My Two Husbands: A Laugh Out Loud Romantic Comedy

by Amanda Aksel

  The boat rocks again, throwing me off my balance. Luckily this time I can catch myself, but my stomach is not nearly as balanced. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s projecting up.

  Uh-oh.

  I rise on my toes to meet Kyle’s ear. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

  I push my way through the dancers and haul ass out of the club, following signs for the nearest bathroom. My face feels clammy like it’s turned green. Finally, I slam the stall door closed behind me. Without a care for the other women in the vicinity, I release the undigested contents of my dinner—colored in burgundy wine. It’s as disgusting as it sounds, but I feel so much better. I let go of a sigh and wipe my mouth with a tissue. Stumbling to the sink, I rinse out my mouth and pop in a mint. Now I just need a little fresh air.

  Out on the deck, I find the railing and rest my body against it, breathing in the warm salty air.

  “Hey, you okay?” A deep voice calls behind me.

  I whip around at the familiar baritone. It’s Jake. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I needed to get out of that stuffy club. Same as you, I guess.” He takes a spot on the railing next to me.

  I inch away, feeling something else surface, something else I want to vomit. “What are you doing, Jake? You don’t talk to me for weeks, and now you’re dating Kyle’s ex-girlfriend and bringing her on our cruise? Is this your twisted way of getting back at him? At us?”

  He takes a defensive stance. “I’m not dating her out of spite.”

  “Then why are you with her?”

  “Because, Quinn, she gets it.”

  “Gets what?”

  Jake backs down, but his eyes are still fixed on mine. “She knows what it’s like to be in love with someone who’s in love with somebody else.”

  His words hit me like a wave crashing on the rocks, pulling me under a fierce rip current. He’s . . . he’s still in love with me? I shake my head, stepping away. “What . . . why are you telling me this?”

  “Like you didn’t know. Nothing’s changed for me. I feel exactly the way I felt that day my kitchen caught fire.” It’s like I’m drowning in his confession, and I don’t know how to get my head above water. “I know you feel it too. That’s why you said my name when you were with him. He may be living in your house, but I still live here.” He presses a direct finger to my heart, and it pierces me like an arrow.

  Fresh tears burn my eyes, and I swat his hand away making space between us. “Just stop it, okay! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I hate you!”

  He grabs me by my arms and pulls me close. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Now, let me go!” I shove him off, but his grip is strong. Almost as strong as his emotional hold over me.

  “I love you, Quinn.” Our eyes lock together, and no matter how much I want to, I can’t look away. He leans in, and I inhale his sweet scent at full force. I want to push him off, throw him over the rails. But my knees are weak, and so is my spirit to move. Why is he doing this? And why can’t we let each other go? He leans in, his lips meeting mine, and it’s like we’re exactly where we started.

  “W ow, you eat kale?” I ask while Kyle bags the heavy, leafy greens and drops them into his shopping cart.

  “It’s an acquired taste.”

  I grimace, thinking about the time I added the veggie to my banana smoothie. “I’m not a fan.”

  “I bet I could change your mind. I make a killer kale salad,” he says in a deep-hamburger commercial-like voice.

  I chuckle. “That is by far the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “You’re laughing now, but pretty soon kale will be the only cruciferous vegetable you crave.” He holds my stare for just a moment. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

  “Cruciferous, huh?” And I’ve indulged it. But that’s all it is. No harm in a few lingering glances, right?”

  “Yep.”

  I take a head of romaine lettuce from the pile and toss it in my basket. “I guess you can learn a lot about a person by grocery shopping with them.”

  Kyle peeks in my cart. “I can tell you enjoy Greek salad.”

  I roll my eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You only know that because you’ve seen me eat it a million times.” Okay, a million is a serious overstatement, but Kyle has been coming to my house for dinner most nights of the week these days. He mows my lawn even though he pays someone else to mow his own. He brings my trashcans to the curb on Thursday evenings and watches The Work Place with me on Tuesdays. It’s like he’s my surrogate husband. Only we don’t have sex. Which, from what I’ve heard, is pretty typical marital behavior. And currently the norm for my own marriage.

