When I Fall Page 16

  “YOU WANT A BEER?” BEN asks, setting the nail gun down and walking over to the cooler.

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. More alcohol? Fuck no. “Nah, I’m good. Do you have any water in there?”

  Ben laughs quietly, then tosses me a water. “Pussy. What happened last night?”

  Shit.

  We’ve gone two hours without a mention of anything personal. Manual labor tends to keep chatter to a minimum, which I was expecting, and grateful for. I was also pleased to find out when I arrived that Mia had taken the boys to the grocery store. There was no way in Hell she wouldn’t ask me about the party. I had no idea if Ben knew about it or not, but I guess married couples talk to each other about shit like that. And now that he’s in need of a fucking beverage, he’s asking me about it.

  My silence spurs him on.

  “I know you took some girl to your ex’s engagement party. You don’t take girls to anything,” he pauses, smirking. “Besides the clinic after you’ve fucked them.”

  I glare at him, lowering my water bottle. “Fuck you, man. I’m clean. I always wear a condom.”

  Except for last night, during my marathon sex.

  I shake that unwanted thought out of my head before I continue. This is not the time for a hard-on.

  “I’ve even doubled up on chicks. You don’t really get much sensation, but some of them . . . Yeah, I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  Ben leans his back against the support beam and takes a long sip of his beer, staring at me over top of it. His gaze is relentless, baiting me to give him information he can take back to Mia, I’m sure.

  Well, not today. As long as I stay busy, my mind stays off of Beth.

  I toss my water bottle onto the grass and pick up a piece of lumber, carrying it over to the work bench.

  “You know,” Ben starts up again behind me.

  I hold the saw steady with my one hand, the piece of wood with the other, and try to zone him out as I cut into the wood.

  “She’s going to ask you when she sees you. You might as well tell me now so I can give her something, which will in turn give me something.”

  I pause, glancing back at him over my shoulder. “What, do you need my help now getting laid?”

  He raises an eyebrow, still perched against the beam. “Do I look like I need your help getting laid?”

  I turn back around, trying to focus on my cutting while he rambles on behind me.

  “Mia asked me to ask you. So, here I am, asking. If I go back to her with details of whatever the fuck you did last night, which is strictly something only my wife gives a shit about, I will be greeted with a very, very grateful Mia. And grateful Mia drives me fucking wild.”

  I blow across the wood, removing the sawdust. “And regular Mia doesn’t drive you wild?”

  If he says no, I’m calling major bullshit on that. Ben only sees Mia. He’s only ever seen Mia since she showed up here two years ago, and it wouldn’t matter what version of her she was giving him. He’d still only ever see her.

  I like to complain that I was pussy-whipped nine years ago. But this motherfucker right here . . .

  He makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. “Every version of Mia drives me wild. I just know giving her this information will make her very happy. She wants to know how things went, and she’s not here to ask you herself.”

  “It went fine,” I grunt out, my voice suddenly thick. The saw splits the wood into two, and I set the pieces aside. I grab another 2x8 and toss it on the bench, picking up the saw and lining it up at the mark I drew earlier. My hand remains stagnant.

  Fuck. Why did he have to play the Mia card?

  I let out a heavy sigh. “It was awkward, okay? I didn’t know it was going to be at the same place I proposed to Molly at, and it was. On top of that, she’s marrying the douche-bag I caught her cheating on me with. Seeing him with her wasn’t really something I was prepared for. I’m hung-over as fuck.”

  “You proposed to her? When?”

  I begin sawing, concentrating on the mark. “Before she left for college. I didn’t tell anybody.”

  Great. Now this shit is going to get out. I’m sure Tessa will have a field day with this information, and then bitch at me for an hour for not telling her about it.

  “She said no, and you stayed with her?”

  My skin begins to tingle, my shoulder burning from the force I’m putting behind my hand. “She didn’t really say no. She laughed, told me I was crazy, which I fucking was, and then sucked my dick to distract me. Or to ease the sting of her rejection. Whatever. It wasn’t that great from what I can remember.”

  “What about the girl?”

  I break through the wood. Ben breaks through my resistance.

  “Are you sure I’m not standing here talking to Mia? Shit!” I throw the saw down and walk over to the water bottle I threw out into the yard.

