Moments of Disarray Read online

  “I hope the thought of never touching me again makes you want to die,” Anne had told him that night, but he would die rather than hurt her again. Of all the things in his life he’d fucked up, he would never forgive himself for what he’d done to Anne Kinney. Even if she forgave him for it.

  A year of talking to Madeline had helped, but it hadn’t taken away everything. He would always love Anne Kinney in some small, dark and secret region of his heart. Even if he’d managed to move forward, she would always be in his past.

  On his back, beneath the weight of blankets warm enough to keep the room’s chill from making him shiver, Alex stared up into the dark and tried to sleep. He should have found it easily enough — booze, weed, food, a blowjob. It ought to have been the perfect prescription for collapsing into dreams, but instead he found himself thinking again of the watching woman.

  What had she been doing out there on the porch? A slow surge of arousal filtered through him, remembering Evan’s grasping hands and wet mouth on his cock, knowing she’d been watching them without saying a word.

  For a second, Alex hated his betraying cock for always being ready. Hated himself for always using sex as a way to forget what a bastard he was. A rascal, he’d called himself to Anne. It seemed forever ago, their summer by the water.

  The memory sent another raw wave of arousal through him. He had stopped thinking of her all the time. He didn’t want to be thinking of her now. He rolled onto his belly to bury his face in the pillow and slid his hand into the Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. He gripped his cock. A few strokes and he could sleep.

  Again, he thought of the mystery woman. He pictured that lush mouth. Her dark eyes. That fall of gorgeous black hair, styled in the myriad of braids. His cock got thicker.

  But after a moment or so, he rolled onto his back again and took his hand away, almost like a punishment. He’d gotten off hard earlier, more from knowing the mystery woman was watching than from Evan’s overeager and sort of sloppy beej. That had seemed fine at the time, or at the very least, it had felt like she was a willing participant.

  This, though…fuck. He groaned and writhed for a moment in the bed, fisting both his hands in his hair and pumping his hips against the covers before going still. This was using her to push away bad memories. She’d never know about it. He was unlikely to ever even see her again. Even so, he couldn’t do it.

  He might be an arrogant bastard, a rascal, a rogue; he was definitely an asshole. But just then, Alex decided that he was done being the guy who used other people, with or without their consent. With or without their knowledge.

  At three in the morning, epiphanies always seem profound, but in the light of morning will fade. When Alex woke, however, far earlier than he’d expected to, he still felt the same way. He was done. Finished. Kaput. Turning over a new leaf, yadda yadda yadda. The gods of hangover relief must have taken this decision as an offering, because despite last night’s indulgences and the too-few hours of sleep, Alex had never felt better.

  At least until he headed downstairs to Patrick and Teddy’s kitchen, meaning to stuff his face with some breakfast. He pulled up short at the sight of a distinctly female backside protruding from the fridge — but not short enough, because she turned so fast that she almost ran into him.

  It was the woman from last night.

  Her container of pot-stickers hit the floor and bounced. She screamed. Loud. Taken aback, stunned, but now totally sure that the gods of something or other were definitely smiling down on him, Alex smiled.

  “Damn you’re pretty,” she said so matter-of-factly he couldn’t be sure she’d meant it as a compliment.

  He blinked, his smile getting wider. He crossed his arms over his naked stomach. “Thanks.”

  Alex looked at the container by his toes, then at her. He bent to pick it up, but slowly, a thrum of tension building inside him at the idea of being at her feet. It would be a good place for him, he thought.

  “Thanks.” She took the container and eased past him to put it in the microwave. She looked over her shoulder. “Want some?”

  He laughed and shook his head and took a step back. Uncomfortable. Last night it had been hot to know she’d been watching him get off, but now, in the light of morning…shit, he wished he was wearing a shirt, at least. Things were certainly changing for him, if he could feel embarrassed.

  “I’m Olivia,” she said.

  Her name was Olivia, and she was going to change his life.

  Afterword

  This novella takes place after Tempted and Everything Changes but before Naked. It includes an alternate version of the events Alex talks about in Vanilla.

  Tempted

  I had everything a woman could want...

  My husband, James. The house on the lake. Our perfect life. And then Alex came to visit. The first time I saw my husband's best friend, I didn't like him. Didn't like how James changed when he was around, didn't like how his penetrating eyes followed me everywhere. But that didn't stop me from wanting him. And, surprisingly, James didn't seem to mind.

  It was meant to be fun. Something the three of us shared for those hot summer weeks Alex stayed with us. Nobody was supposed to fall in or out of love. I didn't need another man, not even one who oozed sex like honey and knew all the secrets I didn't know, the secrets my husband hadn't shared. After all, we had a perfect life. And I loved my husband.

  But I wasn't the only one.

  Excerpt:

  The telephone’s jangling interrupted the post-coital laziness to which we’d succumbed. The Sunday edition of the Sandusky Register, spread out on the bed, crinkled and rustled as James leaned over me to grab up the phone from its cradle. I took the chance to lick his skin as he did, sneaking a nibble that made him jump and laugh as he answered.

  “This better be good,” he said into the phone.

  A pause. I gave him a curious look over the Lifestyles section. He was grinning.

  “You son of a bitch!” James settled back against the headboard, his naked knees pulled up. “What are you doing? Where the hell are you?”

  I tried catching his eye but the conversation had immersed him. James is an intense butterfly, flitting from focus to focus and giving each his undivided attention. It’s flattering when it’s you. Not so charming when it isn’t.

  “You lucky son of a bitch.” James sounded almost envious, and my curiosity was piqued even more. Generally, James was the object of admiration amongst his peers, the one with the newest toys. “I thought you were in Singapore?”

  I knew, then, who disrupted our Sunday afternoon lassitude. It had to be Alex Kennedy. I looked back to my paper, listening while James talked. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting in the newspaper. I didn’t really care about the latest summer fashion or what cars were trendy this year. I cared even less about burglaries and politics, however, so I scanned the columns of text and discovered I’d been ahead of my time in painting my bedroom pale melon the year before. Apparently it was the hot new color for the season.

  Listening to only one side of a conversation is like putting together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box. I listened to James talking to his best friend from junior high school with only the barest comprehension and frame of reference to help me put the pieces together. I knew my husband as well and intimately as any one person can know another, but I didn’t know Alex at all.

  “Yeah, yeah. Of course you did. You always do.”

  The keen admiration was back, along with an eagerness new to me. I glanced at James. His face was alight with glee and something else. Something almost poignant. Despite having what could be a somewhat narrow focus on his own priorities, James was unafraid to be happy for someone else’s fortune. He was, however, rarely impressed. Or intimidated. Now, he looked a bit of both, and I forgot about the vapidity of pale melon altogether to listen to him speak.

  “Ah, get out, man, you’d rule the fucking world if you wanted.”

  I blinked. The sincere,