  Where’s Jake, you ask? That’s a loaded question. Physically, he’s been in Vegas for months, much longer than he anticipated. We don’t see each other nearly as often as he said we would. And getting ahold of him is becoming increasingly difficult. Emotionally, I have no idea where he is. With the lack of contact, it’s like we’re not even friends, let alone married.

  For a while I was blue, missing my man, wanting him to come home and feel his hands run over every inch of my body. But that sadness caught the fire of anger. And I got really freaking furious. I hopped on the first flight to Vegas just so I could tell him to his face. He diffused the situation, as he does, with his touch, with his words, with his . . . I was sure things would turn around after that, but they haven’t. So now I’m in this weird place where I don’t really know how I feel. I don’t know when he’s coming back.

  Oh, zucchini! I snatch one of the smooth, green vegetables. It’s a big one. “This thing is huge!” I say, drawing my eyes up all ten inches of it.

  Kyle takes it from me, lightly tossing it in his hand. “Eh, I’ve seen bigger.”

  I grab one of the modest, slimmer six inchers. “This is better, but I don’t know if it’s gonna be enough.” I grab another, examining them both. “I think two regular zucchinis are better than one,” I say placing them next to the red bell peppers.

  “What are you making again?” Kyle asks.

  I smile. “Zucchini boats, remember?”

  “Oh, right.”

  We push our carts side by side towards the fruit aisle. Seventies pop music plays softly overhead, and I hum along with the familiar tune.

  Kyle stops in front of a plastic display of samples and grabs two toothpicks worth. “Pineapple?”

  I pop it in my mouth. The tartly, sweet tropical flavor bursts over my tongue. “Mmm.”

  “I think I’m gonna get some.” Pineapple’s one of those fruits I never get because it’s a pain in the ass to cut. But it’s so good. “Hey, wanna use these for piña coladas?” He grabs the pre-sliced package.

  “You totally read my mind,” I say.

  The corners of his mouth turn up into a proud smile.

  We take our time down each aisle reading labels and discovering new, tasty items. Grocery shopping for me is usually a race to get in and get out as soon as possible. Time is money, after all. But Kyle makes it feel like a fun outing.

  We get to the check out, and he helps me unload everything onto the conveyor belt. The cashier reads my total, and I swipe my credit card on the machine.

  “Wanna stop by later for those piña coladas?” I ask my shopping partner, waiting for my receipt.

  “Definitely,” he says, loading his own groceries.

  “Ma’am.” The cashier cuts in. “I’m sorry, can you swipe your card again?”

  I glance at the machine. The word declined in bold, block letters on the screen. Huh? I swipe it a second time, this time watching the transaction. It flashes declined again.

  “That’s so weird. Let me try another one.” I grab a different plastic card and repeat the same thing. Declined. Declined. Declined!

  “Yeah, that one’s not working either.” The cashier gives me a pi
tiful look, and now everyone else in line is beginning to glare impatiently.

  “Hey, aren’t you Natalie Quinn?” The guy behind Kyle calls out, pointing at me.

  Of course someone recognizes me right now. I give a friendly wave and nod.

  “Call 5-5-5, 1-0-1-0 for a real estate win with Natalie Quinn!” He sings my radio jingle. And he’s not shy about it.

  “Oh, that’s you?” the cashier says. “I know that song. Call 5-5-5, 1-0-1-0 . . .” Shoppers in the next line are staring, recognition brightening their previously bored faces. I still haven’t paid for my groceries, and I’m not sure I can. Now they’re going to think I’m a real estate flop.

  I dig into my wallet. “I think I have some cash.”

  “It’s okay,” Kyle says. “I’ll get it.” He swipes his card like it’s nothing.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s fine. I’m sure something funny is just going on with your accounts.”

