Chapter Thirty
Zeppelin
As Bernie swings, laughing away, the tension leaves me. Misty was right when she said Bernie’s laughter makes everything better.
Just as I start to feel comfortable, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. There are only two people who have that effect on me. Butch and Chanel.
I turn to see the familiar car stop in the parking lot across from us. Shit.
“What’s she doing here?” Misty asks.
There’s an edge to her voice I’ve never heard before, and I get a weird thrill to know she’s jealous. But there’s more than jealousy. There’s worry about seeing the woman I’d been in love with for over a decade. And I’m not particularly happy to see her myself.
Which still feels weird. Chanel used to be one of the only people who made me even remotely happy. Or what I believed was happiness. I didn’t know the true meaning of the feeling until I met Misty and Bernie.
Chanel makes her way across the grass, her heels sinking in as she does. It’s almost comical, and I refuse to meet her halfway. If she’s that determined to talk to me when she can see me with Misty and Bernie, she can suffer her way across the distance.
“Hey,” Chanel says when she reaches us.
She wears a black skirt that’s just a bit too short for her job and shows off her toned legs. The same legs I used to imagine draped over my shoulders. And her silk blouse is unbuttoned one button too many to show off cleavage enhanced by a pushup bra.
It’s the same type of outfit that used to have me crawling on my knees begging.
“Hi,” I say, barely glancing at her as I watch Bernie.
“Can we talk?”
She hasn’t reached out since I told her to fuck off. It’s the longest we’ve gone without contact, and of course she shows up now. When I’ve fallen in love with Misty. Right after I’ve learned the truth about how I ended up on this earth.
Damn it, she’s like a bloodhound who can sense I might have something good going in my life and needs to come ruin it.
Even though I want to tell her no, we can’t talk, curiosity gets the better of me. “Sure.”
What the hell can she possibly say that will change anything? Nothing, that’s what. But she’s still going to try. That much I do know.
The rock is still on her left hand, so I know she’s not coming here to tell me she’s left Dorian. That she decided after a long ass time of reflection that she can’t live without me. Which is just fine by me.
“Can we go back to your house? It might be… a long conversation.”
“Uh…” I look at Misty, but she keeps her jaw locked as she stares at Bernie. I know she’s not happy, but I think this needs to happen to make sure Chanel stops showing up here. “Yeah, let’s go.”
“Zep!” Bernie yells before hopping off the swing. She stumbles a bit but picks herself back up and runs over to us. “Where are you going? We haven’t—”
“He needs to talk to his friend,” Misty interrupts, catching Bernie before she leaps into my arms.
Both brunettes look disappointed, but Misty leads Bernie back to the swings. “But, Mom…”
“Let’s get this over with,” I say and lead Chanel down the sidewalk toward my house.
“My car—”
“Will still be there when we’re done talking. My place isn’t that far.”
She pouts. “I’m in heels.”
“Your choice, not mine.”
“You could carry me.”
“You could take them off.”
I know she doesn’t like that suggestion. She’s wearing stockings, and she’d rip holes in them if she did that. How dare I suggest such a thing?
It almost makes me laugh.
Nothing is said between us the entire block and a half to my house, and it’s awkward. She used to be my comfort, and now I don’t know how to act around her.
We reach my porch, and I turn to her. “We walked away for—”
Chanel’s lips crash onto mine. The kiss that used to feel like home tastes bitter. Like betrayal.
“That’s not talking,” I say, pushing her away.
She frowns with tears in her eyes. “Am I too late?”
“Too late? Too late for what?”
“Us.”
All I can do is blink at her for a few moments as I process this. The diamond on her finger glints off the sun, and I point at it. “You’re engaged, Chanel.”
“Tell me you still love me, and I’ll leave him.”
Tell her I love her, and then she’ll leave him? Fucking hell. She will not make a decision until she knows for certain she has someone to fall back on. The moment I stop being a sure thing, she wants to come back. But only if I’ll take care of her.
God, not having me waiting around like I always was must be killing her. Driving her absolutely fucking crazy. And I kind of love it.
