Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
ALISON
I don’t know how, but Lexi convinced me to go to the reunion. I only agreed because I heard Gareth wouldn’t be there, and a friend of mine from back home wants some advice selling her property and I said I’d help out. Two birds, one stone.
The second I arrive, I question that decision.
I mean, reunions are never a good idea. I of all people know this, but my daughter kind of insisted.
She was so excited about going to my hometown for the weekend and sleeping over at my parents’ place.
We see them all the time, but they usually come and see us in LA because I’m working, so it was nice for her to spend some time in my childhood home and enjoy hanging out with her grandparents for the weekend.
“Oh, my God!” Julie — according to her name tag — cries as I jerk out of my reverie. She’s staring at me with wide eyes, a big dopey grin on her face, and one palm pressed against her chest. “I don’t believe it. Is that you, Alison Archer?”
Oh, fuck. I have no idea who this chick is, and flicking through my memories won’t help because I’m shit at remembering anything important, especially from high school. Most of it I’ve purposefully blanked out.
“Uh, hey, Julie,” I say, knowing I have no fucking clue who she is.
“Well, haven’t the years been kind to you? Then again, you do live in LA, plastic city central. Ooops, not that I think you're plastic, Ali, far from it!” She giggles nervously. “What has it been, twenty years since we ran into each other?”
Okay. Now I know who she is.
Jellyfish Julie. My, my, some things never change.
I want to tell her I’ve looked after my skin through regular treatments, sunblock and good genetics, as well as sleep and a diet consisting of anti-inflammatory foods and vitamins, but I doubt she’ll care. Not all of us have been under the surgeon’s knife.
“Yep. It’s been a while.”
She lays a hand on my wrist. “I’m so sorry about that no-good husband of yours. We heard all about it, and I’ve gotta say, you’re better off without him. He always did have a wandering eye.”
She could’ve just shot me dead, but I plaster on my fake, very well-versed, realtor's smile and reach for the glass of bubbles on the tray as the waiter passes. I gulp the entire thing down as Julie stares at me. I don’t have time to contemplate what I say next; it just blurts out.
“That’s nice of you to bring it up, but trust me, single life is A-okay.
” I give her the thumbs up. “I mean the men in LA? I’ve gotta tell you, whoever said blondes have more fun certainly haven’t dipped their toe into the varying pool of fine suits in Hollywood.
Let’s just say, I was married to a shrimp, and now I’m eating prawns every chance I get.
” I follow it with a high-pitched laugh that sounds more like a cackle. It’s the bubbles.
Okay, maybe I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that, but seeing Julie’s jaw drop practically to the floor gives me some sense of satisfaction.
I don’t care if she thinks I’m a floozy. She can eat it.
“Will you excuse me? I need to go powder my nose.” I give her a wink, and walk towards the party, swiping another glass of bubbles as I go.
I shake my head. Then I remember Tristan’s text message a few days ago and can’t help but smile to myself.
Tristan Lucas
Sure you won’t change your mind, Ali? If you do, I’ll be the guy wearing the tux.
Of course, it would be just like Tristan to look a million bucks in his Hugo Boss suit and Versace shoes with minimal effort on his part.
I’m half a second away from turning around to spend the rest of the night in my pjs with Mom, Dad and Clementine, but then I see something worse than Julie’s judgy eyes: my ex-husband. I squint to make sure I’m not seeing things or conjuring up some worst case scenario.
Fake smile. Check.
Cheap suit. Check. Check.
Twenty-four-year-old bimbo on his arm. Check. Check. Check.
He brought her?
That bastard. He told me he wasn't coming, but I should’ve known; any chance to flaunt pouty Alina-what’s-her-face to a room full of people who really don’t give a shit, he’s gonna take it.
Spotting me, he gives me an almost triumphant smile. What the fuck is he smiling for? And why is he and that pariah heading my way?
I glug down the rest of champagne number two faster than the first glass, and try not to panic.
Steel yourself, Alison Jane Archer. You’ve got this. You left him, remember? Because he’s a cheating, lying piece of good for nothing, scum ? —
“Alison,” he drawls right about the same time my skin crawls.
“Gareth,” I can barely get the words out.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you and…” My eyes cast over the buxom brunette on his arm, not to mention the large, flashy diamond she’s sporting.
Did he propose to his mistress? “Forgive me, I’ve completely forgotten your name, unless you’d like me to call you home wrecker . ”
Alina’s eyes go wide, her nostrils flaring as her lips part but no sound comes out. My ex brought his fucking mistress to the reunion. This is the first time we’ve come face to face without Clementine with me, so I guess I’m free to call her whatever I want.
“Now, now, Alison, there’s no need for name callin?—”
“There you are, honey.” Firm, strong hands grip around my waist and my body goes rigid. Is it terrible that I have a 99% chance of knowing the owner of that cologne, and the deep, drawl of this man’s voice anywhere?
