Bad Cruz_L.J. Shen

by Shen, L. J.

  “You mean, in general or with me?”

  “I mean in general. Can’t take any chances.”

  A low, gravelly chuckle escaped him. “Never.” His smile was perfect, his straight, white teeth gleaming.

  “Never.”

  “That’s ridiculous. If that were true, it means you’ve never had sex after having Bear.”

  I knotted my arms over my chest, my lips turning downward in a wince.

  His eyed widened. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tennessee, you… you can prevent pregnancy these days.”

  “Agreed. And I do so in the most effective way of all. One-hundred percent effectiveness, actually, if you exclude Virgin Mary, and versions vary on what happened to her—I. Don’t. Have. Sex. And I especially—especially”—I unknotted my arms to point a finger to the ceiling as I continued my righteous speech—“am not having sex with a man who has already sexually assaulted me.”

  “Sexually assaulted? You?” he spat out, his eyes flaring in alarm. “You played with my dick while I was discussing the Panthers not even an hour ago.”

  “I meant the time I throat-punched you. Don’t act like you forgot about that.”

  “You thought I was assaulting you?” To be fair, he did look horrified.

  I guess it was time I revisited that day.

  Buckle up, gang.

  Okay. So about that context…

  I kind of, sort of, throat-punched Fairhope’s MVP back in the day.

  When I was twenty-four and Cruz was…what? Twenty-six? And had just come back to town from med school.

  There were a few different ways to tell this story, but the main facts remained as follows:

  I’d just gotten my job at Jerry & Sons. Before that, I had to clean houses and mow lawns all over town to pay for Bear’s school tuition, swimming lessons, judo practices, and, you know, general life.

  Cruz was in his prime. He was so sought-after, the folks from The Bachelor had given him a call to see if he wanted to audition. He’d just purchased his first house, before he’d even started practicing medicine. A stunning, lime-washed colonial with six white columns, black shutters, and rosebushes at the entrance. It looked like Barbie’s Dreamhouse and had been occupied by a glamorous ex-model and a baseball player before they retired to Florida. Growing up, I’d fantasized about buying it for myself and my family with the hypothetical money I was going to make becoming a Hollywood actress (despite the fact I didn’t have one acting bone in my body and largely didn’t think I’d be any good at it). Now, it belonged to that tool bag.

  It was July Fourth, and the entire town was in a frenzy. There was a parade, BBQ stands everywhere you turned, and horse-drawn carriages rolling through downtown. Floats were made the morning of, and there was face-painting, music, clowns, fireworks, and the kitchen sink (True story. Wannabe comedian Charlie Spacey brought his kitchen sink as some sort of a political statement about the wastefulness of that day that nobody cared about).

  Jerry & Sons had been closed for the day, so I’d let my parents take Bear downtown for the festivities while I’d stayed home, nursing a Costco tub of ice cream, a beer, and my never-ending fountain of self-pity.

  It was the first time I’d ever missed a Fourth of July celebration. Even at the height of my scandal, these parades were so deeply nostalgic and sweet to me, I couldn’t refuse them.

  Problem was, I’d known Cruz was going to be there, and I really hadn’t wanted to face him. He was a constant reminder of the fact he and Rob had gone and built lives of their own while I made unfair sacrifices and paid my dues for my reckless behavior, even if it had given me the most precious thing in my life.

  It was probably nine in the evening, just before the fireworks had started, when I’d heard a knock on the door downstairs. Weirded out (my parents and Bear wouldn’t be there until well after ten and Trinity was out with her friends until the next morning), I’d gone to answer.

  “It better not be a serial killer,” I’d muttered as I’d jammed my feet into my father’s checked slippers and swung the door open.

  And there he was.

  Cruz Costello.

  Looking gorgeous, muscular, chosen, and…tanked?

  On second thought, a serial killer wasn’t that unwelcome considering the alternative.

  “Your tits are great,” he’d hiccupped, his dusky cobalt gaze sweeping over my chest.

  It was summer, hot as sin, and I wasn’t wearing a bra under my white tank top. Odd thing to say, only the last time we’d seen each other, I think I’d been breastfeeding. Luckily, I was done nursing Bear. My nipples were no longer the size of a family-size pizza each, and the blue veins as thick as sausages were long gone.

  For a while there, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to mess with Bear’s buffet. And every time I got into a hot shower to massage said breasts (because I had a ton of milk ducts), I would cry out in pain and my breasts would cry with me, leaking yellowish milk.

  Truly, parenthood was a wonderful thing.

  “What can I help you with, Costello?” I’d sighed, wanting him gone.

  It was hard to believe I used to have a crush on this guy before Rob had asked me out. Cruz was so nauseatingly perfect. In a totally off-putting way. Like, the way a professionally-made cake was so perfect and smooth you didn’t want to cut it.

  Though I did want to cut Cruz Costello, sometimes.

  “You cuhn let me in and ass-plain to me whad Rob had dat I didn’t.”

  Dang, he was three sheets to the wind.

  “A general grasp of the English language for a start,” I’d deadpanned.

  Was he here just because he couldn’t tolerate the fact I hadn’t flung myself at him years ago when all the other girls had?

