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Chapter Ten - America
Why does he have to be so damn infuriating? I storm out through the employee entrance. Icy rain penetrates my uniform before I can get my jacket on and flip up the hood, but barely cools my anger. We used to get along fine, now every other word out of his mouth makes me angry.
I didn’t mean to lose it inside. Telling Gray that I was with Everett last night was only the tiniest of trivial lies. We’re taking a few days to think. Well, I am. He’s still all in. Because I didn’t tell him a damn thing about what’s really going on with me.
I didn’t tell him I fucked Gray in the bathroom last night. What would be the point? But telling Gray I took Everett to bed last night, that was purely malicious. He doesn’t mean to hurt me every time he opens his mouth. I have ten good years of knowing him that says he doesn’t. But it stings all the same.
It hurts that I can’t shake these feelings I harbor for him while he can’t get over my best friend. I pick up an empty coffee tin and scream as I hurl it at the wall just as Gray steps into view.
“Fuck.” He ducks, narrowly missing being hit by the flying missile. “America. Christ. Are you trying to injure me?”
“Leave me alone, Gray.” I pace with bouncy, jerky steps back and forth across the pavement as the can rattles and rolls over the uneven ground until it hits a trash can. Arms wrapped around myself, I bury my fists in my armpits. If I have to hear one more thing about how he wants to protect our friendship… “Go away. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Can’t do that.” He storms over and grabs my waist, hauling me out of the rain and under an overhang.
“Let me go.” I punch his chest. Then let go of a flurry of small blows that seem to bounce off him without any kind of reaction.
Except to make him breathe harder, faster as he backs me up against the bricks. He holds me there with a hand around my throat that has my pussy clenching so hard I cry out.
He licks his lips, and then they’re crashing against mine. He thrusts his tongue inside my mouth and swallows my whimpers. “Why can’t we be friends like we used to be?”
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” I surge forward and kiss him back.
“Why did you have to fucking sleep with that tool?” He hikes up my skirt and takes a hold of my panties.
“That tool is about to be your new client,” I toss back at him. “And soon to be my boyfriend.”
Yet here I am, eagerly falling into whatever this is with Gray. Unable to stop even though I know I should.
“Bullshit.”
I yelp as he yanks my panties clean off me.
It stings for all of a second while he holds them in his hands with a look in his eyes that says I’m in for it now. “No, he’s not your boyfriend, Rica.”
His words makes my heart race like crazy, my clit throb. I never knew this side of him existed, or that I would want to play with it so bad. “What are you going to do with those?”
“Open your mouth for me,” he orders.
I open for him.
He wads up the lace and places it between my teeth. “Bite.”
I slam my teeth down hard enough that he jerks his hand back. His expression turns filthy, his gaze burns hotter as he unbuttons his tan chinos and takes out his cock. Those big hands grab my ass and haul me up, my protest—not really a protest at all—muffled by my own panties as he enters me hard.
His lips scrape over my throat. His teeth nip my tender skin. His hips piston unrelentingly, fucking me like he wants to drive out his demons by possessing me.
It sets me on fire. My panties cover up my screams as he drives me closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm. Gray makes me experience things that I’ve never felt with anyone else. He makes me so mad. So freaking angry I could wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. And he makes me so hot the flames lick up inside me, eating me alive.
My orgasm pounds through me. My inner walls spasm with every punishing stroke.
“That’s it.” Grunting, he thrusts into me one more time as he comes. “My dirty, sweet girl.”
“Mmnnuughphh.” Damn it. I forgot about my panties, and I need to catch my breath.
He hooks his fingers between my lips and tugs the lace free.
“Not yours. Not your anything.” It hurts that I’ll never be, especially when he says things like that. It’s confusing.
“You’re not going to be Everett Mann’s girlfriend.” He pants against my collarbone.
“You can’t stop me. You don’t get a say in who I see or date,” I exhale the words as I push at him. My break must be up, which means any second Vicki is going to come looking for me. “Put me down.”
“He has a type.” Gray keeps me pinned between him and the bricks. “Women who don’t understand that it’s all a game to him. Trust me on this. He’s a player, Ri—”
“America, can you finish, oh…” Vicki gapes as she notices the not safe for work position Gray and I are in. “Lucky bitch.”
“Vicki.” My face grows hot as Gray does his best to shelter me from view.
“Break time is over.” She turns and flounces back inside.
“Shit.” That was awkward.
“Fuck.” Gray shakes his head as he slips out of me. He lowers me to my feet then tucks himself back into his pants and buttons his fly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen. Will you get in trouble?”
“Vicki is cool.” I smooth out my uniform, regretting my new lack of panties as I start to leak. She’s unlikely to report me to the owner. At least not for one indiscretion. “But this can’t happen again. Don’t come to my work. Don’t call me.”
He grabs my elbow as I turn to walk back inside. “About Mann. You’re confident and sweet and you believe everyone is on the level, but you have shitty fucking taste when it comes to boyfriends.” He hesitates. “Men.”
“What does that say about you?”
“Nothing that I probably don’t deserve,” he says.
“America,” Vicki calls out to me. “Move your bleeping arse.”
“Rica, tell me you won’t—”
I yank my arm free. “You have no say, Gray. You’re not entitled to an opinion on what I do with my life.”
“I’m looking out for you. As your friend I am asking you—”
“I should have spit on your Danish,” I snarl at him before I storm back inside the cafe. “No. No. I should have given you the jelly slice. It has a whole layer of Jell-O, Gray.”
He blanches and then turns green. He hates Jell-O beyond any reasonable kind of hate.
He tries to follow after me. “Rica—”
“Maldito mamón.” I shut the door in his face and fight my way out of my coat. Where does he get off trying to control who I like and who I see? And what the hell is with shortening my name all of a sudden?
I shove my coat on a hook.
It makes it sound like we’re more intimate than we are. Than we’ve ever been.
My jacket falls on the linoleum.
“Merde.” I sigh as I pick it up and put it back more gently and purposefully. We used to be friends.
He picked me up from school every day for a whole year though it was out of his way, to make sure those boys he found harassing me didn’t have another chance to get me alone.
He brought me soup and medicine when I caught mono in senior year. Spent an entire weekend playing Mario Kart and quizzing me for my Latin exam.
He checked in every week while I was working on my degree, and we’d talk about everything from how stressful exams were to the meaning of the Voynich manuscript; a document in an unknown language from the fifteenth century that the best cryptographers haven’t been able to decipher.
That’s not something people know about. He put time and effort into being able to discuss it with me. He made it feel like I was important to him.
My harmless crush developed into something more because of that friendship. I didn’t mean for my affections to grow stronger and stronger, but how could they not? I’m almost certain his currently being an asshole comes from a good place too. Though I don’t need him to be in my business, and I don’t appreciate it.
I take off my apron and grab a fresh one—no one needs to see that crumpled mess—then get back to work, staffing the coffee machine while Vicki takes the next order.
“Your new beau is a looker, isn’t he?” Vicki says when we have a break between customers. “Pretty good with those hips, I bet.”
She thrusts a couple times in my direction. “How do you have all these men falling all over you? That soccer player from the Cardinals. This American boy. What does a woman have to do to get some action like that? Sacrifice a goat?”
“He’s a friend,” I say. “That’s all.”
“Friends don’t beg forgiveness like he did. They also don’t fuck like that.” She taps a chipped pink nail against her chin. “Do they? If they do, then I think I need to make new friends because it’s been a while since anyone has stuck it to me. Or in me for that matter.”
