by Bromberg, K
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. While you look sexy as hell in it, I think it looks a bit stiff. Formal. Uncomfortable.”
He twirls me out. Pulls me back into him. Chest to chest. Our feet move again.
“And how will being out of this dress relax me?” His thigh moves between mine and rubs against the apex of my thighs. A hint of what’s to come.
“Because then I can taste you, Saylor. Run my tongue over your clit. Get you all worked up. Make you beg.”
My chuckle? It’s strained. Desperate. Fraudulent. “I won’t beg.”
He spins me around. I catch a glimpse of his challenging grin, and then I’m back against him.
“Oh, you’ll beg.” He presses a tender kiss to my lips that has my insides screaming when he ends it.
“Sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“It’s amazing the things a woman will say when her man is working his tongue in and out of her pussy.”
My mouth goes dry. Between my thighs grows wet. The dark promise of his words seduces every part of me. He spins me out again, makes me more than aware of the audience of disapproving eyes watching us.
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm.” He even makes that sound seem seductive.
“What exactly do women say?”
“Oh, yes. Fuck me. You last longer than I do. Harder. It’s so big. You’re. A. God.”
I can’t help but laugh again at his breathless voice as he says the words. Know he’s making fun of himself and love that he’s confident enough in his more-than-adept sexual skills to do so. “Really?”
“Most definitely.” He laughs. “But that’s not how a man knows he’s doing it right. Words are cheap. Actions prove everything.”
“So how does he know he’s doing it right?”
He spins me out and then back against him. In the few seconds apart, I’m already ready for the warmth of his body. His mouth is near my ear so the heat of his breath teases me. “A man knows he’s doing the job right when a woman pushes him away, tells him to stop licking her, and begs for his cock.”
That slow, sweet ache that has been simmering during this whole conversation—hell, who am I kidding, since he walked out of his room looking mouth-wateringly delicious in his suit and tie—has just been stoked brighter.
“Oh.”
He chuckles in my ear and I feel the rumble of it against my chest. Love the feel of his thigh rubbing between mine. “You still think you’re not going to beg, Saylor?”
“Words are cheap, Whitley. Actions prove everything.”
* * *
“Hayes Whitley? Seriously, Say? That’s who you left me for?” Mitch’s voice from behind me so bitter in tone, startles me, and yet I outwardly remain calm as can be.
So many responses flicker through my mind.
Married after only eight months?
Carbon-copy-of-Saylor-Sarah?
Still an asshole, huh?
I wish that were the truth.
I choose the higher road. Know even in the thirty seconds I’ve been in his presence that I made the right decision. I have absolutely zero love for him, and I can’t believe I wasted six years of my life with him.
So I don’t answer his question but rather decide to let him believe whatever he wants about Hayes being here with me and how that came to be. I’m not lying per se, rather just not giving any answers.
“You always did resent him, didn’t you?” I murmur softly, figuring it to be my best plan of approach and more than aware of the sudden shift of attention over to us despite the music playing loudly.
I think back to the few times Mitch would see Hayes on television or a magazine cover and make some snide remark. Criticize him. For no other reason than because Hayes had me first. Caveman theory at its best, and Mitch’s fragile ego at its worst.
“Seems I had every right to resent him, didn’t I? I love Sarah. I really do. And yet all of her blabbing on about the ghost of you hanging around was driving me crazy so I’m here trying to give her what she’s asked of me.”
“My ghost?”
“Yeah. She says you’re still everywhere even though you’re not.”
“That’s because you moved on before the scent of my perfume even cleared the bedroom.” There’s a bite to my voice and I don’t try to hide it.
“You’re the one who left.”
“Yes. I did.” There is not an ounce of apology in my tone. Why should there be when he was the one who made it clear he didn’t care if I did? And is already married.
Silence smothers the space between us. I take a sip of my wine and look toward the door to see if Hayes is back from the restroom yet. Shift in my chair.
“If you wanted to get rid of my ghost, then maybe you should have had your own wedding, instead of ours.” I turn to look at him. Raise my eyebrows. “A little originality makes a girl feel a whole lot more secure.”
“It’s complicated.” He shuffles his feet, looks down at his beer, and then back up to me. “You know how my mom is.”
“Yes, I do.” He hasn’t changed. He never will. Maybe I thought my leaving might help him realize that while he can love his mother and want to appease her, having a wife means you put her first, and not your mom. “Let me give you an opinion from someone who has in fact walked in Sarah’s shoes. Your mom can’t control your marriage, Mitch. You gave her a good start thinking she will by letting her orchestrate this entire wedding. The funny thing is, you were so busy being Golf Boy with your buddies and not caring about the details I was planning, that you have zero clue about how identical your wedding today is to the one I had planned. For us. Surely you realize the location and the invitations were the same, but did you notice everything else? The color scheme, the linens, the flowers? All my choices. And Sarah just happily accepted all of that?”
His features shift and evolve from disbelief to anger. And I know him well enough to know that as pissed as he is, he’ll never confront his mom over it. God forbid, he ever stands up to her. Instead, he’s about to take the brunt of his anger out on me.
