Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ian glances at his wristwatch, sighing for the third time in the last ten minutes. I think he wants me to hear it.
It’s been a whirlwind of a summer, and now, in mid-August, the city is alive with a different energy and life has settled into a new rhythm. “How long does it take to get some service around here? We put in our drink orders fifteen minutes ago.”
“It’s a Saturday.” I look over the dinner menu again, even though I already know what I’m going to order.
“And?”
“It’s probably the busiest on Saturdays.”
“Then they should prepare to have an adequate number of staff.”
I give him a playful smirk, both teasing and reprimanding. “I’m sure our drinks will be out soon.”
With a slight frown, Ian surveys the lounge, his sharp gaze taking in every detail of Midnight Blues—its worn wooden booths and small dance floor. The air is thick with the heady aroma of beer and sweat, mixed with the sultry voice of a blues singer and her band.
This isn’t Ian’s scene. It’s too grungy, too raw for his refined taste. It’s not my usual one either. But tonight, I wanted us to venture somewhere new, to let loose and forget about our worries. A place where we didn’t have to talk about anything if we didn’t want to. A place where we could get lost in each other, swept away by the lively, sexy atmosphere all around us.
Next week, we’re going to the theater. And last month, I convinced him to take a soul line-dancing class. It couldn’t hurt to brush up on our dance moves. Isn’t it a staple at every wedding reception to incorporate some soulful line dance into the mix, like a cha cha slide or a cupid shuffle? In addition to anticipating an epic reception, I’ve hired a wedding coordinator to keep me on track, only sharing details with Ian when it’s necessary. He says he’s too busy with his residency to plan alongside me. My schedule has been more open since quitting my job at the beginning of the month, but I haven’t been sitting around reading bridal magazines all day. I’ve been working on my relationships outside of Ian.
Liv and I started a book club, and we’ve been diving into some great reads together. I’ve also been hitting up baseball games at the stadium with Niko and his fiancée, Jordyn. On the culinary front, Yasmine and I have been honing our skills in the kitchen by tackling two recipes a week from Hunter’s latest cookbook. Izzy and I have made spa dates a regular thing, and sometimes her younger sister, Stella, joins in on the pampering. To top it off, my spiritual life has been growing ever since I started accompanying my dad to church most Sundays.
Throughout my ambitious summer, what I’ve enjoyed the most is the chance to focus on self-care and foster a more loving relationship with myself.
Ian is still adjusting to what he calls the new me . He thinks I’m overextending myself, but I’ve explained to him more than once that I’m not. I’m finding myself.
Ian’s frown deepens as he bends down to peek under the table. “The floors are sticky.”
I try to lighten the mood with a chuckle. “It’s fine, babe. Just try to have fun.”
“For you, I’ll try.” A smirk plays on his lips as heat dances in his eyes.
“Thank you.” I take a sip of my water, using the moment to mask my irritation.
“You’re very welcome, my love.” He raises his water glass, inspecting it before having a drink.
“You’re so bougie,” I tease.
“Bougie? You have us confused.”
I wrinkle my nose in mock disgust. “I’m not bougie.”
“Whatever you say.” He chuckles before glancing past me. “Look who it is.”
Curious, I turn around. A big smile spreads across my face as I recognize Esme and Victor at the bar. At first, Esme doesn’t seem to notice us, but Victor does. His grin matches mine as he lifts his chin in greeting before pointing us out to Esme.
“Should we invite them to join us?” Ian asks, and I can’t tell if he really wants to or if he’s just being polite.
“Are you sure?”
“Why not?” Ian signals them to our table. Victor heads our way but doesn’t go far when Esme pulls him back by the hand and says something in his ear.
I face forward back to Ian.
Maybe Esme doesn’t want to share her date night with us. Ian and I could use the intimate alone time, and maybe it could be the same for them. I avoid getting involved in the particulars of their relationship. Not that it’s hard. It’s like there’s an unspoken understanding between Esme and me. We don’t talk about Victor.
Ever.
Of the two of us, Liv is her confidant for her relationship. I used to feel excluded, but given the tangled, complicated history between the three of us, I understand.
“You two seem friendly.” Ian takes a sip of his water, peering at me over the rim of his glass. He’s not talking about me and Esme. Not with that look on his face.
