If Ever(100)

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course not." I look away, not wanting to meet his eyes. "But last night felt like a betrayal in front of my friends."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There is no answer I can offer that will change the reality of my job, my life."

"I know. It's my issue, not yours, and it'll be fine." I offer a weak smile. "But it's not fair for me to take it out on you. I should be better than that. Can you possibly forgive me?"

He gives me that look of his that overflows my heart with love. "Already done. Now let's see how these Scotch eggs of yours taste." He reaches for a misshapen egg.

"Maybe you better not."

He arches a skeptical brow and takes a bite and chews, and then chokes.

I watch in horror.

He easily swallows. "Kidding. It's delicious. Come here." He pulls me in and kisses me.

He tastes of sausage, which actually is pretty good, and my world brightens. We're going to be okay.





37





The next morning I'm drying off from my shower and hear voices, which is odd because Tom was sound asleep when I got up fifteen minutes ago feeling incredibly achy. I've never heard of a two-day hangover, but I feel crummy and a hot shower hasn't helped. I'm getting sick.

I turn off the fan to hear better. One voice is Tom and the other has the higher pitch of a woman. I can't imagine who it could be. A neighbor, a coworker? Then a vision of Tanya pops into my head. God, it better not be her.

With no clothes in the bathroom, I'm forced to slip into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. But I'm taken aback to find a woman in our bedroom. She has sleek dark hair, long legs in heeled boots, and is wearing a fitted leather jacket. This is definitely not Tanya, but who the hell is she? I can't stand in my towel all day, and I'm not going to hide in the bathroom.

"Tom, this is my place again, too. I sublet the extra bedroom from Ryan," she says in a silky voice.

"Why the bloody hell would you do that?" Tom fumes.

"You've been ignoring my calls for days. It's the only way I knew you'd talk to me."

On that note, I step to the foot of the bed where they both can see me. Tom, looking irritated, is sitting on the side, a sheet covering his naked midsection. The woman, and damn she is definitely that with her carefully arched eyebrows and glossed lips, is a combination of knock out and determination.

She spots me in my towel and the corner of her mouth raises in a sly smile. "So this is the new girl. Not your usual type is she?"

Tom's expression hardens. "Chelsea, this is Barbie. She's leaving," he says in a level tone as if struggling to keep his patience in check. I've never seen this side of him, not even when I was a drunk idiot.

"No, I'm staying." She says with a satisfied smirk and leans against the frame of the closet, crossing her legs at the ankles.

I'm speechless. There's no denying that this woman and Tom were an item. The question is when and for how long? And she might not think I'm his type, but she sure doesn't look like it either with her runway model makeup. I tighten my towel, wishing I had a bathrobe, but she's blocking the closet.

Tom snatches his jeans from the floor and pulls them on sans underwear. Barbie watches with a catlike smile. I'd like to grab a pillow and smack the lipstick off her thin lips.

He buttons his jeans and turns on her. "You're wrong. This isn't happening. I don't care what Ryan told you, there is no room to sublet, and I have no time to talk." He grips her upper arm and hustles her into the living room.

Unfazed, the woman places her hand on his chest, looks into his steely eyes, and says in a honeyed voice, "I understand. You're still hurt."

“You overestimate yourself.” He delivers a withering stare. "You left before, now do it again."

"And I'm sorry. I was wrong." She sidles up and runs her hand down his arm, which raises my hackles. "I came back to apologize and make it up to you."

She wants him back, and she doesn't look like the kind of woman who takes no for an answer. I'm about to interfere, but what am I thinking? Tom's an adult. He can make his own decisions, and yet my heart is lodged in my throat as I hear the soft murmurings of her making her move.

I close the door and change into jeans and a sweater. A glance in the mirror reveals my freshly scrubbed face. Next to the sophistication of Malibu Barbie, I'm a washed out Girl Scout. I pinch my cheeks and drag a brush through my hair. There's no way to transform myself in two seconds.

Do I stand back and watch her hit on Tom, or do I stake my claim? This feels like high school when Kelly Monson stole Kirk Tiegen from me.

Ready to face them, I open the door and hear Barbie say, "She's really got her clutches around you. Was it a rebound thing?"

Unable to stand idle, I march into the living room. Unless Tom wants me to leave, I'm going to stand with him. But I stop short at the sight of Barbie's arms around his neck and lips locked on his. I gasp, and Tom pulls her arms away and steps back.

Barbie frowns. "Can we do this someplace where your pillow buddy isn't eavesdropping?"

His arms are crossed and his jaw set. "The time for talk was a year ago." He casts me a quick glance as if apologetic, then looks back to her. "You walked into my apartment uninvited, so, no. And I'd like my key back." He holds out his palm.