Chapter 16
Frankie
Iwoke up with a massive, pounding headache, and a nightmare that tasted terrible on my tongue.
I couldn’t remember my dream, but it was so bad there was a sick feeling in my stomach. It had been about Jillian. . . in the dream Jillian had gone away. But that was ridiculous.
Jillian would never leave me.
The room spun around me as I attempted to sit up.
Oh, my God. What had happened last night?
Was I drunk? Why did my head ache so badly? Where was Jillian? How come I didn’t feel her beside me?
I rolled over. Something stunk, was soaking through my board shorts. Why was I wearing board shorts in bed? I plunged a hand into my pocket and stared in confusion at the silvery rainbow scales.
Why were there pieces of rotting fish in my pockets?
Who the fuck . . .?
I rolled over.
The bed was cold, empty.
I blinked, reaching for my glasses on the bedside table, and encountered an angry hiss.
Ah fuck.
It all came rushing back to me now.
I had fucked up.
The memory of Christabelle on my dick made me nauseated, and I had to put my head between my thighs to keep from throwing up.
I was in Mrs. Greenberg’s spare bedroom with all my things in boxes, and assorted members of her feline family were sitting staring at me.
“I’m trying to get her back.”
They were not amused. Only stared disapprovingly at me, like they thought I was a mouse they wanted to pounce on.
“Hey fellas,” I said, to two particularly large orange cats sitting on my calves. “I’ll give you each a lasagna to get off me.”
Well, that joke didn’t hit either. They only hissed contemptuously at me.
Wow, I had definitely lost my touch, because not one of my jokes was hitting, and I realized WHY they weren’t hitting. One thing that had always given me confidence was Jillian’s low, throaty laugh, the way she’d look at me with those sunshiney eyes.
What had happened? What had gone wrong? How could I have behaved with such egregious stupidity?
Why had I let a fantasy intrude into reality?
The idea that Jillian—JILLIAN—would stop loving me was completely incomprehensible, and had been since the moment I met her.
Now, Christabelle falling out of love with me. That was expected. We had been off and on even for the short time we were together.
But Jillian, she had always been steady. Always been there for me.
Looking back, I was ashamed to remember the times my mind had drifted to that toxic hit of Christabelle.
I had been so happy with Jillian, but in my back of my mind, I’d always thought ‘what if?’ And now I knew what if.
If I had ended up with Christabelle, I would have been fucking miserable as shit.
Why hadn’t I seen that? Why had I been so tempted in my happy marriage?
Fuck. I loved my wife so much.
I was finally able to wiggle out from under the cats and stagger down the hallways to the kitchen, resentfully rubbing my jaw.
I remember what had happened now. That asshole Cash had punched me.
To think all the time he had been fixing my fucking plumbing he was plotting to snatch my wife out from under me.
Well, it was absolutely time to crawl to Jillian and beg for forgiveness before it went any further between her and Cash.
Mrs. Greenberg was drinking a cup of coffee at the table and she eyed me over her mug.
“Oh, look,” she said. “It’s Mr. Drunk and Disorderly himself.”
“I wasn’t drunk last night,” I retorted, slumping down in a chair beside her and looking at the bowl of oatmeal congealing in front of me.
“Too bad,” she said. “I’m sorry I missed it. Especially the punch. Lucky Ronnie got some good pictures on her phone. She’s real good with the phone, is our Ronnie.”
She opened her phone and flipped through eagerly, to where Ronnie had sent her several pictures, all captioned “LOL” of me confronting Cash and then ending up flat on my back.
“Great,” I said. “Glad those are out there now.”
“I warn you,” Mrs. Greenberg said, “if you’re going to make a habit of getting into bar brawls—“
“I did not get into a bar brawl! Cash punched me! Why aren’t you mad at him?”
Mrs. Greenberg slurped her coffee noisily, and she looked like a smug cat herself as she peeped over at me.
“Mad at Cash? Oh no, the whole town is pleased as pie with him. You better hope he doesn’t try to run for mayor.”
“This whole Cash thing ends now,” I said. “I am going to go over there and grovel on my damn knees for forgiveness.”
Just then, a movement outside the window caught my eye and I turned around. Jillian was opening the front door, and my god, she looked gorgeous.
She was wearing that long, white pajama set I absolutely loved because it clung to every trim little inch on her body. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot and it looked incredibly attractive falling all down her neck.
My throat was dry and parched, and I licked my lips.
“Jillian!” I croaked, reaching for the door. “Please forgive me! I love you so much and I promise you I’ll never, ever betray you again!”
She didn’t even hear me.
Opening the door wider, somebody else stepped onto the porch.
It was Cash. Wearing the same jeans as the night before. The same T-shirt as the night before, stretching over those disturbingly bulky muscles, his rugged face looking even more rugged and bristlier than ever.
My jaw dropped with horror.
What was Cash doing coming out of MY house this early in the morning? It was barely 7:30 am!
“Oh my,” Mrs. Greenberg said. “She HAS traded up, hasn’t she? Cash is a fine figure of a man. Look at how his ass fills out those jeans. If I were thirty years younger. Or even twenty years younger. Hell, I’d shoot my shot if I was ten years younger.”
Ignoring her, I bolted outside.
“What are you doing?” I cried, hating the high, wavering tone of my voice, just in time for him to turn around on the porch.
“Want to grab lunch?” he asked my beloved. “Or dinner? Go on a drive and get a big city coffee?”
To my horror, Cash casually reached inside for the perch by the door and scratched Athena’s feathers. I had never seen that damn finicky parrot look so pleased before!
Was he planning to take over my whole life?
“Jillian, what’s happening? Please don’t do this, please don’t do this,” I begged, falling on my knees before her.
Hot tears burned at the corners of my eyes.
“What does it look like?” Cash snorted. “Don’t you know about the birds and the bees, Frankie? You’re a big boy.”
“I’m not talking to you,” I said indignantly. “You sucker punched me.”
Cash looked remorseful, but his next words were hardly complimentary.
“Yeah, sorry. Me against you isn’t really a fair fight. Maybe with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Cash, I have lunch with Frankie’s parents,” Jillian put in. “But you could always come by for a cup of coffee later.”
“Jillian, please—sorry—so sorry—never again—“
She put a hand up to stop me, and her soft face was firm.
“Frankie, enough. I’m all sticky, so I’m going to go take a shower. But don’t bother Cash. Do you understand?”
I could feel a bruise rising on my jaw, but I nodded my head eagerly. “Fine—fine. Just—can we talk later? Please? I just want a little time with you. Just a crumb of your time.”
But she totally ignored me, the door slamming behind her.
Fuck. What hope did I have to go on? Cash walked down the steps and headed back to town, whistling an offensively buoyant and happy little tune.
“I’m not giving up,” I warned Cash, trying to swallow my anger. “I’m going to convince her to give me another chance.”
He had been in my house.
He had been with my wife.
He shrugged big shoulders. “Whatever. Do your thing, man.”
Then he turned a little sideways, hands resting on the hips of his jeans. I wished he didn’t look so much like a cinematic cowboy.
“Good luck. We were a little—naughty last night. A little risky. You really think Jillian will give you another chance if she has to take a pregnancy test in a few weeks?”
I wasn’t a violent person, but at this words, a red fury seemed to bubble up behind my eyes and I charged at him.