“Do you think I’m too friendly toward him?” I’m genuinely curious. I don’t think I’ve crossed any lines with Victor—not since that morning at his loft when we stood a little too close to one another at his kitchen sink. But things are different now. There are no ulterior motives or underlying emotions during our regular early morning coffee chats, which we have a couple times a week while everyone else is still asleep. This “friendliness” that Ian speaks of just seems to happen whenever we’re together. What can I say? Victor Prescott really is dope as fuck.
“You haven’t smiled at me like that in a long time,” Ian says, a hint of jealousy coloring his tone.
I take his hand across the table, bridging the physical gap between us. He kisses my ring finger.
Ian and I are still holding hands over the table when Victor and Esme arrive at the same time as our waitress. Ian slides over to sit next to me, making room for Victor and Esme, who settle into the booth opposite us. The waitress takes their drink and all of our food orders before disappearing again. With his arm draped around my shoulders, Ian beguiles us with interesting stories about the OR with him and his dad. Get my man to talk about the medical field, and he’s on a roll. Sometimes, he runs his fingers through my ponytail. Or leans over to steal a soft kiss.
Every now and then, I catch Victor watching us, his eyes hard and unblinking, and I can’t help but think he’s not exactly Ian’s biggest fan.
When Victor’s not eating or drinking, he has both arms draped over the back of the booth, with Esme leaning into him when she’s not eating. Her hand sometimes disappears under the table, likely resting on his leg. Their body language is similar to ours. Not at any point during dinner are they not touching in some way.
“So what do you do for a living, man?” Ian asks between bites of food, finally shifting the focus away from himself.
“I’m a tattoo artist.”
“That explains all of this,” Ian says, gesturing to his neck with a wrinkle of his nose, like an asshole. He’d get a nosebleed if he stuck his nose up any higher. “You’d be hard-pressed to get a job in corporate America or politics with all that ink unless your father pulled some strings.”
“Stepfather,” Victor corrects.
“Ian.”
Feeling both embarrassed and annoyed by the way he’s acting, I give his foot a kick under the table. Esme’s not even trying to hide her disgust, her lip curled in a sneer.
Victor appears unfazed, his face even portraying a hint of amusement. “It’s all right.” He pops a piece of cornbread into his mouth. “This is the best damn cornbread I’ve ever had,” he says, chewing with a smile. “Try this.” He tears off a piece and aims it for Esme’s mouth.
She swats his hand away, her matte red lips twitching in annoyance. “I hate cornbread.”
He furrows his brow. “You do?”
“I told you, like, a week ago when we went to that soul food restaurant on Almeda. You weren’t listening. Shocker. ”
Victor rolls his eyes, and she makes a face, her fake smile giving off irritated vibes.
“How about dessert?” I ask, looking around the tense table.
“I’m in.” Esme reaches for the plastic menu. “They have peach cobbler.”
I slap my palm down on the table. “That’s what I’m getting, and I’m not sharing.”
“That’s too many calories, love,” Ian says, reading through an additional dessert menu. “You should get the vanilla ice cream, low-fat, or maybe a fruit cup.”
Silence falls upon the table. My nostrils flare in anger as his words hit me like a slap in the face. Why would he say that? Especially here, in front of Esme and Victor. Can he be more of an ass? And can I be any more humiliated than I am right now? The embarrassment washes over me like a wave.
“What?” Ian says innocently, looking up from the menu. “What did I say?” Can he read the room or, more specifically, our table?
Esme gives me a pointed look that seems to ask, Is this muthafucka for real ? And Victor looks like it’s taking everything in him not to punch Ian in his nose, every muscle in his face tensing and twitching in anger.
“Let’s just drop it,” I mutter, pretending to read my dessert menu.
“Must be that time of the month,” Ian mumbles.
“Or maybe it’s you.” Victor’s composed yet scathing response speaks volumes, even though his tone is even and his posture is relaxed, with his arms once again draped over the back of his booth.
Ian doesn’t back down, his arm becoming rigid around my shoulder. “You want to run that back one more time?”
“You heard him,” Esme chimes in, crossing her arms over her chest.
This cannot be happening right now.
Victor glares at him with chilling intensity. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. “But I’ll make an exception to ensure you get this. I said…maybe it’s you,” he enunciates, emphasizing the you . “So if she wants the peach cobbler, then she should have it. And you can shut the fuck up. If you don’t know how to do that, then I’ll show you by ripping your tongue out of your fucking mouth.”
Esme’s jaw drops in shock, but a small chuckle escapes her lips.
