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“No. I live in our apartment. You moved out.” I tell him, trying my best to keep my voice even.
A flicker of disappointment washes over his face. “I see. Where do I live?”
“Upper East Side. It’s closer to your job anyway.” I shrug.
“Am I still with SPR?”
I nod.
Sloane Prime Realty is one of the biggest real estate firms in Manhattan—hell, in all New York—and he’s been one of the highest paid realtors ever since a handful of socialites worked with him. Twenty-somethings with Mommy and Daddy’s money flocked to him because he was young, outgoing and hot. The girls were in love and the guys related to him because he was what they aspired to be. Thirty-something and rich. They flooded Instagram with their posts thanking him for finding them THE BESTTTT APARTMENT EVER!! And thus, Bennett Clarke became the most coveted realtor in all of New York.
“What about you?” he asks. “What have you been up to?”
“The same.” I shrug. “Though I’ve been promoted in the past two years. I’m an editorial production director now.” A smile crosses my face as I think about the job that I worked my ass off to get.
“That’s amazing, congratulations.” He beams. “Still with Conde Nast?”
“Yep,” I tell him. My finance degree had somehow led me to a life of glamour and working for the most prominent fashion magazine in the world.
“I’m proud of you, Livi. I knew you’d take the world by storm.”
I’m proud of you. Those four words used to have the power to turn me into a horny mess, and even now, my sex throbs under his praise. Words of affirmation were my love language and Bennett spoke it fluently.
“Thank you.”
“Have I missed anything else…? Besides…?” He shifts uncomfortably and looks at me to fill in the blanks.
“Wren and Lys got married,” I tell him.
“Really? When?”
“About a year ago.” I think about their long courtship and engagement versus Bennett and my whirlwind one.
“Shit.” He chuckles. “Did I at least bang the maid of honor in a coat closet?” I narrow my gaze and his widen. “If it was you! Was it you? Shit, Lys doesn’t have a sister, does she?”
“It was me.” I roll my eyes. “And yes, we did.” I blush at the memory of Bennett’s hands roaming all over my burgundy bridesmaid’s dress. Lifting the long chiffon material up around my waist and sliding his hand in my panties and rubbing my wet slit as he whispered dirty words in my ear.
“You’re blushing.” He smirks. “You’re remembering it.”
I’m broken from my sexy trip down memory lane by his words and instantly I’m annoyed that I let it show all over my face that I was reliving it. “I’m leaving,” I tell him.
“No no no!” He chuckles just as I turn around. “I’m sorry, I’m kidding. Cut me some slack here, Livi. The last memory I have of us is fucking you in the shower this morning, yesterday morning…whenever the fuck I showered last.” He rubs his hands over his face. It’s not like I can pinpoint which time he means. When things were good between us, Bennett and I showered together more times than we showered separately. “I’m not going to lie, the idea of us not being together really fucking sucks.”
Who are you telling?
“This wasn’t all my doing, Bennett.”
“I know, I know. I just…fuck.” He lets out a sigh and his head falls back. “I hate that I did this to us.” I don’t say anything even though there’s so much more to the story. Yes, he cheated, but there was a catalyst. A catalyst that I helped form. I’m not giving an excuse for his behavior because I’m still angry and gutted and pissed beyond belief. But I did push him away.
I pushed him away when I needed him.
I pushed him away when he needed me.
I did give up.
On him.
On myself.
