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Chapter 3
My palms were sweating as I pulled up to the address Christian had given me. It was a lonely-looking house set back from the road behind overgrown shrubs. It needed a coat of paint. The sun hadn’t set yet and it looked empty, no cars in the driveway. I felt stupid and nervous going up and knocking on the door.
I called my best friend, Kennedy, who was staying in a hotel with my other bridesmaids. “If anyone asks, I’m with you tonight,” I said after she said hello.
“What? Why?” She sounded salty, and I knew she was still upset with me for throwing up on her the night before.
“I have to do something and I can’t tell anyone what it is.”
There was a long pause. “You’re not going to like do something dangerous, are you?”
“No! Of course not.” I bit my fingernail, then dropped my hand in disgust. I hadn’t bitten my nails since my mother had broken me of the habit at six years old by dipping them in rubbing alcohol. “Why would you even say that?”
“I don’t know, it’s just weird. You don’t normally sneak around and lie.”
She was right. “I just need some fresh air, that’s all,” I said. “The truth is, I bought a six-pack of doughnuts and I don’t want Bradley to see me eating them. He already thinks I’m a mess today since I’m hungover.” That was actually the truth. Well, sort of. I had really bought a dozen doughnuts and they were sitting in a box on the passenger seat next to me, ready to stuff in my face until I couldn’t eat anymore. My mouth watered just thinking about it.
“Oh my God, you’re kidding me, right? You’re not going to be able to fit into your dress.”
“And that’s why I’m sneaking around. My mother will say that a hundred times over the next few days. I don’t want to hear it. I just want some sugar and some fat.” Even as I said it out loud to defer further questions, I felt embarrassed. I had been on a perpetual diet since the age of fifteen. It was so ingrained in me to stay thin I couldn’t even call it a diet anymore. It was just my lifestyle. Beautiful Bella. It’s who I was and I was terrified of what would be left of me if I weren’t striving for perfection anymore.
Right now I felt so wrecked though I had to have a doughnut. The craving was overwhelming. It felt defiant and rebellious. A big screw you to my fiancé for cheating on me. Maybe that didn’t make sense to anyone else, but it did to me. He had cheated on me despite my doing everything in my power to be perfect, so I needed to let go and not be good for just one night. I wanted to give in to my urges, discipline be damned.
“Fair enough. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for my bridesmaids’ brunch.” It was something I had been looking forward to and had carefully planned the world’s most adorable outfit for, but now I was dreading it. “Love you, bestie.”
Kennedy made kiss sounds into the phone and then we hung up. I took a deep breath and stared at the house again. This was such a bad idea. But I never indulged in bad ideas. I was going to own this bitch just this one time. I was six days out from my quarter-of-a-freaking-million-dollar wedding, and my fiancé, who I had thought loved me, was probably a serial cheater.
I opened the car door and grabbed the box of doughnuts and the very large bottle of chardonnay I had purchased on the drive over. I had taken a shower, removed the rest of my acrylics, fixed my hair extensions, and put on a sundress. Originally I had intended to smash on the doughnuts in my car, but that felt too criminal. I wasn’t trying to impress Christian Jordan. He could deal with me eating fried balls of dough.
Thinking his son might be asleep for the night, I texted Christian instead of knocking on the door, so I didn’t wake Camp. When the door swung open I smiled at him, even as my mouth went dry. He was standing there with no shirt on and he was muscular and strong. Tan. Sexy. He had beard stubble, like he’d had a rough day and hadn’t bothered to shave. Which I had to assume he had since he’d spent the night before in jail. Even the dark circles under his eyes only served to make him look more rugged, more manly. He had on jeans, hanging low on his hips, the waistband of his black underwear visible. I swallowed hard when I noticed how carved his abs were and that there seemed to be a V leading down into his pants. I could even see the outline of his cock, pressing against his jeans.
The word “cock,” even in my head, made me blush. I really am a prude. I can’t help it. I don’t mean to be. But sex is…crazy. Intimate. My eyes shot back up to his and he looked amused, like he knew what I had been checking out.
“Hi!” I said, and my voice was high-pitched and overly cheerful. “Thanks for letting me stop by. I brought you doughnuts and wine.” I flipped the lid of the doughnut box open to display an assortment of flavors.
His eyebrows shot up. “Thanks. Come on in.”
He didn’t offer to take anything from me and I struggled to hold the wine and close the lid again. It made me feel flustered. I wasn’t sure I could do this. I wasn’t sure I could ask Christian to teach me how to satisfy my fiancé so I could make him want me again, then dump him.
But I followed Christian into the house. It was small and dark and dated. But when I stepped in and set the wine and the box on the coffee table, I could see it was very clean. I sank onto a plaid couch and glanced around. “Is your son in bed already?”
He nodded. “Just put him down.” Christian was barefoot and he moved past me toward a small kitchen. “I’ll get you a glass.”
“The wine is for you,” I lied.
It was clear he didn’t believe me. “I’m not going to drink since I’m here alone with Camp. But I’ll get you a glass.”
“Oh, well, there’s no point in opening the bottle then,” I said, and yes, I was disappointed.
It must have been obvious, because he reversed his position. “Fine, I’ll have a glass too. Just one though.”
I actually sighed in relief, and I think he was smart enough to notice. Christian returned with two mismatched wineglasses and a corkscrew. The glass he handed me had holly berries etched on it with Mayor’s Ball above the design. It looked like a party favor of some kind.
“Sorry, that’s all my mother has,” he said. “I think she drinks wine out of juice glasses usually. We’re not about appearances here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“This is fine, thank you.” He opened the wine and poured a full glass first for me, then for himself. I took a delicate sip. “Which doughnut would you like? You get first pick.” I turned the box with a flourish. “You seem like a chocolate glaze kind of guy. Or no, I think the bacon one. Do you like bacon?” I pointed to it and smiled at Christian.
