Chapter 11 #2
The hallway is quiet, lined with gold sconces and heavy wooden panels. Female laughter spills faintly from the powder room. Then silence.
I shouldn’t care who she’s dating.
She made her choice. She left without a word. That’s fine, I can live with that. I’m not my sister’s-best-friend’s keeper. And from a completely dispassionate perspective, she’s better off without me. I’m might be in my mid-thirties but the last year has felt like an overwhelming mid-life crisis.
Being attracted to somebody way too young and way too pretty matches the modus operandi.
But when she steps out of that bathroom and stops short at the sight of me, eyes wide, chest rising, I feel it again.
That pull. Like gravity, like a goddamn weapon. And I keep stepping into the line of fire.
She presses a hand to her chest, like I’ve shocked her. “What are you doing, skulking around women’s bathrooms?” she says softly, her brows scrunched.
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach for her wrist before I can think better of it. Her pulse thuds beneath my fingertips, fast and hot and alive.
“Who’s the man you’re dating?” My voice comes out low, rougher than I intend. “Were you with him when we were together?”
Her eyes flare, and I feel it – the crack in my armor. I didn’t want to say that. I wanted to be cool. Detached. Indifferent.
I wanted to lie. To pretend I don’t care that somebody else gets to kiss those lips, gets to see her lose control.
That somebody else gets to watch her smile.
But she’s not smiling now. She leans in, defiant as hell. “Of course I wasn’t. I’m not a cheater. And you can’t exactly judge me. Not with all these reviews you’ve been getting.”
I wince, even as my lips twitch. I deserved that. I’m an idiot. There hasn’t been anybody else. Even if I had the time, I have no inclination.
The only woman I’ve been seeing is her, when I close my eyes in the shower.
“Why did you leave the island without saying anything?” I ask.
She blinks, like I caught her off guard. “I was busy. I had to get back to the mainland for meetings.”
“No, you didn’t.” My fingers tighten slightly on her wrist. “You were afraid.” I don’t tell her I know that because I was too. Which makes me a dipshit, I’m fully aware.
Her jaw drops. She scoffs. “I’m not scared of you, Asher. Or your fingers. You were good, but you weren’t that good.”
I grin, because she’s lying and we both know it. I may be an asshole, but I’m not an idiot. “The way you moaned my name says otherwise,” I murmur, enjoying the way her eyes flare.
“I didn’t moan your name.”
God, I want her.
I want the way she feels against me. I want the fire in her voice, the fight in her eyes. I want to undo her zipper and wreck her lipstick and fall apart as she moans my name again.
But I can’t.
“We need to get back to the table before Myles starts wondering why we’ve both disappeared,” she mutters.
I don’t move. “Tell me who he is.”
Her shoulders rise and fall with a sharp breath. “What are you going to do, take out a hit on him?”
My lips twitch. I’m a sarcastic word away from a full blown smile. “I’m not a killer, Francine.”
She used to wrinkle her nose when I called her by her full name. And she still does. Some things never change. “Call me that again and I’ll never tell you,” she says.
I lift a brow. Of course she’s still angry with me. Of course she still makes my heart kick like it’s trying to get out.
Her nipples are hard beneath the silk of her dress. I notice without meaning to. My mouth goes dry.
Get out of here, Fitzgerald.
But I don’t. I lean in, close enough that my breath stirs the hair near her temple. Her skin smells like citrus and heat as I ask her a third time. “Who is he, Francie?”
She shudders, just barely.
“It’s none of your business,” she snaps.
This time I grin, but it’s not a nice one. It’s the one I wear when I’m broken and bleeding. The one I’ve been wearing way too much lately. “It’s a good thing I own a security company,” I murmur. “I can find out in ten minutes.”
She jerks her chin back. “You’d snoop on me?”
I shrug. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
She knows that’s a lie. Even if I’m telling myself it’s true.
“No. You want to control me.” She steps in closer now, her breath hot against my skin. “If you ever, ever snoop on me, I’ll never speak to you again. Do you understand? It’s a violation. I’m a grown woman. If I need help, I’ll ask. But I don’t. Got it?”
My gaze drops to her mouth. My restraint frays.
I nod, slowly. “Got it.” And truth be told, I wouldn’t anyway. I’m just pissed and tired and wishing I’d made better decisions in life.
But I don’t move. Because she’s still the only thing I want. The one thing I can’t have.
And I’m not sure how much longer I can keep pretending that’s okay.
FRANCIE
I stand on the sidewalk, staring at my apartment building in disbelief, as the cab pulls away, leaving me stranded. Surely this isn’t happening. Not after tonight’s painful dinner – which was already the cherry on top of a very bitter sundae.
Sitting across from Asher, pretending not to notice the way his fingers wrapped around his glass, or the way he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks was awkward as hell.
Pretending I didn’t want to throw my cocktail in his face, or climb into his lap – maybe both – was even harder.
And now all I want to do is take a shower, get into my pajamas, spend a bit of quality time with my battery operated boyfriend, then go to sleep so I can wake up early and get to work on the manuscript-from-hell that needs to be with my editor in less than four weeks.
But instead, the whole block is blacked out. There are workmen in bright yellow jackets setting up floodlights and cordoning off sections of the sidewalk in front of Niall’s coffee shop.
“What’s going on?” I ask one of them.
“Sewer problems,” he tells me. “And electricity problems. The two don’t mix.”
“But I live here,” I say, pointing at the door that leads to the apartments. “That’s my apartment. I need to go to bed.” And maybe scream into a pillow. Or rehash every stupid thing I said during dinner.
And try not to replay the sound of Asher’s voice in my ear, low and possessive, like he still had every right to touch me.
“You can go in,” he says. “We’re setting up a temporary generator so you should have power back on by the morning. For a little while at least.”
“The morning?”
He nods. “I’m afraid we may be noisy,” he says, right as a pneumatic drill starts up, shattering the air and making me wince. “Nothing some ear plugs won’t solve.”
“How long will this take?” I say loudly, hoping it will be done in a couple of hours. I may just have to sleep in and work later tomorrow. That’ll be okay, I’ll manage.
“About a month, we think.”
“A month?” My mouth drops open.
“The sewer drain collapsed.” He shouts as a second drill starts up. “Don’t worry, we’re diverting your pipes. You should be able to use your water and flush by sometime tomorrow.”
Fuck my life. A month. I have to hand in my draft in a month. And yes, I can go to the library, but I need silence to write. I need to be alone.
Fuming, I send a message to Autumn, because she’s the only person that will understand my mental turmoil right now.
A second later, she replies.
Come to Liberty. You can stay in the Lighthouse while Parker and I are in Europe. You’ll have more alone time and silence than you’ll know what to do with. – Autumn
You’re a lifesaver. I’ll pay rent. And I promise to keep it clean. – Francie
The only rent I need is for you to send me what you’ve written so far. I’m desperate to read it. I’m going to need something to keep me warm while Parker is off commentating. – Autumn
It’s a deal. – Francie
I put my phone in my purse and look at the disaster that is my apartment building, trying not to think about the disaster that’s my life.
Going to Liberty might be the best idea. Maybe some distance will help me concentrate on writing.
Or maybe I’m just fooling myself again.