Chapter 5
Frankie
“Ineed to talk to you,” Christabelle whispered furtively as I collected our drinks at the bar of Tuppy’s Pub. “Come play a game of darts with me.”
“All right,” I said, my mouth making some excuse to Jillian, some lies that I couldn’t even remember.
For one moment, I almost didn’t go with the way she looked up at me, a little frown line on her brows, her gray eyes troubled.
“I’ll be back in a second,” I reassured her.
There were other people around. It wasn’t like I was abandoning her. Our friend Cash was always ready to play Connect 4 or shuffleboard, and Mari and Dale were there, too.
“Boy, Jillian is really glaring at me,” Christabelle giggled when I walked up to her.
“She’s not glaring at you. She doesn’t even know you,” I said, struggling to keep my heart from pounding. “Once she knows you—Jillian is really sweet—she’ll see—"
“If she doesn’t hate me, it’s because she doesn’t know the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“If she knew the truth, she would hate me.”
Despite myself, I felt a prickly heat break out across my chest, blood pumping down to my dick.
The truth
“I love my wife,” I reminded her, my voice sounded raw and jagged to my ears.
My eyes flicked across the pub to where Jillian was talking to Bonnie and Ronnie as Cash set up shuffleboard.
Her sweet face was so gentle as she listened to Bonnie and Ronnie (probably the same complaint as usual, that Tuppy did not serve enough organic food).
She was so patient, so longsuffering. Never had any woman been kinder or more generous with her forgiveness, her soft voice always brushing off any mistake or misunderstanding. She was a saint.
I didn’t deserve her.
I should put the darts down, leave the bar, and go back and sit next to my wife.
“I’m sure Jillian is very nice,” Christabelle said, brushing past me to pick up her glass.
“But you aren’t.”
“Fucking hell,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “I am nice. I’m a good man.”
“Liar,” she said, her lips curved around the rim.
Then she walked past me again, every inch of my flesh where she touched me burning with desire.
“She only knows the nice you. The politician you. I know the real you, better than anyone else. You are a dirty dog, Frankie. And you want me.”
“No.”
Was it a statement or a plea. . .
“Admit it. It doesn’t matter how much time we’ve been apart. It doesn’t matter how much we fight.”
She threw the dart, sharp-edged, a flash of metal.
Bullseye.
“There’s always been something tying our souls together, and that will never change.”
“No,” I replied. My voice hoarse, low.
I glanced over at Jillian again, now mediating between Tuppy and the other two women with her angelic smile.
“I love my wife. You know I do. I have no intention of leaving her.”
“I just want a chance to explain. I hate the way we left things.”
“I mentioned marriage and you flipped out, blocked my number, and didn’t contact me for ten years.”
“I was so immature then. So young. I just—wasn’t ready to get married.”
“That’s fine,” I said, feeling my throat closing up, my voice a rasp. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does matter,” she whispered. “I hate feeling like I hurt you. Feeling like I screwed up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The way we left things—it’s always haunted me—”
Hearing those words from her, words I’d always hoped she’d say, made a heavy weight settle on my chest. I hated myself for the sick little flare of hope.
“Of course I still care about you,” I said. “We’ll always be friends.”
“Friends?”
Christabelle whirled around, her eyes flashing. She looked magnificent, her hair falling in golden waves around her face, her breasts heaving with emotion.
“You know we could never just be friends. We’ll fight and fuck but it doesn’t matter how much time has passed. I know you feel that electricity between us. And your safe life and nice wife don’t change that. . . “
“Shh,” I hissed in agony. “Lower your voice. I don’t want anyone to hear. Like Jillian. I do not ever want to hurt her.”
“We need closure,” she insisted. “I just want to. . .explain myself. Can you give me that?”
“Meet me at the coffee shop,” I gritted out, clutching the darts so tightly they were digging into my flesh. “Midnight. Just to get some closure on what happened between us.”
“All right,” she said, her plump lips curving into a smile. “Frankie, you can try to fight it, but you know us, there’s something magnetic between us that means we always find our way back to each other. . .”
I stumbled away, but my stomach churned with anxiety and nerves because goddamn it, she was right. I felt it too. . .
“I’m so sorry, everyone’s had a question for me tonight,” I said as I returned to my seat, the lies slipping from my mouth like rancid fish. “First Tuppy had some question about his liquor license and then Christabelle wanted to know the best places to rent.”
“That’s OK,” Jillian said, snuggling into my side. “You’re here now.”
She finished her shuffleboard game, then we played another, and finally it was time to head home.
I should have stopped then, I should have gone inside.
But I was almost twitching with excitement.
Was Christabelle going to admit she still loved me?
“I forgot something back at the bar,” I said, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue, like a cigarette I wanted to smoke really badly, even though I had quit. “You go on in and take a shower and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”