by Portia Moore
He’s leaning back on the island. “Okay.” He shrugs one shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how old are you? Um, how do you like your eggs? What’s your middle name, your favorite color, and what do you do for a living?” I say, rattling off questions to which I usually know the answers before I drop my panties for a guy.
“Twenty-six, scrambled hard, I don’t have one, black, and I am a liaison between Public Relations and Research and Development at Crestfield Corporation.” He rattles off the answers just as quickly. “Now it’s my turn. Are you always this neurotic after sex?” He laughs and my eyes widen.
“I’m not neurotic. I just—I usually know these things before I have sex with someone,” I retort.
“How many guys have you had sex with?” he asks, way too simply for such a personal question.
“Why?” I ask, feeling my defenses rise.
“It seems like you don’t have sex that often, that’s all.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a little uptight about all of this.” He chuckles, unaffected by the anger in my tone.
“You’re kind of being a jerk right now,” I say sharply, and he grins.
“I answered all of your questions, and you haven’t answered any of mine,” he counters. “I don’t feel like you’re allowing me to really know you,” he adds sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’ve been with three men, and I just had sex last night, for your info.” I say the last part equally sarcastically.
He leans over the island, his eyes narrowing on mine. In an instant, his smile has gone from playful and aloof to dangerously sexy. “How was it?” His tone has deepened, and he’s looking me directly in the eye.
My frustration with him starts to dissipate. “Amazing,” I breathe.
After an intense stare-off, his smile widens. “Well, do you feel okay to like me now?” he asks in an almost condescending tone. His wide grin softens.
I bite my lip, internally arguing with myself, even though that boat has sailed and the deed’s been done.
“I’m not going to lie. I can be an asshole. I can probably be worse than that, but I don’t talk out of my ass. I like you, and I meant everything I said last night. So don’t spend the rest of the day wondering if I’m genuine or not. I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
He says all of this casually, but with it, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my chest. I bite my thumb, letting everything Cal’s just said sink in.
“Still think I’m a jerk?”
I nod. “Maybe just little bit of a jerk.”
With that amused grin again, he stands and makes his way over to me. I let out a much needed breath and turn toward him on my barstool. He parts my legs, making the towel rise a bit over my thighs. He stands between them.
“Good, because I am. And I still think you’re a little bit neurotic,” he says, bringing his lips to mine and his hands to the knot in my towel.
I push his chest away playfully. He looks into my eyes, still grinning.
“You didn’t ask,” I scold him teasingly.
“I want to take your towel off,” he whispers in my ear.
I bite my lip and look up at him playfully. “No.” I shake my head, amused.
He looks at the ceiling, feigning frustration, then moves his face near my ear, kissing the skin beneath my earlobe. He makes his way to my neck, kissing it so softly the sensation makes my eyes involuntarily close.
“Please,” he says again, as his fingers trail between my thighs.
One slips inside me while his thumb plays around the only other area that’s much more sensitive. I can’t help the moan that escapes my mouth. I lean away from him a bit and slowly unravel the knot, letting the towel fall from around me. He licks his lips.
“You better get used to this,” he says, wrapping his arms around my bare back.
“Get used to what?” I ask, wrapping my legs around his waist. I guess I’ll just have to be a little sorer.
“Being in my house naked. I kind of like it.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.
I kind of like it too.
May 10th, 2011
May 10th, 2011
I’m awake. It’s early, and I haven’t slept much at all. What happened last night consumes my thoughts, plus Cal was constantly tossing and turning in the full-size bed that was comfortable to me as a teenager, but now feels cramped for a woman and her six-foot husband. Even if he’d been still, I doubt I could have slept. A million thoughts have been running through my mind. I keep going over all of the things I’ve accepted, all of the times I’ve forgiven, that I’ve caved despite my better judgment. I glance at him, and he seems to finally be still, resting. I double-check to make sure he’s sound asleep and ease out of the bed as quietly as I can. Grabbing his phone off the dresser, I tiptoe out of the room and pull the door shut.
I have never invaded Cal’s privacy, not once. But there is a first time for everything, and this is completely warranted. I need answers, and I need them now—if I have to snoop for them, so be it. I hit the power button, and of course, it’s password protected. I tiptoe past Raven’s bedroom and down the stairs to find the cordless house phone and dial Cal’s number. When it rings, I answer it and put it on speaker so that I can get into his contact list.
I only want Dexter’s wife’s phone number. If I hadn’t thrown my own phone off the balcony before I left home, I wouldn’t have to do this, but that’s beside the point. I’m tempted to go through the call history. After a short debate, I give in, and when I search through it, I see it’s been cleared. I roll my eyes. He wouldn’t need to delete his call history unless he had something to hide. But I knew that already, didn’t I? I grab a pen off the end table and write Helen’s number down on a piece of paper.
Resting Cal’s phone on my lap, I sit back on Raven’s plush lounger and dial Helen’s number on the house phone. I hope she’ll answer an unknown number. I know it’s a long shot; it’s only six thirty in the morning.