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“If you say so.” She grins widely and then bustles toward the back. Stopping in the doorway she adds, “Oh. Your chap, the distinguished looking one with the glasses and the beard. He was in, asking about you.”
I grow sickeningly overheated from my toes to the roots of my hair. I start to tap, counting up and down my fingertips over and over. It’s been weeks since the last time he came in. I figured he’d gone back to his wife or moved on by now. I still need to unenroll from school, but I’ve been avoiding it. And him. “Did he… leave a message?”
“Said he’d be by again another time.” She looks suspicious. “Is he bothering you?”
I hate that Gray has a point about my taste in men. Taste that includes him too. So much so my heart leaps every time he touches me, despite the fact that he is being an asshole.
“Nothing that I can’t handle.”
I didn’t mean to lose it inside. Telling Gray that I was with Everett last night was only the tiniest of trivial lies. We’re taking a few days to think. Well, I am. He’s still all in. Because I didn’t tell him a damn thing about what’s really going on with me.
I didn’t tell him I fucked Gray in the bathroom last night. What would be the point? But telling Gray I took Everett to bed last night, that was purely malicious. He doesn’t mean to hurt me every time he opens his mouth. I have ten good years of knowing him that says he doesn’t. But it stings all the same.
It hurts that I can’t shake these feelings I harbor for him while he can’t get over my best friend. I pick up an empty coffee tin and scream as I hurl it at the wall just as Gray steps into view.
“Fuck.” He ducks, narrowly missing being hit by the flying missile. “America. Christ. Are you trying to injure me?”
“Leave me alone, Gray.” I pace with bouncy, jerky steps back and forth across the pavement as the can rattles and rolls over the uneven ground until it hits a trash can. Arms wrapped around myself, I bury my fists in my armpits. If I have to hear one more thing about how he wants to protect our friendship… “Go away. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Can’t do that.” He storms over and grabs my waist, hauling me out of the rain and under an overhang.
“Let me go.” I punch his chest. Then let go of a flurry of small blows that seem to bounce off him without any kind of reaction.
Except to make him breathe harder, faster as he backs me up against the bricks. He holds me there with a hand around my throat that has my pussy clenching so hard I cry out.
He licks his lips, and then they’re crashing against mine. He thrusts his tongue inside my mouth and swallows my whimpers. “Why can’t we be friends like we used to be?”
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” I surge forward and kiss him back.
“Why did you have to fucking sleep with that tool?” He hikes up my skirt and takes a hold of my panties.
“That tool is about to be your new client,” I toss back at him. “And soon to be my boyfriend.”
Yet here I am, eagerly falling into whatever this is with Gray. Unable to stop even though I know I should.
“Bullshit.”
I yelp as he yanks my panties clean off me.
It stings for all of a second while he holds them in his hands with a look in his eyes that says I’m in for it now. “No, he’s not your boyfriend, Rica.”
His words makes my heart race like crazy, my clit throb. I never knew this side of him existed, or that I would want to play with it so bad. “What are you going to do with those?”
“Open your mouth for me,” he orders.
I open for him.
He wads up the lace and places it between my teeth. “Bite.”
I slam my teeth down hard enough that he jerks his hand back. His expression turns filthy, his gaze burns hotter as he unbuttons his tan chinos and takes out his cock. Those big hands grab my ass and haul me up, my protest—not really a protest at all—muffled by my own panties as he enters me hard.
His lips scrape over my throat. His teeth nip my tender skin. His hips piston unrelentingly, fucking me like he wants to drive out his demons by possessing me.
It sets me on fire. My panties cover up my screams as he drives me closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm. Gray makes me experience things that I’ve never felt with anyone else. He makes me so mad. So freaking angry I could wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. And he makes me so hot the flames lick up inside me, eating me alive.
My orgasm pounds through me. My inner walls spasm with every punishing stroke.
“That’s it.” Grunting, he thrusts into me one more time as he comes. “My dirty, sweet girl.”
“Mmnnuughphh.” Damn it. I forgot about my panties, and I need to catch my breath.
He hooks his fingers between my lips and tugs the lace free.
“Not yours. Not your anything.” It hurts that I’ll never be, especially when he says things like that. It’s confusing.
“You’re not going to be Everett Mann’s girlfriend.” He pants against my collarbone.
“You can’t stop me. You don’t get a say in who I see or date,” I exhale the words as I push at him. My break must be up, which means any second Vicki is going to come looking for me. “Put me down.”
“He has a type.” Gray keeps me pinned between him and the bricks. “Women who don’t understand that it’s all a game to him. Trust me on this. He’s a player, Ri—”
“America, can you finish, oh…” Vicki gapes as she notices the not safe for work position Gray and I are in. “Lucky bitch.”
“Vicki.” My face grows hot as Gray does his best to shelter me from view.
“Break time is over.” She turns and flounces back inside.
“Shit.” That was awkward.
“Fuck.” Gray shakes his head as he slips out of me. He lowers me to my feet then tucks himself back into his pants and buttons his fly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen. Will you get in trouble?”
“Vicki is cool.” I smooth out my uniform, regretting my new lack of panties as I start to leak. She’s unlikely to report me to the owner. At least not for one indiscretion. “But this can’t happen again. Don’t come to my work. Don’t call me.”
He grabs my elbow as I turn to walk back inside. “About Mann. You’re confident and sweet and you believe everyone is on the level, but you have shitty fucking taste when it comes to boyfriends.” He hesitates. “Men.”
“What does that say about you?”
“Nothing that I probably don’t deserve,” he says.
“America,” Vicki calls out to me. “Move your bleeping arse.”
“Rica, tell me you won’t—”
I yank my arm free. “You have no say, Gray. You’re not entitled to an opinion on what I do with my life.”
“I’m looking out for you. As your friend I am asking you—”
“I should have spit on your Danish,” I snarl at him before I storm back inside the cafe. “No. No. I should have given you the jelly slice. It has a whole layer of Jell-O, Gray.”
He blanches and then turns green. He hates Jell-O beyond any reasonable kind of hate.
He tries to follow after me. “Rica—”
“Maldito mamón.” I shut the door in his face and fight my way out of my coat. Where does he get off trying to control who I like and who I see? And what the hell is with shortening my name all of a sudden?
I shove my coat on a hook.
It makes it sound like we’re more intimate than we are. Than we’ve ever been.
My jacket falls on the linoleum.
“Merde.” I sigh as I pick it up and put it back more gently and purposefully. We used to be friends.
He picked me up from school every day for a whole year though it was out of his way, to make sure those boys he found harassing me didn’t have another chance to get me alone.
He brought me soup and medicine when I caught mono in senior year. Spent an entire weekend playing Mario Kart and quizzing me for my Latin exam.
He checked in every week while I was working on my degree, and we’d talk about everything from how stressful exams were to the meaning of the Voynich manuscript; a document in an unknown language from the fifteenth century that the best cryptographers haven’t been able to decipher.
That’s not something people know about. He put time and effort into being able to discuss it with me. He made it feel like I was important to him.
My harmless crush developed into something more because of that friendship. I didn’t mean for my affections to grow stronger and stronger, but how could they not? I’m almost certain his currently being an asshole comes from a good place too. Though I don’t need him to be in my business, and I don’t appreciate it.