  Goddamn it. I’m losing it. Losing. It.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Okay, so I may or may not have had the best sex of my life last night. Shouldn’t that be a good thing?

  No. It can’t be a good thing. Because it was with Beth.

  Beth, the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

  Beth, the woman who had me reeling from the memory of a goddamn kiss, and who has now completely fucked my world over from a hand-job and whatever the fuck else.

  Beth. Beth fucking Davis.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember, trying not to remember . . .

  “Reed,” she begs, thrashing about on the bed, grinding her pussy against my hand. “Please, now. Please . . . I can’t wait . . . fuck me. I need it. Need you.”

  My eyes fly open. Jesus Christ. She said she needed me.

  I hear Ben’s rough laugh from behind me, which has my hand squeezing the empty bottle, smashing it up. I turn around and toss it into the trash. It doesn’t matter that I’m ignoring him. I know without even looking into his pussy-whipped face that it’s lit up with amusement.

  A sharp sting cracks against my shoulder as he slaps my back. He looks down at me, grinning. “You’re fucked. You know that, right?”

  I shrug him off, watching him walk over to the nail gun. “I’m fucked because I’m hung-over, and I have a friend who all-of-a-sudden grew a vagina. Can we please go back to not speaking? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  He holds his hands up, backing away slowly.

  I turn away and grab my drill and a few screws, stopping to pick up one of the 2x8’s I sawed in half. I think I get thirty, maybe forty seconds of silence before I hear Ben’s laugh building from a muffled grunt to a full-blown, throwing his head back, all at my expense laugh.

  “You’re so fucked,” he repeats, bracing the nail gun on one of the posts. “I’ve been waiting for this. Now you can’t say shit about me and Luke.”

  I line up the board where I want it.

  “So fucked. I’m excited.”

  I drill in one screw. Just stay focused. Ignore him. Don’t think about it.

  “Wait until Tessa hears about this.”

  The drill slips, splitting the wood as the second screw goes in jagged.

  “Fuck!” I set the drill down and grab the crowbar, pointing it directly at Ben. “I’m not fucked.” I’m fucked. “Nothing happened.” A lot happened, just don’t ask me what. “And I don’t give a shit if Tessa hears about it.” I’d rather she didn’t. “Are you ready to get back to work, woman, or do you need another break to go change your tampon?”

  Ben drops all humor, and I lower the crowbar. He stares at me with the look I’m sure he gives the pieces of shit he arrests every day. Ben’s probably got a good ten to fifteen pounds of muscle on me. He’s intimidating as fuck. He always has been. I’m sure if we were to start throwing punches, I could keep up for a while, but one of his blows might knock me into next week.

  His eyes narrow, then a slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

  Shit.

&
nbsp; “So fucked,” he taunts.

  I look back at the board I’m about to pry off. My shoulders sag, and I almost kick at the dirt on the ground.

  “Yeah,” I say through a groan. “Yeah, I fucking know.”

  Beth

  I HAVE NEVER FELT SO embarrassed in my entire life.

  Not even the time I was caught eating lunch in the bathroom at West Oak Middle School, and that was mortifying. I had been trying to avoid a group of girls who were picking on me every day in the cafeteria. But I was caught. Caught by the very girls I was trying to avoid. They made sure the entire school knew I was eating my peanut butter sandwich on the toilet. After that, the tormenting got worse. Word got around school, even reached the teachers, and I was eventually sent to the guidance counselor to talk about my issues. Issues? I didn’t want to be around mean girls. The classrooms were off limits during lunch hours, and I just wanted somewhere quiet to eat where other kids didn’t make fun of me. How is that having an issue?

  No, not even seventh grade tops this moment. It can’t. Seventh grade was typically embarrassing. No one likes middle school. This, what happened two days ago with Reed, this is in a whole other universe of embarrassment.

  I had the best sex of my life, times a million, and I’m the only one who remembers it.

  I took advantage of him. There’s really no other way of looking at this. Reed was apparently way more intoxicated than he led me to believe, which has left him with zero memory of what we did. I was completely sober, which gives me the painful advantage of remembering every single detail of our night together. Painful because it only adds to my humiliation.

  I can’t forget what happened. He can’t remember. And what we did? Well, that just kicks the embarrassment meter up several thousand notches.

