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The door to the bedroom clicked closed, and my mom’s voice spoke, “I can’t believe that Vera. How could she make those comments about what happened with Brianna? How did she even find out what happened?” She sounded flustered and totally unhappy, and I knew that was because what I’d done to myself made her look bad as a mother.
“Don’t let it bother you. Everyone there always has their nose in your business. It’s part of the reason why I don’t particularly enjoy visiting the club.” Alistair sounded bored, as always, and I wondered if my mom was too smitten with his looks and his wealth that she neglected to notice—or maybe she did notice and she just didn’t care.
They walked deeper into the room, and my mom let out a sigh. “I know, but all the gossip aside, I like going. I never could before, when it was just Brianna and me. I suppose I could start going during the week without you…” Her goal was to insert herself into the friend group of other rich, well-off people in the county, certainly no one else from Eastcreek. My mom’s motives weren’t mysterious by any means.
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“You know what else is a good idea?” My mom’s voice took on a different tone, and I heard them both step toward the bed. My heart damn near stopped when I realized what she was trying to start with Alistair, and I had to close my eyes and bite my bottom lip to keep silent.
Oh, God. This was going to be awkward. Weird and awkward and probably just piss me off.
The bed bounced, I assumed because someone was pushed on it—Alistair, maybe? I couldn’t see what was happening from where I was, but I could imagine it well enough: my mom, sauntering to the edge of the bed, slipping off her clothes. They fell onto the carpet, near soundless, her skirt and her matching blouse.
The image of my mom straddling Alistair on the bed wasn’t a good one. It made my heart beat faster in all the wrong ways, and I struggled to remain where I was, motionless, my eyes squeezed shut. I lay there, fighting with myself, fighting with the envy threatening to rise up inside of me.
Because it shouldn’t be my mom up there. She shouldn’t be with Alistair.
I should.
That thought, how easily it came to me, nearly made me gasp. I had to hold a hand over my mouth to stop myself from gasping aloud, and I shook my head at myself, as if to wordlessly scold my jealous thoughts.
What happened with Alistair was a mistake. A hot, sexy mistake. Just because he had a folder on me in his office didn’t mean anything. I was trying to piece together things that didn’t go together. He didn’t choose me for himself; he chose me for Gareth.
“Nicole,” Alistair spoke. “I—”
Whatever he was going to say, my mom didn’t seem to care, because she interrupted him, “It’s been so long. I’m dying, Alistair. I’m dying for you.” The sweetness in my mom’s tone almost made me gag, but then I comprehended the truth of what she’d said.
It’d been so long, meaning she and Alistair hadn’t had sex in a while? Huh. Not at all what I thought was going on.
Alistair sighed, but in the end, he said nothing. The bed above me moved more, and if I had to guess, I’d say my mom was helping Alistair out of his clothes. They fell to the floor near hers. My hands clenched, my nails digging into my palms in order to help keep my cool. I had to stay quiet. I had to lay here and let them do whatever it was they were going to do, and then, once the coast was clear, I could get out of here.
Every second that went by felt more like an hour, which made laying there torturous. The sounds of kissing filled the air, though most, if not all the sounds came from my mom, feminine and seductive. Alistair let out a moan, but it sounded nothing at all like the sounds he’d made when he was with me. He still sounded so… bored.
Or maybe it was in my head, the difference. Maybe I was just trying to compare the time he’d spent with me to the time he spent with my mom in some vain, stupid attempt at rationalizing something that shouldn’t have happened.
The bodies on top of the bed rolled around, and the frame began to shake—but only a few times, because right then I heard my mom mutter, “Ugh, we haven’t had sex since our honeymoon. Is it me? Do you find me repulsive or something?” The bed stopped shaking, and she swung her legs off the side of the bed.
Alistair said not a word.
“You need to work on yourself, Alistair.” She huffed, getting to her own two feet. I turned my head to watch her bare feet walk to the closet, where she disappeared to fetch some new clothes. She then walked out of the closet, huffing and puffing all the while, and left the room, slamming the door on her way out.
I relaxed a little, mostly because the information made a dark, selfish part of me thrilled. My mom and Alistair hadn’t had sex since the honeymoon. The news shouldn’t make me happy, but it did. He’d had sex with me just fine. He’d seemed more than enthused about it, showing more emotion in that moment than he had at their freaking wedding.
That… shouldn’t make me so happy, I was well aware.
Alistair sighed as he got off the bed. He bent to grab his pants, and the sounds of him pulling the pants on one leg at a time were only interrupted by him saying, “You can come out.” The words were quiet but firm, not a single doubt laced within them.
I couldn’t move. He didn’t know I was under the bed. No freaking way.
“You left the bottom drawer on my dresser open by an inch,” Alistair spoke. “A mistake only made when someone is hastily trying to hide. If you would’ve hidden in the closet, your mother would’ve seen you, so that leaves under the bed.” He waited a moment before adding, “Should I drop to my knees and drag you out myself, then?”
Fuck. This guy… I swear.
I scooted to the side, pulling myself out. The space beneath the bed wasn’t too roomy; it wasn’t too easy to do. Once my top half emerged from beneath the bed, I laid eyes on Alistair’s bare feet. They were all I could stare at as he bent and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me out and helping me up. It was only once I stood on my own two feet again that I saw he was still very much naked from the waist up; he wore nothing but pants, the zipper and button still undone.
It was the first time I’d seen him without a shirt. That day in the bathroom, he’d kept his clothes on. He was… tall, ridiculously tall, and very lean. Well-manicured in every way, his chest sculpted and muscled all the way down to his abdomen, where the faintest hint of a six-pack was.
He took good care of himself. I’d known it before, but seeing it first-hand, less than a foot away, was a different story.