Ian’s face contorts with rage as he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Babe, he’s kidding,” I try to reassure him, placing my hand gently against his chest to keep him calm.
Victor’s gaze drops to where my hand lies on Ian’s chest, the glint of my engagement ring catching the light. “No. I’m not. Disrespect her one more time.” His mouth curves in a chilly smile. “I fucking dare you.”
Ian doesn’t move. No one does until Esme slides out of the booth, taking Victor’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
“Not right now,” he says, his eyes never leaving…mine. Not Ian’s, but mine.
“Yes, right now.” She tugs on his hand. “Victor,” she snaps, finally getting his attention.
“Just go,” I say, begging him with my eyes.
Finally, he does, but not before leaving two hundred dollars on the table for their food and drinks.
We leave shortly after. Ian’s grip on my elbow feels like a vise as he leads me out of Midnight Blues to his car. The air outside is humid on this hot August night, as if it’s holding its breath, just like me. The tension is palpable on the car ride home—a thick silence hanging between us. Ian’s hands clench the steering wheel as he speeds through town. The city lights of Houston fade behind us as streetlights zoom past, and relief loosens the tightness in my gut when we end up at my place instead of his. We argue less when my roommates are around.
Ian still hasn’t uttered a single word, and it’s sending waves of anxiety through me. His silence is heavy and loud. Sharing the bathroom vanity while we prepare for bed, I splash water on my face, rinsing the creamy face cleanser away. There’s a ferocity in the way he brushes his teeth—as if he’s trying to scrub away layers of frustration. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts spitting blood instead of toothpaste.
“Are we going to talk about this, or…?” I’m met with silence. “Ian,” I try again, drying my face with a towel. “Talk to me. You can’t shut me out like this.”
He spits in the sink and rinses his mouth out before he pins me with a hard stare through the mirror. “Not yet. Or I’ll say something that one of us will regret.”
One of us?
I let out a breath through my nose. “You embarrassed me tonight.”
He turns to face me, his expression incredulous. “ I embarrassed you ? Are you fucking serious right now? All I was trying to do was help. We’ve talked about you reining in the sweets, but tonight you made me look like the fucking bad guy. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, Skylar. You didn’t have my back?—”
“I don’t want to fight with you.” My hands fly up in frustration as my emotions bubble over. “I want us to talk. Think we can do that? Please. I’m trying here.”
He scoffs, disbelief etched on his face. “And you think I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.” I lace my fingers over my head and exhale deeply. The fight has left me; I just don’t have the energy to try anymore tonight. “What are we doing, Ian?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing.” He grabs my chin a bit too roughly, forcing my gaze to lock on his intense brown eyes. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
A silent nod is all I can manage in response. We both know “morning” is just a euphemism for “never.” If I bring it up again, he’ll shut down or turn it into another argument. The question echoes in my mind as he exits the bathroom: What the hell are we doing?
Ian’s hand is on my breast while he sleeps, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Although he had wanted to have sex, I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. My heart wasn’t in it, and I can’t pretend otherwise. Not anymore.
For the last hour, I’ve been staring out into the darkness of my bedroom, trying to ignore the hamster wheel in my head that won’t quit. My mind races with doubts and fear, drowning out the sound of the muffled argument next door. Victor and Esme aren’t overly loud; more like whisper yelling. Having made that mistake once, I guess they learned their lesson.
I don’t know what’s worse. Hearing them fight or hearing them have sex. I haven’t heard the latter in weeks now.
My body jolts awake at 6:00 a.m. despite not getting a full eight hours of sleep. Years ago, I learned that my body has an automatic alarm clock, regardless of the amount of sleep I get the night before. The familiar sound of Ian’s snores echoes through the room. I try to shift away, but his hold tightens around me, and one eye opens. “Where are you going?”
“I need coffee.”
He finally releases me with a mumbled, “Hurry back.”
I peel my side of the covers back and climb out of bed. He grumbles something unintelligible through a yawn before rolling onto his other side. His back is now facing me, and he might’ve gone back to sleep.
Leaning down, I kiss the nape of his neck. “Did you want a cup?”
“No. Make me some eggs,” he says, barely awake. “Scrambled. Not scrambled too hard like last time.”
Making breakfast wasn’t on my to-do list for the morning, but looks like that’s changed. “Yeah, sure,” I say. I shuffle over to his side of the bed to snag my glasses off the nightstand.
“Put a bra on. And a robe while you’re at it.”
