Chapter 2
Frankie
The thing is, I was not a cheater.
“She’d never go for it,” Christabelle said dismissively, tying her ponytail tighter.
“Your wife would never agree to hire me. Even though I’d be, like, perfect for the job. Women don’t like me. They never do. I’ve just always found it easier to get along with men.”
“Yeah, I remember girls were so mean to you in college,” I agreed, but my mind was racing.
Christabelle stay here for longer than her visit? That was a dangerous idea.
I should wrap this game up, go over and eat with Jillian.
I could see her out of the corner of my eye, her legs tucked up neatly underneath her, the bright marigold of her skirt flared out on the picnic blanket.
Her long soft brown hair was slipping out of its braid, whirling around her face in the sea breeze.
But my skin was buzzing with awareness, my ears ringing as Christabelle stood in front of me.
I still couldn’t believe that she was back.
For years I’d wondered what had happened to her. Kept trying to find her online, and when I finally unearthed her profile, checked up on her way too many times.
What was she doing? Who was she with?
I didn’t spend that much time. Maybe that’s why I convinced myself it was fine.
Everyone looked up their ex-girlfriends, nothing weird about that. Just a quick little flick through her pictures, the nights out, vacations to Malibu, backpacking, the hikes, the wine tastings.
It didn’t mean I didn’t love my wife.
“People never believe me that other women can be so jealous and cruel. No matter how nice I try to be.”
“Jillian’s not like that,” I protested. “She’s not the jealous type. She loves everybody.”
“Oh Frankie, you always want to see the best in everyone. Did you actually tell Jillian about us?”
“Of course I did,” I said, starting to feel a fresh sweat break out on my neck, trying to keep it all casual, but my eyes darted around to make sure no one had heard her.
Jillian was still sitting on her little picnic blanket with her feet tucked under, looking out at the waves. Not at me.
Which was good. Because I felt naked, like my secret thoughts were exposed to the world.
Not that I was doing anything wrong. We were just talking.
“What did you tell her?”
“That we went out together, of course,” I said, hoping my laugh was casual, unscrewing my water bottle for something to do with my hands.
Something appropriate.
My throat felt parched, closing in on me. I needed a drink.
“Oh, Frankie.”
Christabelle was close enough to smell her same perfume, close enough to look right down her cleavage at her bouncing breasts, if I so chose.
But I didn’t choose. I wasn’t a cheater.
But it felt like I didn’t even have to look at her to feel desire crawl all over my skin.
So she was hot. One of the hottest women I’d ever seen in my life.
But I was married.
Jillian had stuck with me through thick and thin. She was my ride or die. She deserved the same loyalty I gave her.
“You know we were more than that.”
I froze, staring at her, the water bottle almost slipping from my fingers.
“I love my wife.”
I could feel my cock growing, pressing against the wet fabric of my board shorts.
“Of course,” she said, reaching forward to pluck the water bottle from my hands, then she slowly put it to her lips, right where mine had been, and drank, a long, deep draught.
Her lipstick was bright red, and there was a smear on it when she handed the bottle back to me.
The craving to taste even a bit of her overcame me, and my lips closed right where hers had been. I tasted the sweet tang of cherry.
“You’re quite the family man, aren’t you?” she said with a little teasing smile. “That’s why we never could have worked out. I’m too wild and untamed. You are comfortable with the whole white picket fence thing.”
“I—” I began, but she shook her head.
“Just teasing you, Frankie. I want the same things as you do. If only you’d stuck around to let me explain.”
The hell?
Suddenly the game started again, and I shoved my burning fingers into my pocket, just before I ran them down her arm, pulled her closer.
Why hadn’t I stuck around? She was the one who had left!
God, I was not a picket fence guy. Just because I was married and the Mayor. I was still the same daring wild guy I’d always been.
A little flare of jealousy built deep inside me as Christabelle put her hand on some meathead tourist’s arm.
She wasn’t doing it to taunt me, either. I just had entirely too much interest in her every movement for a married man.
She was sin and she was temptation.
Her comment burrowed under my skin.
I had tried to find her after we broke up, tried to chase her down.
Was she saying if I had, she would have wanted to get back together? Had she been thinking about me all these years?
I had a good life here in Ramshackle Bay, but of course it didn’t look anything like I had expected in college. Back then I had dreams of becoming a pro surfer, but an injury my senior year had sent me into a deep depression.
Jillian had been there through it all, helping me find a new purpose, get interested in new things. Politics became my new obsession.
She was my ride or die.
My wife and I had been together a long time. Almost ten years now.
She was faithful, she was loving. She was an angel.
And I definitely loved her.
When the game was over, Christabelle came up to me again.
“My flight was originally supposed to be in two days,” she said.
I didn’t like the way she glanced around. Like we were doing something wrong. Like there was something illicit between us.
My throat still felt closed, my chest tight.
“I hope you’ve had fun,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even. “Come back and visit our town anytime.”
“I feel like we have unfinished business,” Christabelle whispered in a low, husky voice. “And I know you feel the same way.”
Fuck
That was exactly how I felt
“I want to stay,” she insisted in a low voice. “And I just love the Perk Up & Read.”
She glanced back to where our coffee shop sat in a perfect location. Right off the beach.
Jillian and I had painted it that first summer. Different shades of blue, all the different moods of the sea. A bright cerulean blue, a deep stormy gray-blue, colors of wisteria and bluebells.
I shouldn’t do it. I should put a stop to this right now.
There was no way actually working with Christabelle was a good idea.
I could barely keep my hands off her now.
What would working together do?
But I felt. . . like we had unfinished business, too.
“We would have to stick to certain boundaries,” I said firmly. “Because I’m a married man.”
“All right,” she said, her lips parting so I could see how she held her pink tongue between her teeth. “I’d still like to be friends with you, Frankie.”
Friends. I could be friends with my ex.
If I kept strictly to my boundaries.
Still. . .
I knew it was a bad idea.
But I opened my mouth and I said, “I’ll make it happen.”