15. Alexandra
fifteen
The front door chimes, followed by Christopher’s footsteps up the wooden staircase. He’s been gone a couple of hours, maybe three. I didn’t keep track. All I know is, the evening is in its second phase.
After Skye was done painting, I heated up some soup for her dinner, cleaned the kitchen, then we went upstairs. I read her a story, we got her ready for bed—which included a heart-to-heart girls’ talk that she’s very adept at initiating—and now she’s all tucked in.
Christopher reaches the landing, and my heart does a little somersault at the sexy mess of his hair. At the way his mouth twitches in a smile when he catches me looking.
At the way his eyes dance on me.
“Hey,” he says softly, and my heartbeat picks up at that simple word. At the way he says it to me. He breaks our gaze to flick a floor lamp on, and I take it all in.
The stubble he shaved off this afternoon already growing back. His slightly bloodshot eyes, from being tired, not drunk. His white button-down shirt, stretching against his pecs. He’s rolled the sleeves up, and why do I find that so sexy on him?
His eyes snap to mine. “How’d it go?” I ask.
“Like a meeting with an accountant,” he huffs.
My gaze slides down his body, then my blood turns to ice. “Really.”
“What.”
“There’s lipstick on your shirt.” Jealousy sears through me like a tornado, a violent reaction I never saw coming. It devastates me.
It devastates me that he was out with another woman.
It devastates me more that I care this much. That I’m possessive of him although there’s nothing between us.
This I never felt for anyone.
I try to show nothing on the outside. But my heart hammers so hard inside my ribcage, I’m pretty sure he can hear it.
He ducks his head down to the spot, pulling on the collar so he can see. “It’s not what you think,” he says. We’re both talking in muted voices, so Skye won’t hear us.
I try to make as if I didn’t care. “I’m just saying, you might want to spray something on it before it sets in. Whatever it is.”
He continues rubbing it.
“You’re only making it worse,” I tell him.
He grabs the back of his collar, pulls his shirt off with the T-shirt that’s under it, balls up both, and throws everything toward his bedroom door.
He faces me, his bare chest heaving, and ohmygod.
I can hardly breathe. I’ve seen his chest before. I can confirm: I like it. So do my lady parts.
He’s a mass of muscle and pure sex. Does he know that? Does he know what he’s doing right now? Or does he think this is just laundry?
And does he really need to put his hands on his hips? It makes his sculpted pecs bulge. Or is that natural?
And do his biceps always flex that much? I never noticed that before.
He takes two steps toward me, until he’s too close for my sanity and I frown to force myself back to normal. A smile forms in his eyes but doesn’t quite reach his mouth. He’s holding it in. “Anything else you don’t like about my appearance, please. Tell me.”
I need to change topics. Fast. “Skye was a doll.”
His gaze softens at the mention of his daughter, and it does nothing to lessen my attraction to him. Quite the opposite. “Thanks for the picture,” he says. “That was… cute.” His turn to have trouble holding my gaze. His eyes fall on the rest of my body.
I need to get out of here, fast, before I do something I’ll regret. “I’m headed out. It’s karaoke night at Justin’s.”
He furrows his brow. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Bakers go to bed early.”
My eyes dance from the file on the table to his shirt on the floor to his chest too close to mine. Does he not know how that dusting of dark hair is an indecent invitation? It starts where his dark brown nipples mark the apex of his torso and traces a trail all the way down to where his pants hang low on his hips. If I stay here any longer, I’ll be running my hands all over him. “I’ll be on time in the morning.”
He takes a step closer to me. “You’re under my supervision.”
“For the professional part.” God, why does he need to look so good?
“For every part of your life. It’s in the contract you didn’t read.”
The double meaning of his words stirs up a storm in my ovaries. “I read it. You’re responsible for my well-being. My well-being requires I let off steam by having unsupervised, adult fun at least once a week. Surely, you can understand that.” I glance at his shirt on the floor, the lipstick stain my witness.
