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Before I can think of a response to the question that doesn’t involve threatening bodily harm to every man that so much as looks at Sloane, my doorbell rings. Twice. And it’s the second ring, the one following the first one so closely it might as well be one and the same, that has dread swirling in my gut because only one person rings my doorbell that way, and she’s the last person I want to see right now.
Pulling on a pair of gray sweats and a black tank, I leave my shattered phone on my bedroom floor and head back into the living room, turning on the lights as I go. At this time of night, the moonlight mixes with the endless city lights and filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my living room, casting a romantic glow over the entire space. It’s not the vibe I’m going for.
When I pull the front door open, Kristen is holding up a bag of food and wearing a smile that stretches across her face. Even in my sorry state, I can appreciate her beauty – the high cheekbones standing proud against flawless, tawny skin and accented by almond-shaped brown eyes that are always sharp and focused. Once upon a time, I lived to see a smile on her face, but that was before, back when making myself believe I had to live without Sloane was as crucial to my survival as my next breath.
“Kristen,” I say, unable to keep the impatience out of my voice. “How nice of you to drop by completely unannounced.”
She flips her long black hair, that’s always bone straight, over her shoulder with a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “I texted you. You never answered.”
“Because I’m not in the mood to talk.”
I also didn’t get to read your message before I shattered my phone against the wall.
“Most people don’t consider responding to a text message talking.”
I frown at her. Most people don’t take a lack of response as an invitation to come over. Especially not when the person they’re texting called off their friends-with-benefits arrangement weeks ago. Which is exactly what I did after that fucker grabbed Sloane in the club and my hands remembered that nothing compared to the feeling of holding her.
“What do you want, Kris?”
“Can I come in please?” Tears shine in her eyes as she clutches the bag in her hand like a lifeline. “I had a really bad day at work and could use a friend right now.”
Completely unnerved, and unwilling to play a part in shattering another woman today, I take a step back and gesture for her to come in. “Of course.”
She breezes past me, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as I shut and lock the door behind us. I don’t know how I ever let Kristen talk me into being anything other than friends after our three-year relationship ended.
We had a clean breakup, which was a miracle considering things started to deteriorate when she began dropping hints about wanting to get married and have kids in the next two years. I wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea of marriage and a family, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she only wanted those things because she thought she was supposed to have them. Like tying your life to another person and bringing children into the world were just two more things for her to cross off of her checklist of a life.
Nothing about that sounded appealing to me, so I called it quits and hoped in time she would find someone who would give her the things she wanted. Then in early April, about a month after our break-up, she showed up on my doorstep in nothing but a trench coat and proposed a casual arrangement because her career as a defense attorney didn’t leave her time to start something new.
Foolishly, I agreed and inadvertently turned a clean breakup into a minefield of messy expectations and blurred lines.
“I got all of your favorites, so I hope you’re hungry,” Kristen says as she kicks off her heels and leaves them beside my work boots on her way to the kitchen.
I stare at them for a moment, taking in the familiar and domestic image that hints at the life she wanted us to have together. The sight makes my gut wrench because the only person I’ve ever wanted a life like that with is Sloane, even when she was living it with my best friend. Even when I was committed to Kristen and trying my damnedest to love her like I loved Sloane.
Stop. Thinking. About. Her.
Shaking my head to bring my wandering mind back to reality, I focus my attention on the woman in my kitchen, unpacking the Chinese takeout she brought over and moving around with a familiarity that attests to the years we’ve spent together. Something—probably the part of me that feels guilty as hell for stealing years of her life to try and soothe the part of me yearning for the one woman I could never have—softens towards her a little.
“I’m starving,” I say as I join her in the kitchen.
She bumps me with her shoulder as I set out plates for her to slide the food onto. Her eyes are dry now, and her smile is huge while she talks about her day. And even though my heart and mind want to continue to obsess over Sloane, I force myself to focus on the details of Kristen’s stressful new case and the partner offer she’ll get if she wins it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything this bad, Nic.” She peeks up at me through her lashes. “Except for….well, you know.”
“Kris.”
My flat tone has her hands flying up in surrender, but there’s still a suggestive tilt to her lips that tells me she’s not taking me seriously. “I’m sorry! You know how I get when I’m under a lot of stress.”
I set my fork down. “I do, but what I told you on Saturday still stands.”
“You’re no fun anymore, babe.” I bristle at the term of endearment and rise from the table, picking up my half-eaten food and carrying it back to the kitchen. Kris is hot on my trail. “You never even told me why you wanted to end things, Nic. Did you meet someone else?”
“Does it matter?”
She crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. “Yes, it matters.”
I round on her as the irritation from earlier in the day catches fire in my veins. The last thing I want to do is argue with Kristen about our ‘relationship’ when there’s a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. I scrub a rough hand over my face and search for an answer. Even if Sloane hadn’t walked out on me, even if there was a chance we could be something, I wouldn’t tell Kristen because she has a jealous streak a mile long.