I take off my apron and grab a fresh one—no one needs to see that crumpled mess—then get back to work, staffing the coffee machine while Vicki takes the next order.
“Your new beau is a looker, isn’t he?” Vicki says when we have a break between customers. “Pretty good with those hips, I bet.”
She thrusts a couple times in my direction. “How do you have all these men falling all over you? That soccer player from the Cardinals. This American boy. What does a woman have to do to get some action like that? Sacrifice a goat?”
“He’s a friend,” I say. “That’s all.”
“Friends don’t beg forgiveness like he did. They also don’t fuck like that.” She taps a chipped pink nail against her chin. “Do they? If they do, then I think I need to make new friends because it’s been a while since anyone has stuck it to me. Or in me for that matter.”
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“If you say so.” She grins widely and then bustles toward the back. Stopping in the doorway she adds, “Oh. Your chap, the distinguished looking one with the glasses and the beard. He was in, asking about you.”
I grow sickeningly overheated from my toes to the roots of my hair. I start to tap, counting up and down my fingertips over and over. It’s been weeks since the last time he came in. I figured he’d gone back to his wife or moved on by now. I still need to unenroll from school, but I’ve been avoiding it. And him. “Did he… leave a message?”
“Said he’d be by again another time.” She looks suspicious. “Is he bothering you?”
I hate that Gray has a point about my taste in men. Taste that includes him too. So much so my heart leaps every time he touches me, despite the fact that he is being an asshole.
“Nothing that I can’t handle.”
Chapter Eleven - America
I’m exhausted and my feet ache. There were a couple of boys, late teens, on the train who kept leering at me and then joking to each other about all the dirty things they’d like to do to my body.
Now I’m grumpy too.
Not that it’s anything I haven’t heard before. For as long as I can remember I’ve put up with looks and snide comments about my appearance. In my teen years a lot of those comments became sexual in nature. I developed earlier than other girls, before boys my age learned any kind of tact.
I’m very fuckable. That’s one I overhear a lot.
Women like to sneer and suggest that I should put my boobs away. Like maybe if I just hide them I wouldn’t get so much male attention. But how much clothing must I wear to get the coverage they desire?
They don’t understand that I don’t want the catcalls. Or the ‘you look like Zendaya only not as hot’ comments that are often followed by… ‘If I squint just right while I fuck her, I could pretend it really was her, just with bigger tits.’
Perhaps that’s why my taste in men is so shitty. I just want someone who sees me for who I really am. Sees past my breasts, and my ass, and my passing resemblance to a gorgeous actress.
Gray was the first guy to do that who wasn’t a relative.
I hold my umbrella in one hand, my purse and the bags with the curry and gin in the other, as I hop puddles in my hurry to get home.
My phone rings as I pass the garden gate. It’s a tiny courtyard that we share with our neighbors. Mrs. Coleman grows tomatoes out here. And Mr. Banjo, the friendly tuxedo cat that lives three doors down can often be found sunning himself on the small workbench.
I manage to juggle my phone out of my pocket and cradle it between my shoulder and ear without dropping anything or skewing the umbrella. “Hey.”
“Oh my God, I caught you.” Indy’s excited voice pipes through the speaker. “It feels like we haven’t had a chance to speak in weeks.”
“Sorry.” Guilt washes over me.
We’ve both been busy these past couple months. Normally we call each other a few times a week. But I’ve been missing her calls more often. I don’t want to say on purpose, but definitely to avoid having a conversation.
She doesn’t know that I’m not going to school anymore. She doesn’t know that I’ve been fucking Gray behind her back.
They’re over. She moved on. She has Theo.
But she’s still broken up about how things ended with Gray. Her heart might have found Theo, but it hasn’t forgotten how much she cared for Gray.
“It’s fine. We’re both so busy these days. But I’m glad I caught you. I hate that you’re so far away. It’s not the same without you and…”
“Gray,” I say.
“Have you heard from him? EJ said he saw you in Positano. And I know he was there with Gray. But you never said anything about it.”
“I saw him.” Flirted with him. Fucked him. And again last night. And this morning. I regret it so goddamn much. So sorry. Can you ever forgive me?
I put the umbrella down to open the flat door. It’s warm inside, the lights on. Dove is singing in the bathroom.
“Is he doing okay?” she asks. “EJ won’t tell me anything, but I just need to know… I’m worried about him. Has he moved on? Or at least having fun? I just wish we could be friends again.”
What we’ve been doing can hardly be called fun. I close the umbrella and put it away. And them becoming friends… that seems as likely as him falling in love with me. “I saw him.”
“And?”
“He looked good, I guess. I think he was having fun.” I dump the bags on the kitchen counter and start unpacking them. She doesn’t need to know the details of that fun or how he told EJ that he’s still heartbroken over her. That will help no one.
“You guess?”
“Well, I was kind of busy.”
“Oh.” Her voice lights up. “You have a new guy, don’t you? Someone you met on your vacation? Is he local? Are you dating? Is that why you’ve been so quiet lately?”
“Hang on.” I take off my jacket and hang it up. I can tell her about Everett. Get her opinion. Maybe it’s time I tell her about school. We don’t need to talk about Gray.
I set the phone up against the portable speaker on the counter then put her on video call.
She’s put on healthy weight. Her hair is short and tipped with blue. She looks much better these days. Seeing her like this makes me so happy I can barely hold back tears. I’m so glad we didn’t lose her.
Her eyes widen and her lips curve. “Is that a hickey?”
“What? Where?” I peer at the small image of me in the corner of the screen. Oh my God, that was not there this morning. Gray gave me a hickey. It’s only a small bruise, but it’s dark. How did I not notice that earlier? The asshole bit me and I’ve been completely oblivious all day.
If I’d planned to see Everett tonight he would have noticed it straight away. The asshole marked me so that I wouldn’t want to see Everett… is that… is he fucking kidding?
And why does that make me all giddy? It’s not cute.
“Curry. Yum. That smells delicious.” Dove comes in, her platinum hair piled high in a bun on her head. The bruising around her eye is much less obvious with all the makeup hiding it. “I’m right starving.”
“Dove!” Indy calls my flatmate's name with delight. “Did you see this bitch has a hickey?”
Dove’s gaze shoots straight to my neck. “Is that—”
I shoot her a look to shut up before she asks me which dick it was. “He must have done it last night. I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“Well, he is a sneaky bastard.” Dove disappears into the fridge and comes up with a bottle of tonic water. “You did get the gin?”
“Of course.” I slide the bottle toward her. It must be all the practice but her G and T’s always taste better than mine. And of course I haven’t told her about Gray showing up at the coffee shop this morning.
“Does this he have a name?” Indy asks. “And can I join in on this girl’s night. Theo just left for work.”
“It’s so new. I’m not ready to make it a thing,” I say.
“The more the merrier.” Dove splashes tonic on top of the gin. “But I have an Uber coming for me in about an hour.”
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
“The label found this place in the countryside. Nathan wants me to spend the weekend there getting track three right. No distractions.”
“Nathan’s a twat.” When Indy raises both eyebrows, I explain, “He’s the worst of the worst.”
“Don’t I know it?” Dove sounds defeated as she touches the corner of her eye and winces. “But I do what I do for love. And because I am this close to having this album finished.”
“She doesn’t love Nathan,” I clarify for Indy.
“I most definitely do not.” She sips her drink. “The man could step in front of a city bus. And I really mean should. I’m in it for the music. That’s what’s important.”
