Authors: Kimberly Stedronsky
Finally, she gave a little, relieved laugh, blowing out the small flame and pulling at the candle. “You’re very… direct.”
“And you taste really damn good. But, like I said, no more. I was drunk, and that’s not going to happen again. Unless you want it to. Because, then, fuck yeah it’ll happen again.”
She lowered her eyes, long, dark lashes resting against her snowy cheeks as I’d managed to coax a laugh from her. “It wasn’t completely your fault. I left the door unlocked. And if it’s any consolation, I was about to touch myself and think of you before you walked in.”
I froze, unable to hold back my wide grin.
“V,” I gave her a mock look of disapproval, moving my face to hers. “You. Are. A. Fucking.
Tease
.”
She started to say something, but I covered her mouth with my finger.
“But,” I continued, dropping a tiny kiss to her adorable nose. “It’s working for you.”
The tension between us finally eased-a little. She laughed, pulling the candle out of the cup and licking the whipped cream from the waxy stick.
Watching her really let go last night, tasting her, kissing her, I knew that the possibility of keeping my distance was annihilated. Just the memory of her screaming my name as she came against my mouth had me hard and fucking crazy with lust.
“We’re having breakfast. But first, you owe me that one answer.”
“I didn’t hear a question.”
I marched to my room to gather my wallet and keys from the dresser, speaking to her through the doorway. Satisfied that I was ready to leave, I moved back into her suite, lowering to the bed next to her as she sipped her coffee.
“Are you engaged?”
She choked, managing not to spit her mouthful of mocha all over the bed. She swallowed and coughed hard, and I took her drink, allowing her to recover.
Finally, she turned her watery eyes to mine, clearing her throat. “Why would you ask me that?”
“You owe me an answer,” I fired back, waiting.
She reached for her coffee again, but I held it just out of her reach.
Finally, she sighed. “Technically, no.”
“Explain.”
“I was engaged, but when I left, it kind of ended.”
“Kind of ended?”
“There’s no official ceremony or
paperwork
when you end an engagement, Keaton.”
“When
you
left? I thought he left
you
.”
“I’ve answered
more
than one question. How about we trade a question for a question,” she suggested, brushing her hair from her eyes.
I disappeared inside the endless shades of blue and turquoise.
With one bat of her lashes, she had me bound and gagged to her little finger.
I sighed, defeated. “Fine.”
“Fine.” She raised her eyebrows, retrieving her drink from my hand. “Where is your dad?”
Every nerve ending in my body burned. Adrenaline coursed through my system. Filter.
Filter.
“He’s somewhere near Chicago. I haven’t seen him since I was fourteen.”
“Did your parents divorce?” She asked.
“My turn.” I argued. “Who left, you or him?”
She kept my even stare. “I did.”
“No, they’re still married. My parents,” I answered quickly.
She looked down at the sheet. “Was your dad abusive?”
I answered without flinching. “Yes. He was a pastor in the town church, and a drunk. Both my parents were drunks. He hit me and Robin, and when he started on Luke, my grandfather called the cops on him. He went to jail, got out, and then never came home. I think he went back to preaching.” Her face filled with the sympathy that I couldn’t stand, so I quickly fired another question. “Why did you leave?”
She automatically covered her stomach, and I remembered the scar my lips had traced only a few hours ago. “We had a fight.”
“About?”
“About the baby.” She set the coffee on the bedside table, her voice uneven. “I haven’t talked about this with anyone yet, Keaton. Not even Gram. It’s been a year.”
“Maybe that’s long enough.”
She lowered her eyes to the bed. “Why were you still wearing your wedding band?”
I hadn’t expected that question. Glancing down at the light tan line on my left ring finger, I shrugged. “No reason, really.”
She looked at me sternly, and I could read her expression.
Cop-out. Stop avoiding the question.