  It doesn’t feel very funny right now, but he’s probably right. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “It’s on me. I eat at your place a ton anyway. This is the least I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  While Kyle checks out, I push my cart quickly but coolly, passing several people who are singing, “Call 5-5-5, 1-0-1-0 for a real estate win with Natalie Quinn!”

  Get me out of here!

  As soon as I exit, I pull out my phone and log on to my bank account. My cards are maxed out? I click the link, and it’s nothing but withdrawal after withdrawal from various locations in Las Vegas. A grand here, five hundred there, all in the last few days. Someone must’ve stolen Jake’s credit card. Unless . . .

  I dial him immediately. My face prickles with heat. What could be going on? It goes straight to voicemail. “Dammit!”

  “You okay?” Kyle’s voice calls behind me.

  I turn back unable to look him in the eye. “Our credit cards are maxed out, and Jake’s phone is going to voicemail. I don’t know what to do. Can you try him?”

  Kyle hesitates for a moment. Does he know something? “Sure.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and steps away. I watch him stand silent for a few moments, then hang up. “Voicemail.”

  “I’ll try him again.”

  By the time Kyle and I get to our respective cars, I’ve called Jake half a dozen times. It. Never. Rings. I shoot off a panicked text message, then begin slamming my groceries into my trunk. “Dammit! Why is his phone off?”

  “Whoa,” Kyle says, grabbing one of the bags from me. “You’re going to break your eggs.”

  I let out an aggravated growl as if he’s to blame. His expression remains steady. “I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated right now.”

  “I know,” he says. “It’s okay. We’ll get ahold of Jake and get to the bottom of all this. It’s going to be fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  I feel a slight sense of relief at his words. I know that I shouldn’t, but the truth is . . . I’m afraid of what’s going to happen next. I feel like I’m about to lose everything, and it’s all because of my husband.

  “I’m gonna load my bags in your car, and I’ll drive you home, okay?” he says, pulling his cart over.

  I shake my head. “No, you don’t have to do that. I can drive.”

  “I know you can, but you shouldn’t. Besides, I have the pineapple.”

  I let out the smallest of laughs. How did he do that?

  Back at my house, Kyle helps me unload my bags and stuffs his cold groceries in my garage refrigerator. I sit at the breakfast bar tapping my finger on the counter staring at my phone. Kyle calmly chops his precut pineapple into little chunks and tosses them into the blender along with ice, rum, and creamy coconut.

  “C’mon,” he says, handing me a cold glass. “Let’s go to our usual spot.”

  I follow Kyle out to the patio, and we each take a lounge chair. Lily follows us out, making herself comfy on the warm concrete next to my feet. Sipping from the plastic straw, the slushy, sweet drink fills my mouth. And for the moment, my anguish is eased. “This is really good.”

  He takes a sip. “Yeah, not bad.”

  “I haven’t had one of these since my twenty-fourth birthday.” I suck down the icy drink until a sharp pain ripples along my forehead. “Ouch!” I soothe it with my hand.

  “Brain freeze?”

  “More like bank freeze.”

  “I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” he says.

  I look at my phone. Nothing back from Jake. “If you knew something, you would tell me, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Okay, because when I asked you to call him I got the impression you didn’t want to. Like maybe you knew what was going on.”

  He lowers his head and sets his drink on the patio table. “That’s not why I hesitated.”

  “Then why did you?”

  He lets out a long sigh, and my stomach tightens at what’s next. “I haven’t talked to Jake in a few weeks. We . . . we had an argument.”

  Huh? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because it was about you.”

  “About me? What about me?”

  He keeps his eyes lowered. “I told him that he needs to come back and be here for his wife, but he said that he couldn’t right now. And I told him that whatever he thinks is so important doesn’t matter as much as . . . as you.”

  “You said that?” I don’t know if it’s the high emotions or his words alone, but I have to blink back tears.