Which is why I don’t get why she puts up with him.
“So back to your he,” Indy says while she raids a casserole dish of her mom’s macaroni—well, what’s left of it anyway—and Dove and I settle on the couch with our drinks and the fragrant tikka masala. “I’m going to need more details. Is he cute? Can he hold a conversation or is it all about the gymnastics? Have we got to the gymnastics? Have you met him, Dove?”
“Um. Okay.” I put my fork back in my bowl. “How am I supposed to eat with you prattling questions at me like this?”
“I have more,” Indy says while the microwave whirs behind her.
“He’s ridiculously peng,” Dove says.
Indy’s brow furrows as she marinates over what Dove said before finally admitting, “I don’t know what that means.”
“He’s attractive, babes.” She laughs. “Ridiculously so.”
I glance at her, uncertain which he we’re talking about. She’s met both, though it’s been months since she saw Gray. Both men are attractive in their own way. Only one of them drives me batshit crazy.
“All blue eyes and snoggable mouth.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. Definitely talking about Gray, not Everett.
“Tell me more,” Indy says.
“I don’t know what to say.” I can’t talk to Indy about Gray. I just can’t. Even if she knows him best. Might even understand what the hell is going on with him and have advice about what I should do. It’s wrong and it’s weird. “I think we’re just fucking around.”
“So there’s definite gymnastics then.” Indy grins as she settles on her sectional with her cowgirl boots still on. “Not just hickeys.”
“I don’t think he’s right for me. I think I’m going to end it.” I dig my fork through the chicken, no longer hungry or finding the smell appealing.
“How come?” Indy asks.
Because he’s your ex and every interaction we have is painful because of you. No, that’s not all it is. It’s unfair to blame her when I’m the one that was in love with her fiancé, and he’s the one that keeps telling me what we can’t be and then misleading me with his actions. “He’s hot and cold. It’s confusing. You know me. I always want things to be light and fun. But that’s not what this is.”
“Maybe because it’s real,” Indy says.
“If it was real he wouldn’t tell me we can’t be together and then fuck me up against the wall outside work while telling me I can’t date another man.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s clear that I have when both of my friends gape at me. “Forget I said that.”
“I don’t think so,” Indy says.
Dove covers her mouth and then drops her hand to her lap. “Bollocks.”
“He sounds into you. Possessive might even be the word I would use to describe that,” Indy says. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. Could that be his problem?”
Oh, he knows. He was in one for eight years.
“Or maybe he’s confused. Or scared,” she continues.
“We do not need to diagnose his problem.” I clamber off the couch. She’s oblivious and trying to help and I feel like the worst kind of friend.
“I just know that Theo was doing everything he could to avoid emotional attachment when we met,” Indy says. “It crept up on him, just like it crept up on me. But once we were in the thick of it—”
“It’s not the same,” I say, taking my bowl to the kitchen. I can’t have this conversation. I need a minute.
Dove jumps in my spot, hovering closer to the screen as EJ’s voice comes through the speaker. “Hey, sis. Any more of Mom’s mac left?”
He must have popped over to check on Indy while on his lunch break.
“Yeah. I think if you scrape the sides of the dish there’s probably enough for your lunch,” Indy’s voice is full of affection.
“Who are you talking to?” he asks, and it’s followed with a rather loud thump from my living room.
Dove is on the floor behind the coffee table when I come back. Hiding?
“America. We’re having girls’ night. Her friend Dove is hanging out with us too,” Indy says, completely oblivious about everything that happened in Positano.
He grumbles something indecipherable. “Say hi to America for me.”
“You heard him?” she asks.
“Hey EJ,” I say back, but he’s disappeared from frame.
“I need to get my bags,” Dove climbs to her feet and sprints across the living room. “Uber should be here in a few minutes.”
“It was great chatting with you,” Indy tells her. “Catch up soon?”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure.” Dove vanishes into her bedroom. When she comes out, she has her little suitcase and coat. “Debrief when I get back, yeah?”
“Yes.” She and EJ couldn’t get enough of each other. Now they’re… whatever the hell that was. What the hell happened when we left Positano? I want to know.
“This guy…” Indy says as Dove leaves.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Tell me about that tattoo on your wrist. That’s new, isn’t it?”
“This one?” She lifts her arm to show me the circle. “It’s an ouroboros. Snake eating its tail. Circle of life. It felt more fitting than an eternity symbol. But I might get one of those too.”
“I like it. Did Theo ink it?”
“Yes.” She smiles, lighting up from the inside out.
She’s still sad about Gray, but she loves Theo. He’s her whole world. I love that for her. She did the right thing for her even when it hurt like hell.
I want to be that brave. I want to feel that happy. I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me.
“You look sad,” Indy says. “I worry about you. Is school going okay? Is there anything I can do? Maybe I should come visit.”
“No. You’re still in the honeymoon phase with Theo and you’re barely recovered. Can you even drive yet?”
“I don’t need to drive to come see you,” she argues.
“I’m okay.” I cross my heart. “Just tired. I worked an all day shift at Beans. I’ll be better tomorrow, I promise. Plus, I have so much schoolwork to do. If you came out here, you’d be stuck hanging out on your own while I study.”
I can’t seem to bring myself to admit that I failed. One day soon I will have to quit school and tell my parents—and Indy—but not today.
“At least… let's make girls' night a more regular occurrence. So I can feel like I’m in your life. I’d like to get to know Dove better. I want to hear more about this mysterious he next time though.”
“I’ll tell you all about how I kicked him to the curb.” I laugh.
“I bet you don’t,” she says. “I have a feeling about this one.”
I have a feeling spending any more time with Gray is a bad idea.
Now I’m grumpy too.
Not that it’s anything I haven’t heard before. For as long as I can remember I’ve put up with looks and snide comments about my appearance. In my teen years a lot of those comments became sexual in nature. I developed earlier than other girls, before boys my age learned any kind of tact.
I’m very fuckable. That’s one I overhear a lot.
Women like to sneer and suggest that I should put my boobs away. Like maybe if I just hide them I wouldn’t get so much male attention. But how much clothing must I wear to get the coverage they desire?
They don’t understand that I don’t want the catcalls. Or the ‘you look like Zendaya only not as hot’ comments that are often followed by… ‘If I squint just right while I fuck her, I could pretend it really was her, just with bigger tits.’
Perhaps that’s why my taste in men is so shitty. I just want someone who sees me for who I really am. Sees past my breasts, and my ass, and my passing resemblance to a gorgeous actress.
Gray was the first guy to do that who wasn’t a relative.
I hold my umbrella in one hand, my purse and the bags with the curry and gin in the other, as I hop puddles in my hurry to get home.
My phone rings as I pass the garden gate. It’s a tiny courtyard that we share with our neighbors. Mrs. Coleman grows tomatoes out here. And Mr. Banjo, the friendly tuxedo cat that lives three doors down can often be found sunning himself on the small workbench.
I manage to juggle my phone out of my pocket and cradle it between my shoulder and ear without dropping anything or skewing the umbrella. “Hey.”
“Oh my God, I caught you.” Indy’s excited voice pipes through the speaker. “It feels like we haven’t had a chance to speak in weeks.”
“Sorry.” Guilt washes over me.
We’ve both been busy these past couple months. Normally we call each other a few times a week. But I’ve been missing her calls more often. I don’t want to say on purpose, but definitely to avoid having a conversation.
