Naked Love(89)

“I’m supposed to believe that you don’t want into my panties?” She crosses her arms over her chest, flipping her hip out to the side.

My eyes roll to the ceiling while I rest my hands on my hips, blowing out a slow breath. “I like what’s in your panties—a lot. But …” I return my attention to meet her expectant gaze. “I want you and all that that encompasses.”

“Don’t.” She shakes her head, more emotion pooling in her eyes. “When I told you about Steve, you didn’t grumble and clench your fists like I scratched the side of your truck. You basically called me a whore, a home-wrecker, a baby killer.”

“No, Ave …”

“Yes. Yes, Jake. That’s how much you love me. I was honest with you, and you punished me for it. You just … gave up on us.”

“I’m not giving up on us.” I step forward.

Avery steps back. “You did. And now that I’m put back together, you can’t just waltz into my life and decide you want me again. And you have no one to blame for it but yourself. You told me to stand the fuck up for myself. Well … this is me. And I’m not letting any man treat me like a whore ever again.” She slips on her sandals and grabs the door handle. Then … she freezes.

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what’s captured her attention. Releasing the handle, she picks up a ripped piece of paper from the entry table next to the door.

“Oh my god …” she whispers.

I close my eyes and sigh.

“You … you did this.”

My eyes open as she slowly turns toward me, holding up the paper with Anthony Bianchi’s address on it.

“You’re the reason he gave me back my stuff. The money … the phone … it was you.”

I don’t respond. Not even a flinch.

“How …” She shakes her head, brow wrinkled. “How did you get this address? Sydney?”

Deedy got it from Sydney, but I don’t say that.

“What did you do? Did you threaten him? Beat him up?”

I paid him a visit. There were subtle threats. He cooperated, so I didn’t have to beat him up. I would have. I would kill for her. But I don’t say that either.

“Why?” she whispers.

“You know why.”

Her gaze slips. She lets the piece of paper fall from her hand. And then she leaves.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX




Avery


A week later, I stare at the string of texts from Jake. It was so nice of Deedy to give him my new number.

Jake: The job is yours.

Jake: We can have an interview if you feel better about it. Noon tomorrow? Bring a resume.

Jake: Are you getting these messages?

Jake: I tried calling you. The voice mailbox isn’t set up.

Jake: Fine, Ave. It’s been a week with no response. I get the message. Hope you found another job. I’m heading back to Milwaukee this weekend. I’m sincerely sorry. I wish you only the best.

This weekend. That’s three days away.

“Taking off?” Heather, my friend who hired me to do barefoot bar massages, looks up as I slide my purse strap onto my shoulder.

“Yeah. If anything comes up, let me know. I can definitely fill in if one of the other girls calls in sick.”

“Will do. Thanks, Avery.”

I resist the urge to take my tiny paycheck and shop for a new handbag … it’s still hard to live on a budget. Old habits. Instead, I drive to Sydney’s house and hope to catch lunch with my sister and my favorite little people.

“Hello?” I slip off my sandals and shut the back door.

“Mom’s sick. I want to swim. Will you watch us?” Ocean shuffles into the kitchen, still in her pink nightshirt.

I cringe. “Well, I don’t want to get sick, and you two squirts don’t need to get sick, so yeah … let’s hang out by the pool today. Have you had lunch?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay. I’ll make some snacks. We’ll eat outside.”

Ocean runs off. “Asher, put on your swimsuit!”

I peek into Sydney’s room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she mumbles, not opening her eyes or even moving from her fetal position.

“Did you call Dr. Lautner?”

“No. He has a conference today. I’m sick, not dying.”

“Anything I can get you?”

“No. The kids want to swim.”

“I’m on it. Text me if you need anything.”

“A bowl. I need a bowl. In case I don’t make it to the toilet.”

“Eww … Okay.” I get her a bowl, surgically scrub my hands after leaving her room, and change into my bikini.

I perch myself in the shade, on lifeguard duty. As the kids play, I stare at Jake’s texts again. “Why did it have to be you?” I whisper.

Me: Can we do the interview tomorrow?

I stare at my screen for a good five minutes, waiting for a response that’s not coming. As soon as I slip my sunglasses back on, my phone chimes.

Jake: I hired someone this morning. Sorry.

Did I do this to myself? Is this my pride and ego? How do I know where that line is if I can’t see it? And I can’t … I can’t see the line. Everything in my life is blurry.