  Finally, he looks at me. “Yeah.”

  “Thank you. I don’t understand why he can’t see that as easily as you can. Why can’t he be more like . . .”

  “Me?”

  I feel a little guilty saying it but, “Yeah.”

  “Because he’s Jake. He’s stubborn and proud.” Don’t I know it.

  “And you’re steady and kind.” We gaze at one another. So many times I’ve looked into his sweet, blue eyes wishing they were the dark, soulful ones belonging to Jake. But in this moment, I’m glad it’s Kyle.

  He breaks the stare and perhaps even the spell we’re falling under. “I should go.”

  “Right,” I say. “Want me to take you back to the store to get your car?”

  “No, I’ll get a cab.”

  I help carry his groceries out while we wait for his ride.

  “So, The Work Place? Tomorrow night?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  The cab approaches the house, and I wait for Kyle to turn and leave. But he just stands there staring at me.

  “You know, Jake really is an idiot. He has no idea how lucky he is to have you.” Kyle reaches out, smoothing my hair away from my face, softly grazing my cheek. My heart flutters at his touch. My chin tilts up, lips parted and parched for affection. He steps closer and closer until his nose touches mine. Am I really about to kiss my husband’s best friend in our driveway?

  EPISODE ELEVEN

  J ake’s fingertips graze my skin as he cups my cheek. Every part of my body stiffens except for my lips. As if having a mind or a heart all their own, they eagerly welcome his. I close my eyes and breathe—inhaling him like the most tantalizing drug. One that I once couldn’t get enough of. His hands trail up my neck, and he tangles his hands in my hair as the ocean breeze whips through my wispy strands. My blood rushes to all the right places as my body responds to his every touch, and my head becomes intoxicatingly hazy.

  Jake gently kisses my face, then nuzzles his nose near my ear. “I missed you,” he whispers.

  My breath becomes heavy, weighted by how wrong this is when it feels so right. “Oh, Jake,” I whisper back, and it’s as natural as exhaling.

  His mouth meets mine again, this time with an intense hunger. Clearly, I missed him too. He turns me slightly, pressing me against the rail, and I almost don’t care if I go over the edge if it means swimming in him again. Even if it’s just this moment and never again.

  His hand slide
s down my body, catching for a moment on my impatiently aching breasts. I arch my back, ravenous for his touch on my skin. Sliding his hand up my bare thigh and inside the hem of the only thing between us, I tremble.

  “You look so fucking sexy in this dress,” he says in a low growl.

  My head floods with his words, and I have no control over my body. It’s completely surrendered to him, so much so that I can’t respond with anything more than a quiet whimper. A single finger slides up my thigh between my legs. He presses it against my lace like a magnet to steel. The sensation sends a jolt, pulsing throughout my entire body, and my eyes spring open as I moan.

  What am I doing fooling around with my ex-husband like this? My focus shift back and forth as he plants a kiss on my collarbone. No one’s around. Thank god. I have to get out of here.

  I push his hand out from under my dress. My face is hot, and my insides knotted. What have I done? “I can’t do this,” I say, backing off.

  “Why not? We belong together,” Jake says, catching his breath.

  “I’m married to Kyle.”

  He grasps at my hand “But you should be married to me.”

  I look into his amber eyes glinting in the dim light. I’m not sorry for leaving him. It was the right thing at the time. Walking away wasn’t easy then, and it’s not easy now. “But I’m not.” I snatch my hand back. “I have to go.”

  Pulling my hem down, I hurry to the doors and down the royal red-carpeted stairs, running for my stateroom. I push the door open and slam it behind me—my chest heaving. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to catch my breath after this. The clicking noise of the door handle sounds, and I back away. Kyle peeks his head in, the light from the hallway pours in behind him.

  He smiles that sweet, totally unaware Kyle smile, and all I want to do is just crawl in a hole and die. “There you are. Are you okay?”