“I need you at one hundred percent in the bakeshop.”
The words I need you heat up my insides. “Right.”
“I’m making a baker out of you, Pierce,” he whisper-growls as he brushes closer to me while he goes to his daughter’s bedroom.
“So,” I say, now that there’s a safer distance between us, “Skye has it in her mind that there might be something going on between Emma and you.”
He stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. “Skye doesn’t like any woman who gets near me.”
“Of course. Just thought you should know. I said you were an adult and free to have other adult friends, and that doesn’t mean you love her less.”
“Emma is my accountant.”
“Right. But still, I asked her if she’d love you more if she didn’t have any friends. And she said no, it wasn’t possible. I showed her how it was the same for you, and she understands that now.”
He nods. “That was unnecessary, but thank you.”
“Why was it unnecessary?” I push.
His gaze avoids me, and he runs a tired hand through his hair. “You know and I know and even Skye knows, there is no space for a woman in my life.”
I wouldn’t know about that, so I’m not about to give him the wisdom speech that would come at this precise moment in a sappy movie. Something about making space for what’s important in life? Still, I’m ashamed to admit the relief that floods through me. Having a first-row seat to a romance unfolding between Christopher and Emma would have sucked.
I need to snap out of this, fast. As Christopher slides into Skye’s bedroom, I rush upstairs and pull out my skimpiest dress, a strapless, sequined little thing that molds my ass just so. Cassandra’s lingerie, because it makes me feel like a goddess.
And a pair of fuck-me pumps that will replace my sensible boots once I’m inside the pub.
The night is mine.
Justin eyes me with a question in his eyebrows that I answer by ordering a drink and wandering around the packed room. The crowd is fun, swaying to the music while patrons take turns following lyrics with varying degrees of harmony and success.
Drink in hand, I spot the usual suspects at a high table. Grace, Kiara, Willow, and Haley wave me to their table from across the room. They’ve folded me into their group like an old friend, and it feels good.
“Is Sophie coming?”
“She’s probably in bed already,” Kiara says.
“Or writing another story,” Willow offers.
Grace sums it up. “She never goes out.”
A string of pop songs lifts the tempo, and I find myself jumping up and down halfway through my drink. Does Christopher like to dance? Did he dance with Emma, which would explain the lipstick on his shirt? A slow dance will do that. I down my drink just as Kiara comes back to the table with a tray of shots.
Thank god for Kiara. She downs hers and heads for the mic.
The shots help me forget that for the first time, I find it hard to just enjoy the little things and be okay with everything else.
“Wanna go next?” Grace asks, looking at the stage where Kiara is destroying Taylor Swift and doing so with no shame at all.
Nope. Not me. I shake my head.
“Come on, you could use some fun, yeah?” Willow says.
Kiara wraps it up, and her eyes fall on me. “Yo, Bambi,” she says into the mic. “You’re next.”
Nope. I shake my head. “Give it up for Bambi, you guys!” she says with laughter in her voice. “Alek-zaaaaandra!”
The bar erupts in applause, and it seems everyone is looking at me.
I guess I’m the new person in town. Probably everyone knows my name.
I still shake my head, no.
“You don’t wanna chicken on Kiara,” Haley says. “She’s like a dog with a bone. Won’t let it go. Here.” She hands me yet another shot, and with that liquid courage, I make it to the small stage.
The girl in charge of the karaoke smiles as I grab the mic. “Life Ain’t Fair” by Maddie Tae pops on the screen. She questions me with a look, and I nod. How did she know I liked that song? Even if I’m bound to sing off key. The music starts and right away the bar crowd sings with me, covering my voice, as if they knew I needed this.
I’m feeling a hundred times better already.
I don’t need any one person to be happy. Just a good drink, and a good song.
And a village looking out for me.