I guess he’s never heard the saying, “Don’t kill the messenger.”
“You don’t get to have any opinion, Saylor. You don’t get to criticize or judge or say anything other than thank you for inviting me, Mitch.”
Asshole. I bite my tongue. Make the conscious decision not to engage when I’d prefer to stand and shout and accuse and purge the lingering bitterness I feel toward him. Let everyone know the real reasons we’re not together.
“Why’d you come anyway, Saylor? Why’d you show up? To rub my face in the fact that you’re dating the big Hollywood star?”
And if I didn’t know that bugged him, the disdain in his voice says it all. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Mitch? Why’d you invite me? Because I know you say it was Sarah who did, but a little part deep down within you wanted me to show up here to see exactly what I could have had. So you could rub my nose in it?”
I don’t answer his question at all, but I don’t care because it feels good to say some of what I think out loud. Words I’ve wanted to ask since I opened the envelope with the invitation.
He doesn’t answer my question, either. And I’m okay with that and with the awkward silence that settles around us as we both figure our next step in dismantling a fence that will never stand again.
“It’s always been him, hasn’t it?” Yes. It has. I don’t utter the words, just keep my eyes fixated on my fingers running up and down the stem of my wine glass when he continues speaking. “He’s been the one you wanted even after he hurt you and walked away. I was the one who picked up the pieces after your parents died. Not him. But what? The whole time we were together, you were waiting for him, weren’t you? Wanting him. Thinking I could take his place. And then obviously by the looks of the two of you, he came back and the wait was over. Dump me. Pick him. He wins . . .”
I don’t think I ever looked at our relationship that way, or thought of Hayes in that regard. My
subconscious was more consumed by the sting of hurt and weight of resentment Hayes left behind. And besides, by the time Mitch came into the picture it had been almost four years since he’d left. And yet hearing Mitch’s words makes me realize that he just might be right when I never thought in a million years I was doing any of those things.
“It was the ghost of Hayes that ruined our relationship, Saylor. Just like Sarah wants me to confront you so that your ghost doesn’t ruin my marriage. I thought what she was saying was just bullshit. Nervous bride crap. And yet, seeing you here with him . . . I know she’s right.”
Did he just admit that he still loves me?
Shit. Shit. Double shit.
I blow out an audible breath. His disdainful but honest words hit a little too close to home. I nod softly. Let him know I’ve heard him. I refuse to agree with him audibly because then I feel like he’ll have control of this situation between us that feels so out of control as it is.
“What do you need from me to clear the ghosts, Mitch?” I try to sound reasonable. Attempt to give him what he needs so he can live happily ever after with Sarah and stay one hundred percent out of my life from here on out.
He clears his throat then looks me directly in the eyes. “I need to know if we ever had a chance or if we were doomed from the start because you were just waiting for Hayes to come back.”
“Does it matter?” I shrug, hating the look in his eyes. The one that makes me wonder how deep his feelings still run for me when they should be one hundred percent consumed by the woman he just gave more than his last name to. And knowing that even when I tell him the truth, he’s not going to believe it.
“Yes.”
“It was never about Hayes, Mitch. I left because while I loved you, I don’t think I could have continued loving you with the bitter resentment I continually felt toward you. You loved me but only the me you wanted me to be: sophisticated, non-working, non-baking, non-driven unless it was only to make you happy. You can’t start a marriage loving only the end result of who you hope to turn your spouse into. You start a marriage by loving that person completely for who they are and with the knowledge you’re going to grow and shift and change with each other. You never thought of me that way. You and your mom wanted me to be someone other than who I am to fit you and your circle’s standards. It became more and more clear the closer we came to getting married. The subtle comments about how my job wasn’t suitable for the Layton name. The hints left on hangers in my closet in the tune of thousands of dollars worth of clothes to show me how you wanted me to dress and look. The plans you fabricated, and the subsequent tantrums you pitched when you knew I had a big order to fill, so I’d feel like I was letting you down. So no, Mitch, my leaving you had nothing to do with Hayes and rather everything to do with me. My wants out of life, and everything that I am. Yes, I loved you, Mitch, at one time. But I think that love turned into bitterness and resentment.”
His eyes are wide, body so tense that I can already see he disagrees with me. Know that he’s ready to argue with me and I’m just done. With him and with this wedding. “Loved? As in past tense?”
I stare at him and realize he’s not hearing me. He doesn’t actually want to hear me. I shouldn’t be surprised because it was the same when we were together.
And I know what I need to do. Know that it’s not the truth but I need to be the bad guy here. Hurt him now to ensure Sarah has the best shot in a marriage with this emotionally stunted man who she loves.
“Yes. Loved. And I fell out of love with you a long time ago, Mitch.” I shake my head, twist my lips, and my fingers twirl around a lock of hair. I give the best acting job I can give. Try to use the upset I feel over purposely lying to him to drive the emotion in my next words. “I lied. I’m sorry. Hayes came back a few months before our wedding. I accidentally ran into him and what I felt for him, Mitch, was so very different, so much more powerful, than what I’d felt for you. And so . . . I tried to get over it. Over him. Attempted to push him from my mind and focus on you and our wedding but I couldn’t. The things you hated about me, he loved. The things you were trying to change in me, he praised. And I realized that even if Hayes and I never worked out, I couldn’t marry someone who didn’t appreciate those things about me.”
