skittish and guarded all over, like a stray cat, her instincts frayed. She was ready to run any second when it came to men.
So instead of digging my fingers into the ass I’d dreamed about ever since I was sixteen, or pushing a knee between her thighs and making her ride me to Orgasmville, I concentrated on nibbling my way softly from her mouth to her neck, nuzzling my nose against her ear, giving the spot under her earlobe a quick lick, and then blowing air on it to make her shudder.
She seemed to like it, her fingers curling around my dress shirt as she swayed into me. There was something innocent—almost chaste—about the encounter, and it sent a rush of desire through my veins that made my body go haywire.
My cock was so hard I was pretty sure it could tear through my pants if I wasn’t careful. I moved from her neck and her ear to her cheek, the tip of her nose, and crown of her hair, peppering all of them with feather-light kisses that made me ache.
It was weird, I knew.
Intimate more than it was hot.
But I felt like it was exactly what she needed, and after all these years, I thought it was better to have her on her terms than not at all.
“I’m telling you, buddy. These two have the most dysfunctional relationship I’ve ever seen. Did you know he cheated on her with her sister and has two dicks and she gave him gonorrhea? Then he choked her with a black pearl necklace and gave her blisters.”
Our heads reared back in unison to follow the source of this nonsense. We both looked up to see Brendan and a male companion drinking beer on the patio of one of the open bars, looking down at us.
The male companion frowned.
“Wait, her sister has two dicks?”
“No, he has two dicks and cheated with her sister. But she cheated, too. First, I think,” replied Brendan.
“Did you know she’s a thief? And Ramona says he’s some mob guy. Blood diamond stuff. Business all over South Africa.”
Both Tennessee and I burst into laughter, still holding each other close.
“See? They’re shameless. I told you. Most dysfunctional relationship ever,” Brendan cemented.
“You’re not wrong about that one, Bren
dan.” Tennessee hugged her midriff as she stepped toward the elevators, pulling away from me, and I followed her. “But it’s not nice to talk about people behind their backs.”
“You were right here, sugar pie,” Brendan drawled in his Southern accent.
“We were in the middle of something,” I pointed out to her, my dick nodding in my pants in agreement.
“Consider it the ending. Just got my wits back.”
“Dammit,” I muttered, following her like a lovesick puppy.
We entered the elevator. I was about to turn to her and persuade her with my tongue when another couple squeezed in and joined us.
Double dammit.
Silence filled the small space while the man beside me slid his hand over the curve of the woman’s ass.
At least one of us was getting some tonight.
When we reached our floor, I let Tennessee slip out first, then put my hand on the small of her back when we made our way to our room. I’d now successfully moved from acquaintance to someone who touched her occasionally, and I wasn’t about to give up my new privileges.
“You can drop your hand and the charade anytime now, there’s no one here.” She tried combing her hair back into its usual state.
“No charade. Is wanting to spend time with you a crime?”
“Depends on the state. As far as I’m aware, Nevada’s the only place with legalized prostitution.”
“Stop that right now.”
I hoped to hell Mr. and Mrs. Warren weren’t coming out for a late night snack, because I was bound to strangle both of them if they showed up and did something Tennessee found triggering.
“Let me guess—you want to spend time with me without clothes.”
“Clothes are okay, but not the ones you choose to wear.” I cracked a smile.
“Funny. I always thought it was women who wanted to change men, not vice versa.”
“I don’t want to change you. I want to help you discover your full potential.”
Great.
Now I sounded like her school advisor. Or her pimp.
Either way, it was patronizing. I opened the door, then locked it behind us. She strutted toward the bathroom, her ass swaying from side to side. Back to being a sex kitten.
I couldn’t keep up with this woman’s moods and personalities.
“No one asked for your help, Dr. Costello. Go be someone else’s Captain Save-a-Ho.”
She slammed the bathroom door in my face.
“I’m not coming out until you go to bed. We’re not continuing our little mistake,” she announced once she was in the safety of the bathroom.
I plastered my forehead to the door. “What makes you think it was a mistake?”
I was pathetic, even—and especially—in my own eyes.
Why was I bothering?
I had so many other women to choose from back at home.
“I don’t do one-night stands,” she called out from the other side of the door. “Might sound surprising, even old-fashioned to some, but that’s the way I roll.”
“Doesn’t have to be a one-night stand,” I heard myself say. “Unless the gonorrhea thing is true.”
“Just as long as no one finds out about it, right?”
I groaned.
She had me there. Not that I was ashamed, but…
“Your parents won’t approve, either,” I pointed out.
“No,” she agreed. “Which brings me to my previous statement—no hanky-panky. I don’t want to be your dirty little secret.”
“You’re an infuriating woman.” I pressed my fist against the door.
“And you should be used to hearing a ‘no’ every now and then,” she deadpanned.
I heard her brushing her teeth and removing her makeup using that battery-operated thing that gave your face a deep clean.
“And another thing,” she added, knowing full well I was still outside, waiting for her to grace me with her presence. “There better be a pillow barrier between us when I get out.”
“Like hell, sweetheart.” I withdrew from the door, glaring at it like it had personally wronged me. “You want a barrier, make it yourself.”