“You just can’t be alone, can you?”
She frowns and crosses her arms. “Who wants to be alone? I love you, Zep. It feels wrong not being with you.”
“You didn’t have a problem not being with me while you went off to build your fantasy life with Dorian. No, it doesn’t feel wrong being without me. You’re horny and haven’t gotten fucked the way you like since I told you to fuck off.”
“That’s not true.”
“Which part?”
And that’s the moment. I see it all so clearly now. Something I probably always knew deep down but didn’t want to see. Now that I know what real love looks like, this doesn’t even begin to compare.
“I love you—”
“No, you don’t. What we have isn’t love. It’s comfort. Familiar. But that doesn’t work for me anymore.”
“Let me get naked for you, and we can test that out,” she says, reaching for the door.
The thought of having Chanel naked would have had me hard the minute the offer left her plump red lips, but not now. When I think of going to bed with a woman, all I see is Misty. The only woman I want to be buried deep inside.
“No.”
“No?”
It’s only the second time I’ve turned her down, so I can’t blame her for being surprised. I, however, am not. There’s no giving in this time. I don’t want her anymore.
“No.”
“This is really done? Us?”
“Chanel—”
“What if I do all the things you love?”
The chuckle that comes out is involuntary and pisses her off. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Biting her lower lip, she looks up through thick, fake lashes. She’s trying to look enticing when she looks like a wannabe porn star. “I’ll suck you dry.”
“Already got someone who does that. And she does it for fun. I never have to ask.”
This really pisses her off, and she rolls her shoulders. “Fine. We’ll do it.”
“It?”
“You know.”
No, I actually have no fucking idea. There could be so many things. Even though the sex was great, the positions were pretty limited. What worked best for her and only her was our go-to moves.
“You can have my ass. Again.”
Well, that’s intriguing. Enough to make my cock twitch, but not enough to let her inside the house. “No.”
Her face falls. That was her last bargaining chip. “Zep, no. This… We can’t be done.”
“We are, Chanel.”
“You’d rather be with… her?”
The disgust in her tone makes me angry, and I lean against the house. My back’s to the park to block the sun as Chanel shifts into my shadow. As much as her comment makes me angry, I’m not a complete asshole. Yet.
And the tears are back, but they don’t fall. In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing her actually cry. All her crying in the past hasn’t really been crying.
How the fuck does she do that? And does that mean she’s a sociopath?
“She’s there for me in every way you aren’t,” I say.
“She can’t fuck you better than I can.”
She runs a hand over my bicep, and I cross my arms over my chest. “Every fucking time.”
Pulling her hand back like I just lit my arm on fire, she gasps. “You’re lying.”
“It’s not just about the sex, though. She’s there, Chanel. Anytime I need her, she’s around. To talk. To listen. She actually gives a shit about me.”
“I give a shit about you!”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, you don’t. You only care about what I can give you, and I’m not offering it anymore. I don’t want you.”
Crossing her arms under her chest, she squeezes her tits to the point of nearly popping out of her shirt. The top button—one of only a few actually buttoned—threatens to pop, but it’s not enough. Hell, she could stand here completely naked, and I wouldn’t touch her.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
I just want her to leave. What I found out last night isn’t something I could ever go to Chanel with. She wouldn’t care. It would turn into me pleasing her under the guise of distracting me from my problem, but it wouldn’t be about me.
Wanting her to leave and never come back is heavy, though. Like a death. For over a decade, Chanel was my world. Everything I thought I wanted, and part of me mourns that chapter ending. But only part.
“I understand.” Giving me doe eyes, she sighs. “Can I get a goodbye kiss?”
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s a closure needed for both of us. The part of me that feels the sadness of this coming to an end gives in.
The moment our lips touch, I feel it. I should have let her come inside, but it felt safer to have this conversation in the open. Until I realize she fucking played me.
Pulling away, I turn around to see Misty and Bernie standing across the street watching us. And Chanel fucking saw her walk up. She wanted this.
Bitch.