  Talk about fragile male egos.

  Behind him, the night parade had passed through, banging on drums and singing.

  Cruz made a disgusted face. “He used to kiss and tell.”

  “Real classy.”

  I’d rolled my eyes, but tears prickled the back of them, making them sting. I’d paid so dearly for my mistake, it seemed so unnecessarily cruel to bring it up again and talk about the intimate details.

  How many times could I atone for it?

  I did everything right now. Or as right as I could, anyway, considering the circumstances.

  Cruz took a step forward. He smelled like bonfire and amber and sandalwood. Woodsy and musky at the same time. I had to remind myself he wanted what all the others did before him—to get me in bed, because apparently, that was the easiest task within Fairhope limits.

  “Get away from me,” I’d warned, stepping backward.

  “Not before you give me what I want…”

  “What you want?” I’d asked, incredulous.

  “Yes. What all-weeze belonged to me.”

  He was going to take another step, I could tell, and in that moment, the only thing I thought about was what it was going to look like.

  Slutty Messy Nessy, letting Fairhope’s minted doctor-slash-quarterback into her house while her parents (and son!) were away.

  Of course she’d have asked—begged him for it.

  It would be the golden boy’s word against the jezebel’s.

  I’d swung my fist and gone for his cheek, but he was tall, and I’d ended up slamming my knuckles against his Adam’s apple.

  I must’ve underestimated my strength, or maybe Cruz had been too drunk to abide by the rules of gravity, because he went down like a sleep-deprived toddler, falling flat on his butt on my parents’ front lawn.

  He’d groaned in pain while the parade marched past with drumlines and trumpets, and it had occurred to me we were drawing attention and that I was going to be toast.

  “Shut up, Costello. Get up and dust yourself off,” I’d hissed, stepping outside to ensure he heard my warning.

  This, of course, had only made him moan louder.

  Seriously, why did I even bother?

  I should have just
grabbed Bear, shoved him in the car, and moved to another state. There was no way Fairhope was going to let me be.

  “She assaulted him!” Mrs. Underwood had cried from the other side of the street.

  “Punched him in the throat!” Mr. Thomas had whimpered.

  People had begun rushing from the parade toward my front lawn. I’d retreated, feeling my cheeks flush.

  Great.

  Now I was getting into trouble without even leaving my doorstep. I really was a lost cause.

  They’d helped pick Cruz up and asked him if he was okay. I’d rushed inside and closed the door, peering through the peephole, my face so hot with mortification I’d thought it was going to explode.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, honey, what did she do to you?”

  “I’m so sorry. She’s always been a hellion!”

  Cruz just nodded and sulked, staring at my door like he’d known I was behind it.

  So, you see, this was the infamous throat-punching incident.

  Totally called for.

  Now let’s move on, please.

  “A chance.” Cruz rubbed at his square stubbled chin in the maintenance room.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What I deserved, what I came to talk that night, was a chance. The chance you gave him instead of me. Not a kiss. And not anything beyond that. A simple chance.”

  For a moment, I just stared at Cruz, stunned. I thought he’d wanted the chance to bang me, not the chance to…ask to bang me?

  He stared at the floor as he rubbed at his cheek, continuing, “I wasn’t trying to pull any funny business with you. Truth was, I’d always had a bit of a crush on you.”

  “Umm, what?”

  “I’d been waiting to tell you at the Fourth of July parade when I got home from med school. Thought you’d be there, since you’d never missed it, no matter what. I didn’t really care about your reputation at the time. Figured I couldn’t let a bunch of strangers dictate what I could or couldn’t do with my life. At first, I’d waited for you to show up. I had a beer, and then another one, and then another. The fourth was overkill, let me tell ya, because that’s when things began to go sideways, and I moved to shots. The road to finding myself slurring something offensive on your front porch was short from there, and we all know how it ended. But at the time, I came to you because I wanted to see if you’d have dinner with me. And I wanted to see if you’d have dinner with me not because I wanted to embarrass you, but because the entire time I was away, in med school, every time I kissed a girl, I always thought to myself—I wonder what Tennessee tastes like?”

  I’d thought he’d come for the one thing the town hadn’t offered up on a platter—the one thing his friend had gotten that he hadn’t—me.

  “You didn’t say any of that. You said I had great tits,” I accused, tears prickling my eyes.

  He bit on his inner cheek. “I take it back.”

  “Oh?”

  “They’re not great. They’re perfect.”

  “You expect me to believe you really wanted to ask me out?” I cried out, emotional all of a sudden, and not the good kind.

  I’d have said yes in a heartbeat, my anger and hurt toward him be damned. But now, now too much water had gone under that bridge, and it was no longer an option.

  All the women he’d dated.

  All the rumors I’d been subjected to.

  All those years.

  I didn’t really care about your reputation at the time.

  He used past tense.

  Not present.

  Dating was no longer on the table.

  “I’m not expecting you to do anything. This is the truth. Do what you will with it.”

  Yup.

  I was crying now.

  The first hot, fat tear rolled down my cheek, making its way into the corner of my mouth and exploding its saltiness all over my tongue. It was horrible, because somehow, I’d managed to keep myself from bawling even after we found out I’d messed up the cruise tickets.