I decided she deserved an honest answer, because I expected the same from her. “I loved Kelsey. I don’t any more, but I did. The ring reminded me of a time when I was happy.” Wetting my lips, I forced myself to continue. “And in the car, with you, I realized that I was happy again for the first time in a long time. That’s why I threw it into the road. Well, that, and it was making you uncomfortable.”
Her sapphire eyes watered, and she nodded once in silent understanding.
Her small voice began haltingly. “I had eclampsia. At thirty weeks, I had a seizure. And I wouldn’t stop seizing.” She gripped the bedspread as though it were her only lifeline. “From what I understand, my heart stopped twice. My blood wouldn’t clot. And the doctor could… he couldn’t operate until I was stable… he couldn’t do the cesarean. And the baby was in distress. It could only be me or the baby.” Tears filled her eyes, but she fought them from falling, keeping her focus on the bedspread as she reached for a long strand of hair.
“Vivian.” I tried to remain silent, longing to reach for her and comfort her in some way.
“Matthew and I had actually talked about what we’d do in that scenario. We were watching an old rerun of ER, where they could either save the baby or the mother. I told him that if that ever happened to me, that I would want the baby to live. Right? That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? My baby had his whole life ahead of him.”
She wasn’t looking at me, and I could tell that her question was rhetorical. Thank fuck, because I
couldn’t
speak.
I didn’t know what to say.
I waited, not moving.
“The choice wasn’t Matthew’s; it was my parent’s, since we weren’t married yet. My mother and father were considered next of kin. They chose me, and my son died.”
The heaviness in my heart as I listened to this poor, broken girl physically made me ill. I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat.
Finally, a single tear slid down her cheek. “Matthew told me that he would have picked me, anyway, even though he knew what I wanted. He
agreed
with my parents.
Even knowing what I wanted.
Most people don’t talk about things like that,
but we did,
and he
knew
.”
“
V.
” I knew that I’d said her name, but I couldn’t force another word to my throat.
She brushed at the tear with the back of her hand. “So I’m paying him back, and I’m moving on.”
I wanted to point out that any man would have done the same thing, and that a few passing comments during an old rerun of a primetime drama from the nineties didn’t qualify as a living will.
But, thanks to my developing filter, all of that felt like too much.
Instead, I slowly moved toward her. I expected her to stiffen, but instead she leaned in.
Pulling her into my arms, I held her against my chest. I cleared my throat and ran my hand over the length of her hair.
I no longer felt that I owed her part of my story, part of my past. I
wanted
to talk to her. I wanted to tell her the things that I’d never told another soul, not even my own wife.
So I did.
“My mom continued drinking, and my grandpa held the family together. When my grandfather died, I left. I abandoned Robin, leaving her in charge of Mom, and Luke, and the house, and everything. And I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that.”
She took a deep, shaking breath, her fingers tightening over my forearms. “He hurt you, Keaton. It’s natural to want to run away from someone who has hurt you.”
“But I hurt them in the process. Selfish.” I traced her fingertip with mine.
She took a deep, shaking breath, forcing a half laugh. “Listen, boss. This is demon-share overload. And I think I need a Bloody Mary with breakfast.”
I grinned, slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You got it.” Fluffing the pillows behind our heads, I reached for the television remote. “Finish your coffee.”
“None for you?”
“I’ve had four cups.”
“I hate to tell you this, but I think you have a caffeine problem.”
“Caffeine isn’t a problem, it’s a solution. Wait-watch this.
Million Dollar Baby.
V, watch this part,” I turned up the volume, and she cringed, snuggling closer in my arms.
“Oh, gross, her nose is broken-…,”
“Wait. Listen.” I silenced her as Clint Eastwood warned Hillary Swank that she had only seconds until her nose would become a blood geyser. “So you watch this entire fight scene, not only wondering if she’ll actually win, but also just
waiting
for her nose to spray blood all over the audience. But it never does.”
“So with that one line, he created
twice
as much suspense in that scene, without the tasteless bloodbath. Brilliant.” She listened to me, her eyes on my face instead of the screen. I looked down at her, grinning. “What?”