“Woo-hoo! I’m on the Titanic.” The room swerves around me, and I partially miss my mouth with the shot. The feeling of the cinnamon-flavored liquor gliding outside my throat is hilarious. “It’s on the wron’ side of my throat,” I tell Grace, pointing to my skin. “Should be inside, yeah? It’s outside.” I hold onto her as I roar in laughter.
Grace shoves a glass of water in my hand. “Honey, drink this,” she says.
There’s two Graces in front of me, and they look soooo funny. So kind too. They are my two best friends. “You think?”
She grabs my waist to keep me from falling. I don’t know why the dance floor feels like a boat… Oh. Am I drunk? I try to focus.
Maybe?
That’s so funny. Sarah would be so proud of me. I get into a fit of laughter and pull my phone out, but my fingers are all rubbery. I need to tell her I love her.
Grace holds the glass of water up to my lips. “Come on, bottoms up.”
“I love you,” I tell her. “You’re my best friend. My second best friend. No. My best friendsss. You’re all my best friends,” I say, looking at the blurry faces of Kiara—my new cheerleader—Willow, Haley, and Grace.
They all laugh. I am funny, right? I take little sips of the water, and by the time the glass is empty, my eyes get back into focus.
And they focus right smack on a broad chest, dark curls, and brooding eyes boring into me, melting my core.
“Oooooooh. You came!!!” I swoon. There’s nothing else to do but swoon when Christopher Wright is towering over me, frowning, biting his bottom lip like he’s keeping himself from saying anything. “See? You’re fun! Let’s have fun,” I say and grab his hand, pulling him to the dance floor.
I might be a little tipsy, but I don’t miss the fact that his palm nests flush against mine and his fingers wrap snuggly around my hand. Mmm. So good.
But he stays right where he is, and a simple flick of his wrist pulls me back, right into his chest. I bounce against it. He’s wearing a dark Henley shirt, tight around those pecs.
Those pecs.
He smells like pine and fresh laundry but mostly I notice his whole body is cold. He just walked in from outside.
“Where’s Skye?” I ask softly, and he tilts his head down toward me. It’s loud, so I get on my tiptoes and repeat in his ear, my lips all but touching his lobe, “Where’s Skye?”
He leans into me and answers, “Asleep in bed. Come on, let’s go.”
“I can handle myself,” I say, vaguely upset he helped me put my boots and coat on and is now pulling me by his side with one hand, my fuck-me pumps in his other hand. I’m not too drunk to notice he settled my tab—I tried to protest, but one glower was all it took. He won that argument.
He walks long strides across The Green, and when I trip trying to keep up with him, he slows his pace. That’s when I notice. “You’re not wearing a coat. Or a hat. It’s gotta be twenty below.” My teeth chatter and I trip again, forcing him to stop.
“Yeah. It’s a little nippy.” He lowers himself and before I know what’s happening, he’s hoisted me over his shoulder and starts hustling toward the bakery. “You okay up there?”
Am I okay? Am I okay? “Mmmm. Yes?” I giggle, my voice bouncing with his steps. “Are you okay?”
“Never been better.” We cross the Green, then the street. He hops up the steps to the bakery, still carrying me, swings the door open, and sets me down in front of him. He kicks the door closed and cups my elbows in his wide hands to keep me from falling back.
I feel a little nauseated, but there’s something I need to tell him.
Something that here, in the warmth of the bakery, behind the privacy of the drawn blinds, bathed in the soft light seeping from the lampposts, is the perfect moment.
“She was wrong about men. You’re a perfect gentleman,” I whisper, my hands crawling up on his chest, resting right below his neck.
He chuckles.
“I wouldn’t mind it if you kissed me,” I add.
He tilts his head, his hands still on my elbows holding me away from him. “Let’s put you to bed.”
My insides sink a little, but I soldier on. Tonight or never. “I like you very much. And I think you might like me a little bit too?” I bite my bottom lip and lift an eyebrow in what I hope looks like a question.
He tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and I lean into his hand. “You’ve had too much alcohol to know what you really like right now, Alexandra.”
See? Perfect gentleman. So infuriating.
“I’m not in-ebriated. I’m un-inhibited. See? I can say long words. I’m perfec’ly functional.” The bakery tilts around me, but my knight in shining armor is there to stabilize me, his hands on my shoulders.
Oh my god. I really am drunk. What an embarrassment. Tears pool in my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I try to turn around to take the stairs and have to steady myself on the wall. My stomach feels queasy.
Christopher scoops me up in his arms. “Hold on. I got you.”
I hold onto him, like he asked me to. One hand around his shoulders, the other fisting his Henley shirt. Isn’t that the funniest? I start laughing hysterically.
“Shhhh. You’re gonna wake Skye up,” he says, chuckling as we reach the second floor.
I turn my head against his chest to muffle my laughter and damn it’s nice there. It smells… comforting and exciting at the same time.
It feels safe.
My hands take on a life of their own and wrap themselves around his neck. His muscles roll under my palms, and my thumbs explore his jaw. The stubble does a nice little thing to my core. “Mmm… it’s nice,” I whisper.
His answer? A growl.
“My grandmother was wrong. Men don’t always bring misery,” I say and snuggle deeper in his arms.
But then he sets me down, and the second he does and I find myself on my feet in my bedroom, the whole universe around me swirls and my stomach decides to take a part in the dance. “What did she say?” he asks.
“Never mind.” I stumble to the bathroom, somehow have the presence of mind to close the door, and drop to my knees in front of the toilet.
That’s my price to pay for overindulging.
And I’m fine with that.
What is not fine, and I mean not fine at all, is the door opening.
And Christopher walking in—I can see his jeans.
I wave him off. “I’m fine.” Oh god just please, please go away.
But Christopher’s hand threads through my hair to hold it back. “Come on, baby, let it all go.”
Can I please die now?
My stomach revolts against the injustice of it all.
He places one hand on my forehead while I retch repeatedly.
My nose stings as vomit makes its way through it, while the warmth of Christopher kneeling right behind me sends a confusing signal to my body. “Please leave,” I whimper between two liquid spurts. “Please.”
Is it too hard to understand I really, really don’t want him to see me like this?
His hand just gets stronger on my forehead, the other knotting my hair tighter around his fist. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re better. You might as well let it all out. Come on. Keep going.”
He holds me for what will be forever etched as the longest, most shameful minutes of my life.
But at the same time, god his hand feels good.
I wake up to an agonizingly shrilly noise that howls through the pulp that is my brain. Groaning doesn’t help. There’s no one to put an end to this. I force my sanded eyes open and manage to turn a light on. An old-fashioned, cartoon-like alarm clock is responsible for the increase of my headache, and I manage to figure out how to turn it off.
My head feels like it’s split in half, until my eyes fall on my nightstand. There’s a glass of water, three aspirins, and a travel mug of coffee.
Aspirin and water down, I take a sip of the coffee.
Then a second. It’s made to perfection, just like I like it.
Except better.
Yesterday night’s events slowly come back in focus in uneven spurts, the memories jogged by the fact that I’m still dressed in the skimpy dress—stockings and all—and my pumps are neatly set at the foot of my bed.
Ohmygod.
I came back drunk.
Correction. Christopher picked me up drunk from Lazy’s. Where the whole town witnessed my shameful behavior.
And I remember asking Christopher to kiss me.
And then I threw up, pretty much, in his arms.
All this after throwing a fit because I saw lipstick on his shirt.
Well of course he’d rather hang out with Emma than with me. That woman has her shit together. A business! A kid she raises on her own! And chicken that make fresh eggs that she brings to him!
You wouldn’t catch her drunk at friggin’ karaoke.
I’m such a disaster.
This morning, the proverbial walk of shame is going to have a whole new meaning.