She doesn’t know that I’m not going to school anymore. She doesn’t know that I’ve been fucking Gray behind her back.
They’re over. She moved on. She has Theo.
But she’s still broken up about how things ended with Gray. Her heart might have found Theo, but it hasn’t forgotten how much she cared for Gray.
“It’s fine. We’re both so busy these days. But I’m glad I caught you. I hate that you’re so far away. It’s not the same without you and…”
“Gray,” I say.
“Have you heard from him? EJ said he saw you in Positano. And I know he was there with Gray. But you never said anything about it.”
“I saw him.” Flirted with him. Fucked him. And again last night. And this morning. I regret it so goddamn much. So sorry. Can you ever forgive me?
I put the umbrella down to open the flat door. It’s warm inside, the lights on. Dove is singing in the bathroom.
“Is he doing okay?” she asks. “EJ won’t tell me anything, but I just need to know… I’m worried about him. Has he moved on? Or at least having fun? I just wish we could be friends again.”
What we’ve been doing can hardly be called fun. I close the umbrella and put it away. And them becoming friends… that seems as likely as him falling in love with me. “I saw him.”
“And?”
“He looked good, I guess. I think he was having fun.” I dump the bags on the kitchen counter and start unpacking them. She doesn’t need to know the details of that fun or how he told EJ that he’s still heartbroken over her. That will help no one.
“You guess?”
“Well, I was kind of busy.”
“Oh.” Her voice lights up. “You have a new guy, don’t you? Someone you met on your vacation? Is he local? Are you dating? Is that why you’ve been so quiet lately?”
“Hang on.” I take off my jacket and hang it up. I can tell her about Everett. Get her opinion. Maybe it’s time I tell her about school. We don’t need to talk about Gray.
I set the phone up against the portable speaker on the counter then put her on video call.
She’s put on healthy weight. Her hair is short and tipped with blue. She looks much better these days. Seeing her like this makes me so happy I can barely hold back tears. I’m so glad we didn’t lose her.
Her eyes widen and her lips curve. “Is that a hickey?”
“What? Where?” I peer at the small image of me in the corner of the screen. Oh my God, that was not there this morning. Gray gave me a hickey. It’s only a small bruise, but it’s dark. How did I not notice that earlier? The asshole bit me and I’ve been completely oblivious all day.
If I’d planned to see Everett tonight he would have noticed it straight away. The asshole marked me so that I wouldn’t want to see Everett… is that… is he fucking kidding?
And why does that make me all giddy? It’s not cute.
“Curry. Yum. That smells delicious.” Dove comes in, her platinum hair piled high in a bun on her head. The bruising around her eye is much less obvious with all the makeup hiding it. “I’m right starving.”
“Dove!” Indy calls my flatmate's name with delight. “Did you see this bitch has a hickey?”
Dove’s gaze shoots straight to my neck. “Is that—”
I shoot her a look to shut up before she asks me which dick it was. “He must have done it last night. I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“Well, he is a sneaky bastard.” Dove disappears into the fridge and comes up with a bottle of tonic water. “You did get the gin?”
“Of course.” I slide the bottle toward her. It must be all the practice but her G and T’s always taste better than mine. And of course I haven’t told her about Gray showing up at the coffee shop this morning.
“Does this he have a name?” Indy asks. “And can I join in on this girl’s night. Theo just left for work.”
“It’s so new. I’m not ready to make it a thing,” I say.
“The more the merrier.” Dove splashes tonic on top of the gin. “But I have an Uber coming for me in about an hour.”
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
“The label found this place in the countryside. Nathan wants me to spend the weekend there getting track three right. No distractions.”
“Nathan’s a twat.” When Indy raises both eyebrows, I explain, “He’s the worst of the worst.”
“Don’t I know it?” Dove sounds defeated as she touches the corner of her eye and winces. “But I do what I do for love. And because I am this close to having this album finished.”
“She doesn’t love Nathan,” I clarify for Indy.
“I most definitely do not.” She sips her drink. “The man could step in front of a city bus. And I really mean should. I’m in it for the music. That’s what’s important.”
Which is why I don’t get why she puts up with him.
“So back to your he,” Indy says while she raids a casserole dish of her mom’s macaroni—well, what’s left of it anyway—and Dove and I settle on the couch with our drinks and the fragrant tikka masala. “I’m going to need more details. Is he cute? Can he hold a conversation or is it all about the gymnastics? Have we got to the gymnastics? Have you met him, Dove?”
“Um. Okay.” I put my fork back in my bowl. “How am I supposed to eat with you prattling questions at me like this?”
“I have more,” Indy says while the microwave whirs behind her.
“He’s ridiculously peng,” Dove says.
Indy’s brow furrows as she marinates over what Dove said before finally admitting, “I don’t know what that means.”
“He’s attractive, babes.” She laughs. “Ridiculously so.”
I glance at her, uncertain which he we’re talking about. She’s met both, though it’s been months since she saw Gray. Both men are attractive in their own way. Only one of them drives me batshit crazy.
“All blue eyes and snoggable mouth.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. Definitely talking about Gray, not Everett.
“Tell me more,” Indy says.
“I don’t know what to say.” I can’t talk to Indy about Gray. I just can’t. Even if she knows him best. Might even understand what the hell is going on with him and have advice about what I should do. It’s wrong and it’s weird. “I think we’re just fucking around.”
“So there’s definite gymnastics then.” Indy grins as she settles on her sectional with her cowgirl boots still on. “Not just hickeys.”
“I don’t think he’s right for me. I think I’m going to end it.” I dig my fork through the chicken, no longer hungry or finding the smell appealing.
“How come?” Indy asks.
Because he’s your ex and every interaction we have is painful because of you. No, that’s not all it is. It’s unfair to blame her when I’m the one that was in love with her fiancé, and he’s the one that keeps telling me what we can’t be and then misleading me with his actions. “He’s hot and cold. It’s confusing. You know me. I always want things to be light and fun. But that’s not what this is.”
“Maybe because it’s real,” Indy says.
“If it was real he wouldn’t tell me we can’t be together and then fuck me up against the wall outside work while telling me I can’t date another man.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s clear that I have when both of my friends gape at me. “Forget I said that.”
“I don’t think so,” Indy says.
Dove covers her mouth and then drops her hand to her lap. “Bollocks.”
“He sounds into you. Possessive might even be the word I would use to describe that,” Indy says. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. Could that be his problem?”
Oh, he knows. He was in one for eight years.
“Or maybe he’s confused. Or scared,” she continues.
“We do not need to diagnose his problem.” I clamber off the couch. She’s oblivious and trying to help and I feel like the worst kind of friend.
“I just know that Theo was doing everything he could to avoid emotional attachment when we met,” Indy says. “It crept up on him, just like it crept up on me. But once we were in the thick of it—”
“It’s not the same,” I say, taking my bowl to the kitchen. I can’t have this conversation. I need a minute.
Dove jumps in my spot, hovering closer to the screen as EJ’s voice comes through the speaker. “Hey, sis. Any more of Mom’s mac left?”
He must have popped over to check on Indy while on his lunch break.
“Yeah. I think if you scrape the sides of the dish there’s probably enough for your lunch,” Indy’s voice is full of affection.
“Who are you talking to?” he asks, and it’s followed with a rather loud thump from my living room.
Dove is on the floor behind the coffee table when I come back. Hiding?