  “You bastard,” I hissed.

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely apologetic.

  “Why’d you never try again?”

  “You physically assaulting me that first time kind of put a damper on my plans—not that I remembered everything.”

  “That means nothing!”

  “No means no.”

  “No means maybe, depending on the context. I had no idea what you were offering, only what it looked like you were trying to take. So that ex you told people about in med school…”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want to come back and see you with Bear. It was too much, after crushing on you all throughout high school. But ultimately, sometime after the throat-punch and my third serious girlfriend, my feelings subsided, and I’d gotten over you.”

  “Good to know. Thanks,” I muttered, two tears chasing one another, skating over my cheek. “Now we can never be together. Our siblings are getting married, and I’ve been Lot’s wife for far too long. There is no way the town is going to let me get away with dating someone like you. Let alone our families.”

  And then there was the other part.

  The part where I truly didn’t think I deserved him and, anyway, never wanted to have sex again in my entire life. Or have other kids. That sort of fun stuff.

  “I agree,” he said, taking a cautious step toward me. “But we still have this trip, and I suggest we make the most out of it.”

  He squeezed my arms, looking deep into my eyes. I shouldn’t feel insulted, considering this was exactly what I’d been hoping for when we entered the maintenance room, but somehow, everything had changed in the last few minutes.

  I felt like I was starring in my very own, messed-up Sliding Doors movie. Only I wasn’t Gwyneth Paltrow and Cruz wasn’t…well, I forgot who else starred in that movie, which meant he was definitely not that hot.

  More pieces added to the puzzle that was Cruz Costello as I digested the new revelation.

  “Question.” I stepped out of his embrace again.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why did Gabriella start hating me extra hard when you two started dating? What did you tell her?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything.”

  There was a pause.

  “But she did catch me looking through your Instagram account one day.”

  “I don’t even update my account. It’s all pictures of landscape and desserts and John Lennon quotes.”

  “It’s pretty depressing,” he agreed.

  We stood in front of one another. It seemed like there wasn’t much more to say after that.

  And yet, nothing had been resolved.

  Cruz rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but if you’re not planning to do something about my hard-on, at least put me out of my misery and let me go make the bald man cry in the shower.”

  “There’s a bald man in our shower?”

  “Masturbate,” Cruz said flatly. “I need to take care of my blue balls.”

  “Right!” I stepped aside, feeling myself blush. “Of course, of course. Don’t let me stand in your way.”

  “A little too late for that.”

  A few seconds later, we both evacuated the room.

  I’d always had a thing for Tennessee Turner.

  From the moment I first saw her at the nursery, wobbling along, delivering a clean and confident smack to the back of the head of another toddler to snatch away a rag doll, I knew this girl was special.

  Actually, if I was going to be petty (and I was definitely not going to be petty), I was the one who was supposed to ask her out between Rob and me. As I mentioned, we rock-paper-scissored it, and my paper wrapped his rock.

  But he smashed my chance, anyway.

  Straight up crapped all over the bro code and asked the pretty blonde out.

  Was I pissed? Yes.

  Did I punch his face? Also yes.

  Did I hate Tennessee Turner for accepting his
offer for an ice cream and vow to ignore her existence from that moment on? I plead the fifth.

  See? Not bitter at all.

  Now I was in the shower of our stateroom while Tennessee was probably building a pillow fort and hiding behind it to avoid me while my cock wept tears of cum onto the tiles as I remembered how she tasted in the maintenance room.

  Thanks to Dalton and his big veneered mouth.

  If one good thing came out of it—and I was really struggling to find the silver lining here—it was that I had the chance to clear the air and explain to her that I did not, in fact, try to mess around with her that Fourth of July.

  I could tell from Tennessee’s reaction today that she would have said yes, had I asked her out like a decent human being. Now I couldn’t stop thinking about Tennessee and me in an alternate universe, screwing like bunnies three times a day.

  I’d have given her a job as my secretary or something. We’d have had date nights and I’d have taken her to black-tie events and verbally sparred with her the entire way there.

  I still couldn’t believe the woman was practically a virgin.

  She’d had sex one time her entire life.

  The craziest thing was, I knew she hadn’t had anyone go down on her or given any head, because Rob used to give us detailed reports of their doings before he hit the home run.

  Let’s just say there was a lot of tit-sucking and fingering, but nothing else. Which I had to admit, gave Tennessee the gleam of an unexplored land, wild and unmapped, waiting to be discovered.

  Unfortunately, it seemed like she wouldn’t let me get anywhere near her, ironically after finding out that I hadn’t sexually harassed her.

  I always thought I had a pretty decent grasp of what women wanted, but apparently I’d been wrong, because I hadn’t the greenest clue what Tennessee Turner needed or craved.

  All I knew was that if it was a relationship she wanted, my parents were going to kill themselves, and then Wyatt was going to off me and run with the inheritance money.

  At twenty-six, I’d been fresh out of med school, new to adulthood and real life. My parents had been so happy to have me back in town, they’d have accepted a farm animal for a potential daughter-in-law, anything to make me stick around.