“Hello?” she answers, and I thank God for my luck.
“Helen. Hi, it’s Lauren. Is this a good time?” I say quietly, not wanting either Raven or Cal to hear me.
“Lauren? How are you? And where are you calling from? I almost didn’t answer. Is everything okay?”
“Um, that’s actually why I was calling you.” I glance at the hallway to make sure no one is there. “Has Dexter mentioned anything to you about him and Cal having a falling out?”
“No, I don’t think so. You know how they are though. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that Dexter called Cal yesterday and told him something that really upset him. I thought it might have been business related. Or if not, maybe you have some idea what happened.”
“Dex hasn’t said anything to me, but he doesn’t usually keep me up to date on his business affairs.” She laughs.
“And if it wasn’t business related?” I ask.
“Dex is in Ireland right now. I can have him give you a call—”
“I’m asking you, Helen,” I interrupt, hoping the urgency in my voice is apparent. “Is there anything that you can tell me, anything I should know?”
Helen and I have never been the best of friends. Yet we still share a bond, even if unspoken. We both are in love with men who seem to only trust their secrets with each other. However, I believe Helen chooses to stay in the dark, while I’m forced to. I’ve never talked to her about my relationship with Cal. I’ve never dragged her into our personal affairs or thrown myself into theirs, but today, I’m hoping she hears my plea and, by some miracle, offers me something to go on. I think I’ve shocked her, since there is a long pause on the line.
“I’m sorry, Lauren. Dex hasn’t told me anything.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course he wouldn’t.” I don’t believe that at all.
“Lauren, I’m sorry, but…”
&nb
sp; Cal’s phone suddenly vibrates in my lap, making me jump. It’s an unknown number.
“I’ve got to go, Helen. Thanks anyway,” I say before hanging up.
I stare at the cell phone and contemplate whether to answer it or not. I’ve already snooped for numbers—might as well go all the way now. I pick up the phone and bring it to my ear. I don’t say anything, hoping that the person on the other line will say something first. Seconds pass, but the person on the other end remains silent.
“Hello?” I finally say out of frustration. The person on the other end of the line doesn’t say anything. “Is anyone there?”
“I’m sorry. I have the wrong number,” a voice says and abruptly hangs up.
A woman’s voice, older than me, maybe around Raven’s age. It doesn’t sit right with me. I call the number back from Raven’s phone.
“Thank you for calling Madison General Hospital. Your call may be recorded for quality review. A representative will be with you shortly,” the recording tells me.
I hang up. Well, that couldn’t be less helpful. Maybe it was just a wrong number.
I head back upstairs to my room. He’s awake and sitting at the foot of the bed when I walk in. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what’s to come next. Biting the bullet, I hold the phone out to him.
His expression is blank. “So you’re going through my phone now?”
“I wanted Helen’s number,” I reply, trying to remain calm. I wait for him to take the phone back, and when he doesn’t, I sit beside him.
“And why would you be calling Helen?” he asks sharply.
“Well, I thought she could tell me what happened yesterday, seeing as you don’t feel the need to,” I snap back.
His jaw clenches. “If I don’t want to tell you, you should respect my decision,” he says, rubbing his temples.
“And if I tell you that I need to know, you should respect that request and tell me,” I retort.
He runs his hands through his hair, takes the phone, and turns his attention from me to it.
“I want to know what made you so upset yesterday and where you went,” I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice.
“Helen couldn’t fill you in on that, huh?” he says sarcastically.
“Now!”
“Here we fucking go,” he says irately, slamming his phone on the bed.
“Is it just me, or does it seem that every time we take one step forward, you run two steps back?” I can feel my frustration level rising as I speak.
He stands and turns, towering over me. “Because every time we’re okay, you find something, anything, to start arguing with me about!”
“Cal, you left here visibly upset yesterday. You didn’t tell me what was wrong. I tried to be there for you, and you kicked me out of the fucking car! Why would you think everything is okay after that?” I ask. He’s far from stupid, but this is the dumbest shit I have ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Well, you seemed fine last night!” he says sarcastically.
“I wasn’t fine! I knew that whatever you were going through, you were still dealing with it. I knew that you needed my comfort and that what I needed could wait. I compromised—that’s what a marriage is about. Now it’s your turn!” I shoot back.
He ignores me, grabbing his shirt from the bed and putting it on.
“I know that whatever it was, it wasn’t about work. I want to know what it is,” I say, walking behind him.
He’s ignoring me, pulling his shoes out from under the bed and putting them on. I see where this is going, so I quickly grab his keys from the dresser. He laughs in frustration.
“How do you think that makes me feel, as your wife? That you cut me off completely whenever you feel like it? That whatever happened, you won’t even tell me. What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re never satisfied. Every single day, it’s something. When I’m not here, I’m a jerk who doesn’t spend time with you, but when I am here, it’s not for long enough, and when I’m here long enough, I’m not telling you every fucking detail on my mind?” he snarls as he finishes tying his shoes.