“America. We’re having girls’ night. Her friend Dove is hanging out with us too,” Indy says, completely oblivious about everything that happened in Positano.
He grumbles something indecipherable. “Say hi to America for me.”
“You heard him?” she asks.
“Hey EJ,” I say back, but he’s disappeared from frame.
“I need to get my bags,” Dove climbs to her feet and sprints across the living room. “Uber should be here in a few minutes.”
“It was great chatting with you,” Indy tells her. “Catch up soon?”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure.” Dove vanishes into her bedroom. When she comes out, she has her little suitcase and coat. “Debrief when I get back, yeah?”
“Yes.” She and EJ couldn’t get enough of each other. Now they’re… whatever the hell that was. What the hell happened when we left Positano? I want to know.
“This guy…” Indy says as Dove leaves.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Tell me about that tattoo on your wrist. That’s new, isn’t it?”
“This one?” She lifts her arm to show me the circle. “It’s an ouroboros. Snake eating its tail. Circle of life. It felt more fitting than an eternity symbol. But I might get one of those too.”
“I like it. Did Theo ink it?”
“Yes.” She smiles, lighting up from the inside out.
She’s still sad about Gray, but she loves Theo. He’s her whole world. I love that for her. She did the right thing for her even when it hurt like hell.
I want to be that brave. I want to feel that happy. I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me.
“You look sad,” Indy says. “I worry about you. Is school going okay? Is there anything I can do? Maybe I should come visit.”
“No. You’re still in the honeymoon phase with Theo and you’re barely recovered. Can you even drive yet?”
“I don’t need to drive to come see you,” she argues.
“I’m okay.” I cross my heart. “Just tired. I worked an all day shift at Beans. I’ll be better tomorrow, I promise. Plus, I have so much schoolwork to do. If you came out here, you’d be stuck hanging out on your own while I study.”
I can’t seem to bring myself to admit that I failed. One day soon I will have to quit school and tell my parents—and Indy—but not today.
“At least… let's make girls' night a more regular occurrence. So I can feel like I’m in your life. I’d like to get to know Dove better. I want to hear more about this mysterious he next time though.”
“I’ll tell you all about how I kicked him to the curb.” I laugh.
“I bet you don’t,” she says. “I have a feeling about this one.”
I have a feeling spending any more time with Gray is a bad idea.
Chapter Twelve - Gray
I study the shelf of old volumes in front of me. Some of them America already has. I see their spines in her bookshelves in the dorm at U of C clearly in my mind. She never opened her rare books. She learns language by ear in a way that feels like a magic trick, but those books were her most treasured possessions. I’m betting they still are.
There has to be at least one that she doesn’t have yet, surely.
“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” The storekeeper is a sweet, older lady with her spectacles hanging on a gold chain around her neck and hair whiter than snow. “Perhaps I can help.”
“I’m hoping to find something for my friend.” I turn away from the shelf as someone comes into the shop. The man glances around as if looking for someone then disappears behind the same bookshelf we’re studying. For a second I’d expected it to be America.
The book idea is a way of apologizing for my screwing up again.
Or perhaps I just want an excuse to see her again.
“Sorry, what?” I ask the woman when she appears to be waiting for a response. These thoughts about America need to get out of my brain. We’re friends. I want to be there for her. I want to protect her from people like that professor. And Mann.
I’ve done my due diligence to make sure Everett Mann is the kind of player All-Star wants to sign. All the talk around him and every article about him tells me he’s a good athlete with no drug or alcohol dependencies. He’s exactly the player the agency wants, but he’s also a player off the soccer field as well.
As an agent that doesn’t bother me. As America’s friend it does.
Because I want her.
No, I want the way she makes me feel. The way she pushes Indy out of my head. It’s not the same thing at all. Any pussy could do that. It absolutely shouldn’t be America’s.
It’s the weekend. Perhaps I can talk Mann into going out with me. Schmooze him a little more while I find someone to fuck who isn’t America. I don’t have to like the guy to work with him. Or to keep him away from her. And if he happens to prove he’s the player I think he is then I can handle that without him hurting her.
“Is there a particular language she’s interested in?”
“Latin.” She loves to hate it. Complains about how important it is historically, and how bad she is at it.
“You could try this one.” The woman carefully starts to pull a book from the shelf.
“She has that one. Actually she has most of these.”
We spend another ten minutes trying to find a book that I don’t think she owns. Until the man who entered earlier suggests a book that he was going to buy for a girl he was seeing who also has a love-hate relationship with archaic Latin.
He leaves while the storekeeper wraps the special edition carefully in tissue paper.
While I tap my card, she puts the gift in a bag for me. “I hope she likes it.”
“Me too.” I have to get her to talk to me first, and since she doesn’t answer my calls or messages, and she isn’t at work—I stopped in and grabbed a coffee before I came here—that seems improbable anytime soon. But I’m hopeful.
A little too hopeful.
I’ll give her the rest of the weekend to cool down and then I’ll show up at the coffee shop every day until I catch her during a shift. Like a stalker. Great. But what else can I do?
I can’t ask EJ where she lives without having to revisit that awful conversation we had that morning in Positano.
I’m no longer on speaking terms with anyone else in the Jones family. It’s too difficult talking to them since Indy ended us. It doesn’t matter that EJ’s mom and dad were more like parents to me, when my actual parents didn’t even notice whether I came home after school. They were too busy fighting and fucking each other over.
And as much as I would love to rub the fact that I’m not pining over her in Indy’s face—even though thinking about her still hurts like a bitch—I can’t throw America under the bus like that. Especially when it would be a lie. When the real reason the idea of calling Indy crossed my mind is because I want to hear that she regrets what she did. That she misses me as much as I miss her.
Does she ever wake up next to him and think about waking up with me? The way I still wake up thinking about all the mornings we made love before the alarm clock went off. Is she joined by my ghost every morning over coffee and toast? Does she smell my body wash when she climbs out of the shower?
It’s pathetic. The hold she still has on me when she let us go so easily. I need to move on. Not with America. With someone else.
I’ll take her the book. Get us back on solid footing as friends. Back to the way we were and should be.
Carrying the little bag with the heavy book, I make my way outside. It’s overcast, but the sun breaks through in places. Much better than yesterday.
A group of women in activewear exit a building. They carry gym bags on their shoulders and phones in their hands. They talk boisterously to one another as they part ways.
Braids all tucked up in a scarf. Bright little beads poking out. A Chicago Bears jacket that she’s pulling the zipper up on. “America?”
“America,” another masculine voice drowns mine out as the other women disperse.
She glances in the direction the other voice came from. Her fingers freeze mid-pull on her zipper.
The man from the bookshop walks across the road toward her. “I need to talk to you.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk to you, Alfie.”
“I miss you. You’re not coming to my lectures anymore.” He doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that she is backing away from him. “I know I should have told you about her.”
“She’s your wife.” Rica wraps a hand around her throat as she continues to back up.
“I’ll leave her.” He reaches for her. “Divorce her. I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Rica, sweetheart.” I call out as her muscles lock up and she gets that deer in the headlights look. The hand at her side contorts as she starts stimming without realizing. She always does that in high-stress situations.
I let my gaze run over her appreciatively—especially noting the relief that fills her expression and smooths her shoulders down from her ears—and then turn my cold gaze on him.
