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CHAPTERTHREE

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers, looking between my eyes and my mouth. “I’m too old for you, Avril. And your dad is my best friend.” I swallow, knowing he’s right, but kissing this man has been at the forefront of my mind for two years, and it’s what I’ve been wishing for. “I’m eighteen,” I whisper back. We’re in a closed-off passage that’s so poorly lit, and the ballroom my father hired for my eighteenth birthday is a hive of activity. Though, to be honest, it’s more Dad’s friends than they are mine. This isn’t their type of party, but my dad remembered me telling him I wanted the poofy gown, and to feel like a princess. I was six. Needless to say, it’s very much like a cotillion, like when young girls are introduced to society and made eligible to date. But boys my age are just that, boys, while Forbes Macallan is a man. “This is what I want for my birthday,” I exhale. “From you. You asked me weeks ago what you could get for me, and I want this.” I stare into his icy blue eyes, aware of the turmoil swirling in them. When I rest my palm on his chest — so proud and muscular — his heart kicks, in revolt or exhilaration I’m not sure. “Avril, I’m married, and twice your age. You underst—”

I stop him from listing all the reasons he can’t kiss me, and kiss him instead. His lips are soft, pillowy, and for a moment he’s frozen in place. My heart nose dives because a part of me, however foolish, thought maybe he reciprocated my feelings in some way. And I know it’s imprudent, Forbes is married, and he is twice my age, and he is Dad’s best friend, but neither my heart nor my body care. I pull away, feeling disappointed and hurt, and absolutely ridiculous for feeling that way, but rejection in any form is hardly a pleasant experience. I touch my own lips, feeling the warmth of tears pooling at the corner of my eyes. Shame burns hot through my veins, and I’m about to walk away when Forbes reaches for me, pulling my closer by resting his hand at my nape. “Fuck,” he growls. And that’s all he says before he’s the one kissing me. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and dips into my mouth. Tentative at first, but when I flick my tongue over his, his notion of my lack of experience is dismissed. He kisses me deeply, tasting me, and I savor the aftertaste of scotch in his mouth. He breaks away, sucking in a breath, his jaw tense. “I’m going to burn in hell,” he murmurs. “But happy birthday, Avril.” And just like that he walks away, taking my heart with him. I reach for him, but there’s nothing there…

Ibolt upright, sweat leaving my skin damp, and my hair ick at the roots. I’m breathing as if I just ran a marathon, and the ache between my legs is so acute, it’s downright unpleasant. Chocolate is fast asleep on the pillows beside mine, but I must have been twisting and turning because my duvet is all twisted up around my legs, my thighs. And despite the frigid cold, I’m hot, fevered, because that dream didn’t end there. At least not in real life. I toss my duvet aside, check my new phone — the tech support at Apple could, thankfully, recover all my data, and laughed when I told him it’s the fucking Plenty of Shit app that got me angry enough to throw my phone at wall. “Was it because you couldn’t delete it?” he’d asked. I mean, technically I threw my phone because Forbes was being an ass, but I was also worked up because I couldn’t, for the life of me, get the damn app off my phone. “Yes,” I’d replied, brows furrowed.” He’d chuckled, and explained, “You’re the fifth person in two weeks. I’m glad I’m not dating, these apps are literally driving people insane.” I’d agreed, my smile meek, and thanked him for helping me set up my new phone. I still had the same number, too, which meant Forbes’ messages didn’t stop, and I couldn’t bring myself to block him. Even now — I check the time, it’s past two a.m — he sent a are you still awake? I know how you used to wake up at this time every night.

I choose not to respond, and hop in the shower instead. I know, a shower at two in the fucking morning seems excessive, but my pajamas are damp, and as soon as my body cools, I’ll freeze my tits off. Better to clean myself up now, and change into something else. I flop onto my bed, tired and horny, which really doesn’t make for a fabulous combination, and stare at my phone. I’m so tempted to reply to him, and I don’t understand it — he broke my heart, my hymen, and all expectations for future sexual partners, and two weeks later, bye Felicia. Without so much as a word. I tried calling him, I did, but he’d changed his number, and Dad told me they’d left New York. And by they, he meant Forbes and his wife, Celeste. He stayed with her, but now I know they’re divorced, and that makes me wonder.

When did you get a divorce?I type back. I’m awake, he’s on my mind courtesy of my brain’s uncanny ability to store memories I’d rather forget, and it’s not like I can sleep while my vag is behaving like it has it’s own heartbeat. I curl up on my side, and watch the dots bounce.

My heart belonged to someone else,he replies.It has for ten years.

Did she ever find out about us?I ask. Because not knowing bothered me for years, and now here he is, giving me the opportunity to ask what I want to. I mean did she leave you because of me?

I spent months working on my guilt, both from sleeping with a married man and a man who was, at that point in time my father’s oldest friend. It was difficult, I felt like I’d betrayed Dad even though he didn’t know what had transpired between me and Forbes. In the end, I was able to walk away from what I did, what Forbes did, and live my life. And to my own surprise, it was a good life, too. My relationships after Forbes, when I was able to feel safe enough, were healthy, even when they sucked.

My phone vibrates and I realize I’d closed my eyes.

I left her.

Then, She never found out about us.

And, But she cheated on me six months after we left New York.

I sigh, a lump forming in my throat. I type back, I’m sorry.

When he doesn’t respond fast enough, I ask, How did you find out?

The dots dance, and I don’t dare close my eyes.

She fell pregnant.

That hits me harder than I anticipated, and I’m tempted to stop replying, but something, I don’t know what, tells me to keep going.

You have kids? I bite my lip in anticipation of his answer. If he has kids, it’s a dealbreaker. Not that there’s a deal on the table. I mean…

No,he replies. I can’t have kids. That’s how I know Celeste was cheating.

It’s not rocket science, but there’s a pang in my chest. I always thought Forbes would make a wonderful father — the dream was that he’d be the father of my children — and that he can’t have that makes me sad for him.

I’m sorry,I tell him. Again. I seem to be apologizing a lot.

I start dozing off, my body coming down from its dream-fueled high, but before I close my eyes, Forbes gets one last message in:

I want to see you.

* * *

Iyawn from my spot at the conference room table beside Dad, and he shoots me a cursory glance. We have another client on the phone, so it’s not like they can see me. They’re also not one of my clients, but Dad always wants me to be involved where I can so that I’m familiar with every working part of his company.

“We love the mock-ups,” they tell Dad. “Our team is happy to proceed from mid-January, Ralph.”

“Thanks, William. If you have any changes between now and then, you can email Penny and I’ll tend to them after the holidays. Are you and Theresa joining us on Saturday?” All anyone can talk about right now is the Christmas Gala, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m sure if I was sitting in the open plan office space with the other employees and not in my own private office, all I’d be hearing about is who’s wearing what. And despite the policies we have about workplace etiquette, we aren’t immune to gossip. I’ve been the topic of said gossip on more than one occasion, but unlike the petty little things talking trash, I’m not in high school anymore. Just about everything rolls off my back without me batting so much as an eyelash.

“Absolutely, we look forward to it.”

Dad wraps things up, and I’m about make my exit when he stops me by putting his hand on my forearm. “Why do you look like you haven’t slept?” he asks. Instead of irritation, I see concern. If only I could tell him the truth.