AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I hold her wide-eyed gaze and push ahead. I’m making a mess of this, but at least she’s not weeping about her dog. I give her hand a small squeeze, but I don’t break eye contact. I can see her surprise turn to doubt. She’s wondering if I’m bullshitting her with this sob story, reminiscent of a teen drama, simply to keep her from crying.
“It’s the real deal this time,” I continue, searching for the words I practiced in the limo. “The blackmail.”
Her brow furrows, and I know she’s putting the pieces together. The midnight visit. The suit. She knows I’m not making this up.
So I add the line I practiced on the limo ride up from Manhattan.
“Please, Kayla. I need your help.”
CHAPTER 3
KAYLA
“You made another sex tape?”
The words slip out. I hear the hint of accusation in my tone. In my defense, it’s been a long night. My sweet Luna is hurt. I’m scared and I’m not thinking clearly. Plus, my use of “another” is accurate. Gavin shared his most intimate moments with Mrs. Right Now last year. Or was it two years ago? I can’t remember. I know it was AMD—After My Divorce—but a lot has happened in Gavin’s sex life since my marriage fell apart.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that.” Gavin speaks in a low baritone, and I’m suddenly aware of two things. He is down on one knee. That’s number one. The last time a man got down on one knee in front of me, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I’m not exaggerating. My ex-husband broke me in so many ways that I’m still trying to put myself back together.
Second thing? He’s holding my hand. Add that together with the kneeling, and my best friend looks like he is on the verge of proposing.
Ha! In your dreams.
I pull my hand free from his and lean back against the metal chair, mentally dismissing the unwelcome thought. Once upon a time, I dreamed about Gavin. Long before I married Mr. Mistake, I looked at Gavin and thought maybe. But life marched on, sculpting us into different people. And now we’re better off friends. Best friends. Nothing more.
Still, I appreciate the way he fills out a suit. I draw the line there because his love life includes sex tapes and blackmail. I would prefer to fill mine with understanding and compassion. Oh, and orgasms. Amazing, earth-shattering orgasms. I can’t leave those off my relationship goals’ list.
Not that I expect perfection from my imaginary future lover—in the bedroom or outside of it. That’s another thing to add to the List of Things I Learned from My Divorce—perfection comes at a cost I’m not willing to pay.
“How can I help?” I ask. Those are the magic words a friend is supposed to offer the minute a blackmailing ex-girlfriend enters the conversation. Plus, I owe him. He held my bleeding dog while his limo rushed us to the vet. I was so panicked before he arrived I probably would have crashed my car on the way over.
I steal a glance at the door to the exam room. No news is good, right? My girl is still alive. She’s still fighting.
“Focus,” Gavin murmurs, drawing my attention back to his distraction. He is standing now with his hands shoved in his suit pockets.
“I am,” I say. “What do you want me to do?”
“The truth is I don’t know how you can help.” He lets out a rueful laugh. Then he withdraws his right hand and rubs the back of his neck. He looks me straight in the eyes and adds, “A sex tape would have been easier to handle. It wouldn’t hurt my image. Not like this.”
I blink and try to digest those words. Maybe I’ve been hiding from the world too long, surrounding myself with dogs in need of a new home and cats that would otherwise linger in a shelter, but I struggle to picture a scenario in which a sex tape is easier to handle.
“Sit down.” I pat the torn seat cushion beside me. “And tell me everything.”
Gavin claims the chair. His board-shouldered frame fills the space, and I slide to the opposite edge of my seat and turn to him, ready and willing to hear him out.
“Alexandra, my ex as of a couple of hours ago—”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand, palm out in a universal stop-right-there gesture. “Is that the brunette I met at the farm dinner you dragged me to?”
I avoid parties as a rule. Sure, I enjoyed them in college. But my ex crushed any interest I had in large gatherings focused on talking to the most influential people. Last summer, I made an exception for the family-style dinner that benefited local farmers. The celebrity chef also played a part in my willingness to bend my No Parties rule.
He shakes his head. “That was Kristen. We broke up not long after Labor Day. She was heading back to school.”
My eyes widen because, um, Gavin and I are the same age. Thirty-five. I know he dates young, but still in school? Wow. Just wow.
“Stop.” He looks over at me. “Whatever y
ou’re thinking, just stop. Kristen was in medical school. Third year. She wasn’t a child. And you said you liked her when you met her.”