“That’s not what this is, and you know it! What is going on?” I shout, feeling my throat burn. “I should have done this a long time ago. I trust you with my life, Cal, and I’ve gotten nothing in return. I’ve tried waiting and waiting, trying to earn your trust. I fight with you to try to break down this emotional wall between us and nothing has worked, so tonight is the last night I’m going to wonder where you are, who you’re with, or whatever it is—”
“You want it all out? Okay, let me tell you, Lauren,” he yells sharply, interrupting me. “When I first met you, this was how I was. This is how I am, and I’m going to be like this tomorrow. You knew this when you met me! You accepted it then. I never promised you anything different. You’re the one turning shit around. I’ve never lied to you! I tell you what you need to know. I’m not cheating on you. There is no other woman, and that’s all you need to know!”
“You think I’m going to accept that?”
“Why not? Why do you focus on shit that isn’t important? What’s important is that I am here! At the end of the day, all other bullshit aside, I’m here with you!” he yells.
“Because I’m your wife, Cal! I’m not a fucking pet,” I shout back at him in disbelief.
His hard frown softens, and he runs his hand through his hair. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. I guess he really doesn’t have to; what else can he say? He’s told me exactly how he feels, and I can’t deal with the fact that the man I’ve been so in love with, that I’ve compromised myself for, doesn’t love me enough to trust me.
“Get out, Cal,” I whisper.
“What?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me.
“Get the hell out,” I growl.
“You’re kidding.” He lets out a light laugh. That sends me over the edge.
“Get out now! I can’t even look at you anymore!” I yell so loud that I surprise myself.
“Lauren, what the fuck is your problem?” he shouts back.
“Cal, I swear to God, if you don’t leave right now—”
He looks at me as if I’m speaking a different language, and I hear a knock at the door.
“Is everything okay in there?” Raven asks urgently on the other side of the door.
“Is it, Lauren?” His tone sounds dangerously like an ultimatum, but today is the wrong day for him to go there with me.
“It will be when you leave,” I say, looking him straight in the eye.
“Lauren, Cal, open the door, please!” Her knocks turn into pounds.
I step back as Cal walks toward me, stopping only inches away.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to fix it, because next time you tell me to leave, I’m not coming back,” he whispers coldly in my ear.
“If it’s that simple for you, maybe you shouldn’t.” I hold the keys out and drop them.
He’s quick though, neatly snagging them before they hit the ground. He licks his lips and smiles then grabs his jacket and opens the door. Raven walks in, glancing between both of us. Cal stares at me with a smirk. I can’t look at either one of them. I wrap my arms around myself and stare out the window.
“See you, Raven,” he says quietly.
“Good-bye, Cal,” she says, and she walks toward me slowly. “Lauren?”
“Raven, I don’t want to talk right now,” I say in the most polite tone I can muster.
“Lauren, you can—” she tries before I cut her off.
“Not now,” I plead with her, heading to the bed.
“O-okay, sweetie. When you’re ready to talk, you know where I am.”
I nod, watching through the window as the Porsche pulls away.
Chapter 9
October 2nd, 2008
I play with my fingertips as I feel the elevator take off. It’s a nervous habit, and I haven’t been this nervous since I was in high school.
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br /> “Don’t be nervous,” Cal says, wrapping his arms around me.
“That’s easy for you to say. Here I am about to meet two of the most important people in your life, and oh—by the way—they own most of everything in Chicago,” I whine, resting my head on his chest. It’s been almost six months since my whirlwind romance with Cal began, and he’s still a mystery to me. I think this is a pretty big step in unraveling that mystery.
“Just pretend they couldn’t buy and sell your soul if they wanted,” he jokes.
“Oh, that makes me feel much more comfortable.”
“Don’t worry; they’ll love you. Just be yourself.” Cal nibbles on my ear, making me forget about my problem for a microsecond.
I pull away from him as the doors of the elevator open.
“Come on.” He takes my hand, leading the way out.
I inhale deeply and follow him. Then my jaw drops as I see the huge hall that stretches before us.
“See? It’s just like a museum.” He winks, leading me down the empty corridor.
In amazement, my eyes follow the paintings that line the walls. Each one is framed in what I assume is gold. I mean, why skimp on the frame when you can afford the masterpiece? I’m pulled out of my trance as I hear Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 coming from the grand piano in the middle of the room, being played as easily as if it were a game of cards. Large, ornate double doors are partly open on the left, and we walk into an impressive parlor.
“Trying to show off again, Dex?” Cal interrupts the musician, announcing our arrival.
“You actually showed up on time? What’s the occasion?” the man says, getting up from the piano. His eyes skim past Cal and land on me. “Miss Brooks, I presume.” He smiles knowingly.
I swallow my nerves. He’s a smaller man—maybe five nine—but taller than me, with almond-shaped brown eyes and dark hair. For some reason, his presence intimidates me.
“Yes, I’m Lauren,” I say awkwardly. I have no idea what’s appropriate, so I just hold out my hand.
“I’m Dexter Crestfield,” he replies, taking my hand, and to my surprise, he brings it to his lips for a kiss. I can’t help my giggle.