Guys get the wrong idea about Rica. They think because of the way she looks she wants this kind of attention. They think because she’s sensitive and doesn’t want to upset anyone that she hasn’t spent her entire life cultivating—or at least trying to—the ability to fit in without upsetting anyone. They don’t realize the alarm they can cause her.
I’ve been around long enough to know her better than that. I didn’t at first, but then EJ and I did the research to understand her better when she got her ASD diagnosis.
He wanted to make sure that his pseudo little sister felt as cared for as his real sister, and it seemed like a good idea, so I did it too.
America is neurodivergent. And she’s beautiful. People, especially men, assume because she’s beautiful that she understands the social games between the sexes. That’s not the case most of the time.
She makes friends and they think that she’s flirting. She likes someone even a little and they think she’s obsessed. And she doesn’t really get why they see her that way.
While her intelligence puts almost everyone she knows to shame, especially when it comes to languages, she has an innocence when it comes to men that make them think they can use her to feel good about themselves. They don’t see that it costs her.
Another reason why I need to make amends and then make sure we don’t end up in the same predicament again. I don’t want to be one of those assholes. Not to her.
“Babe.” She smiles and slips into my arms when I open them for her. She grabs my face with both hands and presses up on tiptoe to suck on my bottom lip, playing up this pretense that we’re in a relationship. “I thought I was going to have to call you and remind you to pick me up for a minute.”
Her lips are soft and sweet. Slightly glossed with coconut lip balm. When she starts to pull away, I seek out another taste before I can remind myself. Tightening my arms around her waist, I focus on the man who helped me pick out a book he was obviously thinking about buying for her.
He has a full head of dark hair and a mouthful of bright, white teeth. He probably gets a lot of attention from coeds who think he’s intelligent and distinguished.
“Does your wife know how you like to spend your Friday mornings? Stalking a student you’ve apparently become obsessed with?” I would love to give him a few gaps in those perfect pearls. “It wasn’t enough to make Rica give up on her doctorate?”
His eyes widen and fill with animosity. “I don’t know what she’s told you, but—”
“She’s barely told me anything about you,” I say. “You’re not a topic of conversation we’ve had more than once. But I knew Rica ten years before we got together so I know enough to fill in the gaps about you.”
“Your girlfriend is a frigid bitch.”
She sucks in a pained breath, her body turning stone like. I feel the way those words hurt her. It’s like he reached deep into her psyche and pulled up a memory from the hardest year of her life.
Did she tell him about those asshole boys who wouldn’t leave her alone? Did she trust him with that? Because only an absolute prick would knowingly throw that in her face.
I lunge, my fist impacting his mouth hard enough to split his lip and leave his teeth printed on my knuckles. It’s no sucker punch. He saw it coming.
“Gray.” America gasps as she grabs at my jacket.
I shake out my fist. It fucking hurts. I don’t get into altercations often enough to have built up any kind of tolerance.
“When your wife asks why you have a split lip, you can explain to her how you like to fuck coeds in exchange for good grades. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
“Come on, Gray.” Rica tugs on me. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ve got you.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder as we leave him holding his face. “No matter how angry you are at me, or how awkward things are between us, I’ve got you. If that prick bothers you again, you tell me… I’ll come get you.”
She hugs me when I open the door of my rental car for her. “How does one thank a fake boyfriend?”
The way she’s staring up at me… It’s easy to imagine those eyes locked on me as I go to my knees in front of her. Her fingers curling in my hair as I pull her panties to the side so I can kiss and lick and suck.
My mouth waters. I did not spend enough time with my mouth on her pussy that night in Positano. I want to spit on it. Use my fingers to rub it in. See how many digits she can take while I bite her clit. Stroke her G-spot and make her moan while I eat her up.
“Gray?” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and lets it pop free. Her voice is husky so maybe she can tell where my mind has gone.
“I don’t need you to thank me, Rica.” I assist her into the car and adjust myself tactfully before climbing in on the other side. Dropping the bag on the backseat, I start the engine. “What really happened with that guy?”
She twists her hands together in her lap. “I already told you.”
He was acting like a creep. Ignoring any hint of a boundary. “Try again.”
“It’s my own fault really.” She stares me in the eye in that glassy way she does when she’s putting up her defenses. “I make bad choices sometimes. He was definitely one of them.”
I reach for her hand. “Rica. It wasn’t—”
“It’s so yesterday.” She smiles. “I can’t believe you punched him.”
As much as I’d like to push her, I know that won’t get me anywhere. She’ll just clam up and close down. Or she’ll tell me what she thinks I need to hear to let it go. As far as coping mechanisms go it’s not my favorite. I’d rather she get loud and angry. But she’s spent her entire life trying to fit in. That comes at a cost.
I thought that I found my footing with Indy. But I was so wrong. I’m still paying for it.
I take a breath and let my frustration go. There is no point in pushing her “If it’s okay with you, I would like it if we could declare a truce. And maybe I can take you to lunch?”
“I need a shower first.” She tugs at her sports bra. “An hour in the silks and I am a sweaty, stinky mess.”
“Hardly.” But I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to find out where she lives. “What’s your address?”
There has to be at least one that she doesn’t have yet, surely.
“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” The storekeeper is a sweet, older lady with her spectacles hanging on a gold chain around her neck and hair whiter than snow. “Perhaps I can help.”
“I’m hoping to find something for my friend.” I turn away from the shelf as someone comes into the shop. The man glances around as if looking for someone then disappears behind the same bookshelf we’re studying. For a second I’d expected it to be America.
The book idea is a way of apologizing for my screwing up again.
Or perhaps I just want an excuse to see her again.
“Sorry, what?” I ask the woman when she appears to be waiting for a response. These thoughts about America need to get out of my brain. We’re friends. I want to be there for her. I want to protect her from people like that professor. And Mann.
I’ve done my due diligence to make sure Everett Mann is the kind of player All-Star wants to sign. All the talk around him and every article about him tells me he’s a good athlete with no drug or alcohol dependencies. He’s exactly the player the agency wants, but he’s also a player off the soccer field as well.
As an agent that doesn’t bother me. As America’s friend it does.
Because I want her.
No, I want the way she makes me feel. The way she pushes Indy out of my head. It’s not the same thing at all. Any pussy could do that. It absolutely shouldn’t be America’s.
It’s the weekend. Perhaps I can talk Mann into going out with me. Schmooze him a little more while I find someone to fuck who isn’t America. I don’t have to like the guy to work with him. Or to keep him away from her. And if he happens to prove he’s the player I think he is then I can handle that without him hurting her.
“Is there a particular language she’s interested in?”
“Latin.” She loves to hate it. Complains about how important it is historically, and how bad she is at it.
“You could try this one.” The woman carefully starts to pull a book from the shelf.
“She has that one. Actually she has most of these.”
We spend another ten minutes trying to find a book that I don’t think she owns. Until the man who entered earlier suggests a book that he was going to buy for a girl he was seeing who also has a love-hate relationship with archaic Latin.
He leaves while the storekeeper wraps the special edition carefully in tissue paper.
While I tap my card, she puts the gift in a bag for me. “I hope she likes it.”
“Me too.” I have to get her to talk to me first, and since she doesn’t answer my calls or messages, and she isn’t at work—I stopped in and grabbed a coffee before I came here—that seems improbable anytime soon. But I’m hopeful.
A little too hopeful.
I’ll give her the rest of the weekend to cool down and then I’ll show up at the coffee shop every day until I catch her during a shift. Like a stalker. Great. But what else can I do?