There’s hurt in his eyes. Wounded pride. And despite lying to him about the time frame, I realize everything else I’ve said is true.
“So it’s all true then.” He says the question as a statement, as if he doesn’t want me to respond. His voice is resigned. Disbelieving.
“What’s true?”
He shakes his head and chuckles beneath his breath like I should know what he’s referring to.
“Let me ask you something.” His voice lowers and eyes narrow. “What happens when you wake up one morning and Hayes is gone? Because he will leave, Saylor. He’s left you once before. It’s not like you don’t know about him and his girlfriend, right? How he cheated and walked away. So what makes you think you’re so special that he’s going to stick around this time? Because sorry to break it to you, but you’re not. You’re nothing in comparison to that spotlight he lives his life in. The one he obviously needs because he picked it over you before and as sure as hell, he’ll do it again. He’s Hollywood and you’re just . . . you. If you were devastated before, how do you think you’re going to feel when he does it now, knowing everything you gave up for him?”
My throat burns from the emotion his words are conjuring up. They dig deep down into the recesses of my mind where I’ve been trying to play dumb and ignore the what happens next aspect of this weekend. But with Mitch in front of me and his words ringing in my ears, I can’t avoid the fear they bring to me since the ghost of the previous devastation is still a shadow in my heart.
While I may feel unsettled, I know I sure as hell don’t want him to see the emotions I’m most likely wearing on my sleeve either.
“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” I say as I stand and clear my throat. “Best of luck to you and Sarah.”
I stride confidently from the room.
And I was wrong before. This—this walk—is my best acting job.
Hayes
Because it’s Saylor Rodgers.
I remind myself again because I’m done playing the nice guy. Done standing here with a cheesy smile plastered to my face, taking picture after picture for the same people who’ve had no problem muttering shitty things under their breath all night long about the woman I love.
Another picture.
Love?
Flash burning my eyes. Smile a bit wider.
Seriously, Whitley? Love?
A shake of a hand.
Love.
A thank you for a compliment. Another autograph.
It’s always been her in some way. Hasn’t it?
Another photograph. Another hug I don’t want to give.
Yes. Love.
Smile for Saylor’s sake. To make them leave her the fuck alone.
Love. Hmpf. Who would have thought?
A forced smile. An apologetic excuse that I need to get back to my date.
Now what are you going to do about it?
A narrow escape from another hug by a woman smothered in strong perfume and a dodge of a lipstick smudge on my cheek.
Of course when I get into the main hall of the reception, Saylor’s nowhere to be found. My mind’s reeling from my realization and yet it shouldn’t be. How did I not realize I still loved her the moment I saw her in her cupcake shop with blue flecks of frosting in her hair and that feistiness front and center?
She’s not at the bar. Not at the table. Shit. I shouldn’t have left her alone. Shouldn’t have assumed she’d be fine despite her reassurances.
I see one of the others from our table. “Hey, do you know where Saylor went?”
“I saw her head outside a few minutes ago. Right before it started thundering.”
“Thank you,” I murmur and head that direction. The thunder rumbles the minute I
head out onto the patio to look for her. It’s dark now and the air smells like rain.
“She still loves me, you know.” Mitch’s voice comes out of the shadows behind me.
I pause. I truly hate the fucking clinch of my gut at his words but reject the idea immediately. There’s no way she loves him. And yet didn’t I ask myself if she still did before coming here? My mind flashes back to earlier. To his name she mumbled in her sleep the other night and to the look on her face when she saw him across the reception room earlier. Did I read her expression wrong? Was the disgust I thought I saw in it really something else?
Fuck him and his lies that are trying to make me doubt her.
“You always were a bullshitter, Layton.” I turn around, take in the cigarette in one hand and the glass of brandy in the other.
And this is what a happily married man does at his own wedding? Drinks and smokes . . . alone?
I take a step toward him as I concentrate on how to play him and not let him know he’s got to me with his statement.
“She left. Couldn’t handle everything.”
He takes a drag on his cigarette and I immediately know he said or did something to upset her. Every part of me wants to go find her, make sure she’s okay, but I know she’s tough. Besides, there’s something I’ve wanted to do ever since Ryder told me over six years ago that Saylor was dating him. Let him know just what I think of him.
“Is it stressful being in the same room with the one woman you’re supposed to love but don’t wholeheartedly, and the one you still love who doesn’t love you back? Is that why you’ve resorted to a smoke? A little nervous, are you, Mitchy-boy?”
I lean my hip against the rail beside me, refusing to back down when he steps closer. The pansy never intimidated me in high school, and this bullshit show right now from him sure as shit doesn’t either.
“Fuck you.” His voice is low. Angered. Full of spite.
“No thanks. I hear you’re a selfish lay.” A twist of my lips. A raise of my eyebrows.
“I bet that’s all she is to you, too.”