“I like how you’re kind of a crazy person.” She twirled her finger in a circle at her temple, crossing her eyes.
I kept my gaze fixed on hers, stifling my laughter. “Want to tear up the contract and pick up where we left off last night?”
She sipped her coffee, turning toward the TV. “You’re definitely good at… directing.”
“Ha. Yeah, I could tell that you’d never been talked to like that before.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she clipped, trying to busily adjust the lid on her cup.
Oh, the fun I could have with her. I flashed an evil grin. “When I told you what to do with your pussy,” I reminded her.
I was rewarded with a crawling vine of hives over her neck. “
Keat
on.”
“Does that word make you uncomfortable? Pussy?”
“No!” She protested, too quickly.
“Riight. Well, we’ll just have to ease you into that one. I’ll make sure that I sing every song to you tonight, and change up at least one verse to include your new favorite body part.”
“You have too much time on your hands.”
“I have too much Vivian on my hands.”
She arched her eyebrow, dragging her bottom lip with her teeth before biting. “
Please
don’t sing to me. My ears-and my
pussy
- can’t handle it.”
Oh, fuck.
Her reaction got me every time; protest, hives, shy, and then BOOM, she’d fucking come right back around and say something that made me want to tear her clothes off and maul her.
I groaned with a grin. “Okay, I’ll wait for you downstairs. There’s only so much the ‘little’ director can handle.”
I air quoted my crotch, she broke into laughter.
Smirking, I patted her leg before heading for the door.
“Keaton?”
“V?”
I turned at the door handle, and she shifted slightly, her blue eyes sparkling in the morning light as the rays streamed though the hotel window. “I can’t wait to dance with you again.”
I stared at her from across the room.
Well, that was it.
That was the big moment I’d been waiting for.
The
scene.
Music swelled, and the camera darted between our eyes several times as I gripped the handle tighter.
Something was happening to my heart, all because of this girl from nowhere, who was going
somewhere.
I wanted her… demons and all.
“Me too,” I managed, smiling at her before closing the door behind me.
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
I was a mess; the kind of mess that had me crying in the shower, laughing out loud while getting dressed, and then eventually sitting on the bed with my iPhone, staring at Matthew’s text from yesterday.
And then Keaton’s text.
Hey pretty woman, I’m in the lobby waiting for you, and there’s a baby grand down here. I’m imagining your bare ass playing me a song tonight after the wedding.
I laughed softly, and then sobered at the next text.
Matthew.
I’m going to call you, please answer.
Keaton.
V, if you’re back in bed touching yourself and waiting for me, let me know, I’ll be right up.
And then the phone was ringing.
I stared at Matthew’s name, answering before I lost my nerve.
“Hi.”
“Vivian,” he exhaled, and I pictured him squeezing his eyes closed, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Thank you for picking up. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?” I tried to sound emotionless, but my defensive tone easily carried through the miles between us.
He sighed. “I called to wish you a happy birthday. Early. And some guy answered, and said he was your boss, and you were in the shower?” I could hear his patented control, the kind of steady breathing and careful planning that always went into his words before he spoke.
The complete opposite of Keaton.
Keaton.
Fuck. He answered my phone?
“It’s not what you think.” Well, after what happened last night, it probably was exactly what he was thinking, but I cleared my throat and went on. “He really is my boss. He’s a director, and I’m working for him this weekend. Nothing more. You and I haven’t talked in months, Matthew. I really don’t feel like this is any of your business. I’m sorry I’m late with this month’s check-…,”
“
Damn
it, Vivian,” he was trying desperately to speak calmly, and I admired his restraint. “Stop. You want to know what I’m doing with every check you send me?”
“Paying the hospital, I hope,” I managed, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Keaton would be up from the lobby any second; I was taking way too long.
“I’m saving it.
For us.
For a down payment on that house we dreamt about. And I’m
done
giving you your space, especially if that means you’re showering while some fucking guy is answering your phone. Where’s Gram?”