I can’t ask EJ where she lives without having to revisit that awful conversation we had that morning in Positano.
I’m no longer on speaking terms with anyone else in the Jones family. It’s too difficult talking to them since Indy ended us. It doesn’t matter that EJ’s mom and dad were more like parents to me, when my actual parents didn’t even notice whether I came home after school. They were too busy fighting and fucking each other over.
And as much as I would love to rub the fact that I’m not pining over her in Indy’s face—even though thinking about her still hurts like a bitch—I can’t throw America under the bus like that. Especially when it would be a lie. When the real reason the idea of calling Indy crossed my mind is because I want to hear that she regrets what she did. That she misses me as much as I miss her.
Does she ever wake up next to him and think about waking up with me? The way I still wake up thinking about all the mornings we made love before the alarm clock went off. Is she joined by my ghost every morning over coffee and toast? Does she smell my body wash when she climbs out of the shower?
It’s pathetic. The hold she still has on me when she let us go so easily. I need to move on. Not with America. With someone else.
I’ll take her the book. Get us back on solid footing as friends. Back to the way we were and should be.
Carrying the little bag with the heavy book, I make my way outside. It’s overcast, but the sun breaks through in places. Much better than yesterday.
A group of women in activewear exit a building. They carry gym bags on their shoulders and phones in their hands. They talk boisterously to one another as they part ways.
Braids all tucked up in a scarf. Bright little beads poking out. A Chicago Bears jacket that she’s pulling the zipper up on. “America?”
“America,” another masculine voice drowns mine out as the other women disperse.
She glances in the direction the other voice came from. Her fingers freeze mid-pull on her zipper.
The man from the bookshop walks across the road toward her. “I need to talk to you.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk to you, Alfie.”
“I miss you. You’re not coming to my lectures anymore.” He doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that she is backing away from him. “I know I should have told you about her.”
“She’s your wife.” Rica wraps a hand around her throat as she continues to back up.
“I’ll leave her.” He reaches for her. “Divorce her. I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Rica, sweetheart.” I call out as her muscles lock up and she gets that deer in the headlights look. The hand at her side contorts as she starts stimming without realizing. She always does that in high-stress situations.
I let my gaze run over her appreciatively—especially noting the relief that fills her expression and smooths her shoulders down from her ears—and then turn my cold gaze on him.
Guys get the wrong idea about Rica. They think because of the way she looks she wants this kind of attention. They think because she’s sensitive and doesn’t want to upset anyone that she hasn’t spent her entire life cultivating—or at least trying to—the ability to fit in without upsetting anyone. They don’t realize the alarm they can cause her.
I’ve been around long enough to know her better than that. I didn’t at first, but then EJ and I did the research to understand her better when she got her ASD diagnosis.
He wanted to make sure that his pseudo little sister felt as cared for as his real sister, and it seemed like a good idea, so I did it too.
America is neurodivergent. And she’s beautiful. People, especially men, assume because she’s beautiful that she understands the social games between the sexes. That’s not the case most of the time.
She makes friends and they think that she’s flirting. She likes someone even a little and they think she’s obsessed. And she doesn’t really get why they see her that way.
While her intelligence puts almost everyone she knows to shame, especially when it comes to languages, she has an innocence when it comes to men that make them think they can use her to feel good about themselves. They don’t see that it costs her.
Another reason why I need to make amends and then make sure we don’t end up in the same predicament again. I don’t want to be one of those assholes. Not to her.
“Babe.” She smiles and slips into my arms when I open them for her. She grabs my face with both hands and presses up on tiptoe to suck on my bottom lip, playing up this pretense that we’re in a relationship. “I thought I was going to have to call you and remind you to pick me up for a minute.”
Her lips are soft and sweet. Slightly glossed with coconut lip balm. When she starts to pull away, I seek out another taste before I can remind myself. Tightening my arms around her waist, I focus on the man who helped me pick out a book he was obviously thinking about buying for her.
He has a full head of dark hair and a mouthful of bright, white teeth. He probably gets a lot of attention from coeds who think he’s intelligent and distinguished.
“Does your wife know how you like to spend your Friday mornings? Stalking a student you’ve apparently become obsessed with?” I would love to give him a few gaps in those perfect pearls. “It wasn’t enough to make Rica give up on her doctorate?”
His eyes widen and fill with animosity. “I don’t know what she’s told you, but—”
“She’s barely told me anything about you,” I say. “You’re not a topic of conversation we’ve had more than once. But I knew Rica ten years before we got together so I know enough to fill in the gaps about you.”
“Your girlfriend is a frigid bitch.”
She sucks in a pained breath, her body turning stone like. I feel the way those words hurt her. It’s like he reached deep into her psyche and pulled up a memory from the hardest year of her life.
Did she tell him about those asshole boys who wouldn’t leave her alone? Did she trust him with that? Because only an absolute prick would knowingly throw that in her face.
I lunge, my fist impacting his mouth hard enough to split his lip and leave his teeth printed on my knuckles. It’s no sucker punch. He saw it coming.
“Gray.” America gasps as she grabs at my jacket.
I shake out my fist. It fucking hurts. I don’t get into altercations often enough to have built up any kind of tolerance.
“When your wife asks why you have a split lip, you can explain to her how you like to fuck coeds in exchange for good grades. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
“Come on, Gray.” Rica tugs on me. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ve got you.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder as we leave him holding his face. “No matter how angry you are at me, or how awkward things are between us, I’ve got you. If that prick bothers you again, you tell me… I’ll come get you.”
She hugs me when I open the door of my rental car for her. “How does one thank a fake boyfriend?”
The way she’s staring up at me… It’s easy to imagine those eyes locked on me as I go to my knees in front of her. Her fingers curling in my hair as I pull her panties to the side so I can kiss and lick and suck.
My mouth waters. I did not spend enough time with my mouth on her pussy that night in Positano. I want to spit on it. Use my fingers to rub it in. See how many digits she can take while I bite her clit. Stroke her G-spot and make her moan while I eat her up.
“Gray?” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and lets it pop free. Her voice is husky so maybe she can tell where my mind has gone.
“I don’t need you to thank me, Rica.” I assist her into the car and adjust myself tactfully before climbing in on the other side. Dropping the bag on the backseat, I start the engine. “What really happened with that guy?”
She twists her hands together in her lap. “I already told you.”
He was acting like a creep. Ignoring any hint of a boundary. “Try again.”
“It’s my own fault really.” She stares me in the eye in that glassy way she does when she’s putting up her defenses. “I make bad choices sometimes. He was definitely one of them.”
I reach for her hand. “Rica. It wasn’t—”
“It’s so yesterday.” She smiles. “I can’t believe you punched him.”
As much as I’d like to push her, I know that won’t get me anywhere. She’ll just clam up and close down. Or she’ll tell me what she thinks I need to hear to let it go. As far as coping mechanisms go it’s not my favorite. I’d rather she get loud and angry. But she’s spent her entire life trying to fit in. That comes at a cost.
I thought that I found my footing with Indy. But I was so wrong. I’m still paying for it.
I take a breath and let my frustration go. There is no point in pushing her “If it’s okay with you, I would like it if we could declare a truce. And maybe I can take you to lunch?”
“I need a shower first.” She tugs at her sports bra. “An hour in the silks and I am a sweaty, stinky mess.”
“Hardly.” But I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to find out where she lives. “What’s your address?”