I turn, and as predicted, Tristan — dressed as promised in a black tuxedo, he even wore the tie — is smiling down at me.
And he looks fucking delicious. His hair is slicked back.
He’s shaved most of the scruff off his face.
And then there’s the blue eyes, sparkling like diamonds as the soft curve of his lips draws my eyes to them.
He looks like an old Hollywood movie star.
My knees feel like they could buckle, and that is very, very dangerous.
One eyebrow piques as I stare back at him, then his eyes go slightly rounder. Keep up, Ali!
“Sweetie!” I swing my arms around his neck. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Well, now you’ve found me.” His hands slide farther around me, one palm pressing against the small of my back.
I don’t know if it’s the relief that I’ve got someone to cling to in front of two of the most despicable people on the planet, or that fucking Tom Ford cologne that hits me right between the legs, but before I know what’s happening, I’m pressing my lips against his.
Holy fuck, what am I doing? The angel on my shoulder whispers.
Enjoy it, you’re going straight to Hell anyway. The devil on the other side snickers.
Oh, fuck it. Lucas — recovering from what I can only assume is utter shock — finally kicks into gear and kisses me back.
I intend to pull away, really I do, but who’d have known that Tristan Lucas’s lips would be so soft?
That his mouth is fucking glorious just like that rest of him, and when his other hand slides up my arm to hold the back of my head, I’m toast. Holy shit, is that his tongue?
Still reeling, I take a breath, trying to tamper down the blood boiling in my veins at how searing his touch is.
His kiss becomes brutal, like we’ve been long lost lovers starved of each other, or kept apart because of war or some other tragedy.
By the time I have the good sense to pull away, my breathing is just as ragged as his.
I laugh nervously. Well, it’s a giggle, let’s be frank; I just guzzled two glasses of bubbles.
I haven’t giggled since I was a fucking fifteen-year-old cheerleader, and that’s what I feel like right now. A teenager.
Then Gareth clears his throat. Oops. Lucas and I pull apart. I’m breathy, wanting more and not caring that we have an audience of our old classmates gawking. I’m pleased to see that Tristan is no better, and I’ve finally knocked that annoying smirk off his face.
“Sorry.” I wave a hand at Gareth. “We’re like a couple of teenagers who can’t keep their hands off one another,” I whisper behind the back of my hand at the two of them. “I’m sure you know what that’s like since you’re engaged to one.”
“I’m twenty-four!” bitch-face spits back at me. I can’t say I blame her. I’ve had what she’s having, and looking at the gorgeous man beside me who’s now wearing my lipstick, I could almost feel sorry for her knowing what she’s got to put up with. And in the bedroom? Ugh, pass me a bucket.
“You’re dating Tristan Lucas ?” Gareth sounds like he just sucked down a quart of rat poison.
Pity he didn’t. His voice nauseates me now, like everything about him, and it leaves me wondering how I didn’t see all these annoying traits about him until now.
I wasn’t a perfect wife by any means. I had my flaws; heck, I’m a lot.
But I would never, ever cheat on anybody.
How he lives with himself and faces our daughter after what he did, I’ll never know.
Tristan punches him playfully on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t exactly call it dating, if you get my drift.” He winks conspiringly, and I want to burst out laughing.
Oh, this is a very good plan.
The one thing Gareth could never stand was Tristan. He always thought we had something going on, which we never did, of course. I left town practically on a float parade with the high school quarterback, but that still didn’t satisfy Gareth. Nothing ever did.
“I don’t believe we’ve met?” Tristan turns his charms onto Alina, yet he doesn’t hold out his hand to shake hers. Good, because I swear this chick has the kiss of death.
Well, we all know she likes older guys.
She immediately perks up, standing taller, sticking her chest out. “I’m Alina?—”
“She was the one fucking my husband,” I clarify, just so he’s aware. “His secretary, it’s kinda cliche, but that’s LA for you. Men always think the grass is green on the other side.”
“Oh.” Tristan’s face changes, then he turns to me. “The homewrecker?”
I nod.
“Don’t cause a scene,” Gareth says through gritted teeth. “Not tonight.”
I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you come here just to gloat, knowing I wasn’t coming with a date?
” I roll my eyes dramatically. “You planned on rubbing it in my face, but didn’t count on the fact that I’ve got a hot stud of my own, and let me tell you,” I glance at Alina, dropping my voice, “woman to woman? He goes for fucking hours.”
Okay, they don’t need to know the truth, but it’s fun to shove it in their faces for once.
“I think you’ve had enough champagne.” Gareth looks mortified, and Alina is gaping at me. If I’m not mistaken, her eyes dip to Tristan’s crotch. Back off, bitch!
I’ve never played the floozy before, and I think I kinda like it.
“On the contrary,” I turn to Tristan, linking my arm through his as he grins, “I think this party is just getting started.”