Velvet Kisses(68)

“Mommy!” A tiny voice calls from the back. “I want juice!”

“Ugh!” She lets out a mean growl. “Stay in bed!” she threatens. “I’m bringing you water.” She shakes her head at me. “Kids. It’s a medical condition that takes eighteen years before it alleviates itself,” she teases, heading to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” Monica looks over her shoulder at me as her tongue makes a slow revolution over her lips. “Feel free to take off your coat, your shoes—all of it if you want.”

“Will do.” All of it? She’s got two little boys in the back who I’m sure would be scared shitless if they saw me walking around in the nude let alone pumping myself into their mother. Nope. This little misadventure will have to take place behind closed and locked doors. I’ll put off the disrobing until then.

I hop up and head over to her bedroom. What the hell. Maybe I’ll surprise her naked beneath the sheets. I give my tie a quick tug as I make my way down the hall. A pair of double doors sit open, so I head on over. It’s a whiteout in here, not a drop of color in any direction.

I take a seat on the edge of the king-sized bed. I’m not so much nervous to open an old can of worms as I am dreading the aftereffect. She’ll want to get serious. A girl like Monica, a mother, isn’t looking for a fuck buddy to occupy her time. She’s not writing an article or a memoir that I know of. If she has her way, those will be my stepsons she’s tucking into bed. Maybe they are. I sink back on my elbows and eye the sterile furniture. Her nightstand is impeccably bare whereas mine is littered with condoms—freeze-framed from that last night Marley spent with me as a memorial to what an idiot I’ve been all along.

I lean over and peer into the top drawer. Swear to God, if I see a condom, a vibrator for that matter, I might actually be impressed.

A pile of old papers sits prominent. Probably essays she needs to grade.

Just as I’m shutting the drawer, Marley’s signature catches my eye.

“What the…” I pluck out the small stack. “Shit.” Photocopy after photocopy of the legal document I drew up for Marley stares back at me.

“Here you are!” Monica jumps into the bedroom and closes the doors behind her. “I think someone is anxious to get down to business—” Her mouth drops open when she sees the incriminating bullshit in my hand. Incriminating of what I’m not sure.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“I was just curious.” Her hands ride up to her lips—something she does when she’s nervous—nervous because she’s just been caught. “I had taken your briefcase that night at the bar. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have copied it.”

“Then why did you do it?” Just when I didn’t think I could feel any more indignity my barometer goes up a notch.

“The truth?” She closes her eyes and dispels a heavy breath. “I thought you might come by to get your briefcase, and I didn’t know if I’d have a chance to go over it.”

“Keeping it around for some light reading?”

“I wanted to see what you were getting yourself into. I swear I was going to burn it. I just never got around to it.”

“Did you have anything to do with that article?” For the first time in weeks, I’m starting to open up to other possibilities, other people to blame, and my adrenaline skyrockets because finally there seems to be a resolution to this nightmare that I can sink my teeth into.

“No.” She spits it out emphatic, so convincingly she kills my building buzz.

“I’m not so sure.” I take the paperwork and head out the door.

Every part of me screams go home, but I head over to Whitney Briggs, instead.

There’s a coed I think I’m finally ready to speak with.





Claim to Fame, Walk of Shame





Marley





Annie keeps murmuring I love you into the phone to Blake. If she says no, you hang up, one more time I’m going to take her phone and plunge it into the toilet. I couldn’t care less about the plumbing in Prescott Hall. I get it. Annie and Blake are happy. Baya and Bryson are happy. Izzy and Holt are happy, blah, blah, blah. And they will all live annoyingly happily ever after. And here I sit broken and alone—let’s not forget cursed.

A gentle knock erupts at the door. Annie and I both freeze and stare at one another as if a serial killer just arrived in the most polite manner. It’s probably just Baya. I jump up and look through the peephole.

A familiar, vexingly sexy, hotter-than-a-house-fire face of a man stands on the other end, and I can’t catch my breath.