With that, I went on to rip the swan-shaped towel waiting on our bed next to tomorrow’s itinerary and tossed them along with the red rose petals into the trash.
Mrs. Weiner didn’t deserve anything nice tonight.
The next morning, I cracked one eye open to find Cruz’s triangular, infuriatingly athletic back as he…wait, what the heck was he doing, exactly?
“Cruz?” I hiccupped, gathering my limbs into a sitting position.
My back was hurting from the mountain of pillows I’d arranged between us which dug into my spine, and from the lack of a pillow to put my head on so that I could make said mountain happen.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
He glanced over his shoulder, throwing me an under-the-mustache charming smirk as he stuffed my clothes into trash bags. The worst thing about him was that he made me believe he could be good to me. That was just downright horrible of him.
“What’re you doing?”
“Exactly what it looks like.”
“Articulate it to me. It’s six in the morning.”
“Quarter to nine. And I’m throwing away your clothes.”
“Why?” I demanded, straightening my back alertly. I didn’t have money to replace those clothes, no matter how horrid they were. Didn’t he know people who didn’t have his money valued every little thing they owned?
He didn’t stop what he was doing, carrying on with the same smooth motion as he emptied out my side of the closet.
“Well, because we had a bet, and in that bet, you promised you’d let me get you a whole new wardrobe, and since you’ll be wanting to take those clothes with you back home, you won’t have any room for these ones. Shame, really. But that’s life for you.”
I knew what he was doing, and I didn’t appreciate it. He wanted to help me look good and proper so the people of Fairhope would accept me.
Well, despite my bitterness, I didn’t want to be accepted.
I liked to stick out like a sore thumb, a weed in an otherwise picturesque rose garden, and remind them that this town wasn’t all that.
“Leave my clothes be.”
“A bet’s a bet.”
“I’ll honor the bet, but I still want my clothes.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t change me. I am who I am, and if you don’t like it, you’re welcome to join Fairhope’s general population and ignore me.”
Or engage in sexual warfare where you low-key sexually harass me.
That seemed to be the trend, too.
“Thing is, it’s not, in fact, who you are.” He swiveled toward me, giving me a stern look. His eyes could melt panties in the same way Uri Geller could bend teaspoons. “You’re the closest thing to Virgin Mary I’ve ever kissed, yet you prance around lookin’ like a man-eater. Your self-destruction button is big and shiny and red, and I want to break it. You lost yesterday, and I don’t like sore losers. Now get your ass up. We need to get an early start. It’s breakfast and duty-free shopping.”
If it weren’t for the fact that it was me he was bossing around, I could appreciate Cruz’s domineering streak. I momentarily toyed with the idea of refusing him and getting into another argument, but the truth was, I was fresh out of fight after the day I’d had yesterday.
The Rob thing really worried me, and the kiss with Cruz didn’t help matters at all. Like bangs in fifth grade, it never should’ve happened, and I wouldn’t let it happen again.
I knew he’d been drunk beforehand—I could taste the whiskey on his lips—and figured it was a human error on both our parts. But dang, he made some convincing points about why we should hook up.
“All right. Let me call Bear and make sure he’s okay, and then we’ll go.”
Cruz seemed surprise by my flexible attitude. His eyes skimmed over me suspiciously as I moved around the room, as if h
e knew I was planning an escape.
There was something lethal about those dark blue eyes and strong jaw. I wondered if I was the only person who noticed that about him. That he was not always chivalrous and suave.
“Why Bear?” he asked out of nowhere when I got out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of cropped shorts and a cherry blossom top that showed off my midriff.
Funny. Even Rob hadn’t asked me that.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I applied a second coat of lipstick in front of the little mirror by the entrance door. “I suppose because I grew attached to him in the last seven years or so and would like to know if he slept well, ate this morning, that kind of stuff.”
Cruz leaned a shoulder against the wall, one stylish sneaker propped against my suitcase, watching me intently.
“No. Why’d you choose that name?”
“Promise you won’t laugh.” Was I actually going to give up this info? Our families were merging—he’d hear things sooner or later.
“I cannot, in good conscience, promise you that, considering the things that tend to leave your mouth unfiltered.”
“Fair enough.” I slid the lipstick into my little fake-fur purse. “I called him Bear after Bear Rinehart, Needtobreathe’s lead singer.”
“That Christian rock group?”
“One and the same.” I waited for the blow to come.
“Isn’t Bear the guy’s nickname, though? His first name is William or something.”
“Well, I didn’t know that at the time, did I? And I couldn’t afford the fancy name books people buy before they give birth and think of something more fun, like Axel or Cosmo.”
I watched him, expecting him to cackle—I did feel dumb after finding out about it myself—but to my surprise, he shrugged the whole thing off, joining me by the door and opening it for me.
“Well?” I raised my eyebrows. “That’s it?”
“You gave me an explanation to my satisfaction. Yes. That’s it.”
“Do you think it’s a weird name?”
“I wouldn’t choose it for my own son, no. Then again, I wasn’t the one who pushed a seven-pound human out of an intimate hole in my body after eight hours of contractions and nine months of heartburn, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask.”