I suppress an eye roll. Does he think I’m going to walk out there with my titties hanging out in front of Victor? And while wearing a thin, almost see-through white camisole, no less? Every ounce of my willpower is at work, keeping me from yanking the covers away from him and telling him to make his own damn eggs. But Ian doesn’t cook. That’s a woman’s job.
Again, what are we doing? What the hell am I doing?
As I make my way down the stairs, my confused and traitorous heart skips a beat as I half expect to see Victor standing at the counter brewing his morning coffee. But it’s Esme who greets me, her body draped in a seductive nightgown that leaves little to the imagination. The scent of freshly brewed tea wafts through the air as she leans against the counter. “Surprise.” Her voice raises to a friendly-ish octave.
“Morning.” I temper my disappointment over not seeing Victor. I really wanted to see him to talk about the whole mess with Ian last night. Plus, I owe him a thanks for sticking up for me, though he probably shouldn’t jump in like that again. It’s likely to make things worse. And I can handle Ian. Last night didn’t really show that, but hey, I’m working on it.
“Victor’s not here. In case you were wondering.”
Well, damn. She called me the hell out.
“Just here to whip up some coffee and eggs for Ian,” I blurt out, pulling open the fridge to get the eggs and milk.
“That’s nice of you, considering…”
“Tell me about it.” I let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re up early,” I add, crossing my arms in a self-hug, as if I could squeeze out the embarrassment from last night’s drama with Ian.
“I have a question to ask you.”
“What’s going on?” I give her my full attention, perching myself on the kitchen counter where we’ve shared countless late-night snacks and glasses of wine. But lately, our late-night chats have been replaced by tense silence and awkward avoidance.
Esme bites her lip nervously. “Would you mind making our girls’ trip a couples’ trip?”
Disbelief washes over me as I take in her question. That’s not what I thought she was going to ask. “After last night, do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Victor and I need this. And from what I saw last night, so do you and Ian.”
“I don’t know, E.” Going on vacation with Ian feels like putting a Band-Aid over a deep wound in our relationship. We need therapy, not a romantic getaway. The irony of him being a medical professional who doesn’t believe in therapy isn’t lost on me. “I was looking forward to it being just us girls. We need this.”
“I know,” she sighs. “But things are different with you and me.”
“They are.” Emotion crawls its way up my throat.
“But maybe that’s okay,” she continues.
It’s not okay. I miss how things used to be. But I can’t find the words, especially when I’m to blame. “I know this stuff with Victor?—”
“It’s not about him. I mean, it is, but it’s not. Let’s be real. We can’t blame Victor for what’s happened to our friendship.”
“I’m not blaming him. It’s my fault,” I say, swallowing hard to fight off the lump in my throat and the tears threatening to follow.
“Girl, stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
If only she knew how I struggled to get him out of my system every day. “Why do I feel like you’re breaking up with me?” I throw in a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. But the thought of losing her friendship terrifies me.
“Friendships like ours don’t just stay frozen. They grow, shift, and sometimes even drift a bit. They evolve just like we do. We’re not the same two people we once were.”
“But we came up together—two peas in a pod, side by side. You were there for me when it felt like I had no one.”
“Baby girl, I’ll always be there for you. I’m the one you call when you need help hiding a body.”
I can’t help but crack a smile. “Liv’s the one to call when you need an alibi.”
“In the clutch.” Her grin doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But our sisterhood looks different. It feels different.”
“You’re right. It has for a long time.”
“And that’s okay. We’ll take that girls’ trip one day. I promise. But I’m asking you for this favor. Please. I think a change of scenery will do Victor and me some good.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Her mask slips momentarily, a flash of something raw crossing her features before she swiftly puts it back in place, lifting her chin and wearing a brave smile. “Then I don’t know, girl.”
Her honesty hits me hard. I wanted this trip to clear my head. To escape the everyday chaos. No Ian, no Victor, no late-night worries buzzing like flies in my brain. “I’ll see if Ian is free. But what about Liv? She’s not seeing anyone.”
“I’ll see if Victor has a friend for her. His friend Smith is hot as fuck. Maybe he can come.”
Smith Manchester is gorgeous. But Liv isn’t easily swayed by a handsome face. And is she even attracted to white guys? “I hope you’re right. Because if she doesn’t go for it, we shouldn’t invite the guys.”
“She’ll be fine,” she says, all confidence. “Leave it to me.”