  It wasn’t just everything I’ve been imagining us doing in my head since I first looked up into his face. I let him do everything he’d been imagining doing to me since I first smiled at him. No limits. No fear. We did things I’ve never even thought about doing, things I know, without a doubt, I wouldn’t have done with anyone else. But it was Reed. He asks me if I trust him, and my answer is automatic.

  “Yes,” I whisper, offering him my hands, my fingers threaded together like he showed me. I look up into his eyes, nodding, swallowing down my eager moan. “I trust you.”

  My body hums at the memory. Eager. Yeah, I was definitely eager.

  And he was drunk.

  He wouldn’t have done what we did if he wasn’t drunk. I saw it in his eyes the next morning. The regret, gentled to spare my feelings, but it was there. And now I’m questioning everything that’s happened between us. I was nothing more than a distraction for him up in that room at the party. It didn’t matter that he was sober at the time, a willing participant in one of the hottest moments of my life. He didn’t instigate it. He didn’t grab me and kiss me that night at McGill’s. Everything, aside from what we did at his house, was initiated by me. Reed needed enough alcohol to make him sick the next morning to touch me on his own. He’s probably grateful he has no memory of what we did.

  You can’t feel shame if you can’t remember.

  “Will you call me, please, so we can talk about this? I don’t like that you left here upset.”

  I set the phone on my chest after listening to Reed’s voicemail for the hundredth time. He’s called me once since I left his house. No texts, or anything else from him since. I haven’t called him back, and I’m guessing since he hasn’t reached out to me anymore that it doesn’t matter if I do or not. The game is over. We don’t have to pretend we’re something we never were. He’s going back to the life he had that didn’t involve me. I need to do the same, it’s just . . .

  “Beth. God . . . fuck, Beth.”

  I can’t stop thinking about . . .

  “I’m so hard. Fuck, I’m so hard for you. All the time. I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking think straight anymore.”

  All I can hear is . . .

  “You have the tightest pussy. Mm . . . fuck, so good. And you’re so wet. God, if you could see my cock right now.”

  I run my hands over my flushed cheeks. I’m worked up, again. It’s no surprise. Just hearing the way he says my name, all breathy and desperate, has me pinching my legs together to ease the throbbing.

  “Fuck, Beth. Beth. BETH.”

  Why couldn’t I have been named something that didn’t sound so hot coming out of his mouth? Like Mildred. I doubt he says Mildred sexy.

  My phone beeps on my chest, and I tilt it up to look at the screen. I don’t recognize the number, but I swipe my thumb across it anyway to open up the message.

  Unknown: Hey, it’s Mia. Tessa is coming over to have lunch with me. Wanna come?

  I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, staring down at the phone in my hand.

  I do need to get out of this room. Besides using the bathroom, the only time I’ve ventured out in the past forty-eight hours was to grab a quick snack from the kitchen. And I really like Tessa and Mia. I meant it when I said I would love to hang out with them. But these are Reed’s friends. Won’t that be weird?

  My phone beeps again. Another unknown number.

  Unknown: Come on, Clapton. Get your ass over to Mia’s so we can chat. I don’t bite.

  The notifications begin firing off as text after text rolls in.

  Unknown: What are you bringing, Tessa?

  Unknown: I’m supposed to bring something? Get your life right! You invited me!

  Unknown: I’m making shrimp salad, but I don’t have any rolls. Can you bring rolls? And a side? Chips or something.

  Unknown: Oh crap. Beth, are you allergic to shrimp?

  Unknown: Oooo is it my mom’s recipe? I love her shrimp salad! Do you have drinks?

  Unknown: Yup. I have sodas and sweet tea. Beth, shrimp? Are you allergic?

  Unknown: I think we lost Clapton.

  I type quickly.

  Me: I am so confused right now. Is this going to both of you?

  Unknown: Yes, it’s a group text. Haven’t you done a group text before? And where are we at on the shrimp allergy?

  Unknown: Have you been living under a rock? Who doesn’t know what a group text is? CLAPTON, SERIOUSLY?

  Me: I need to program your names in here. Hold on.

  I think I could get away with not assigning Tessa a name. Her messages are definitely . . . Tessa.

  Tessa: Helloooo. . . .

  I laugh as I type my response.

  Me: Okay. No, I’m not allergic to shrimp.

  Mia: Oh, good! Are you coming? You don’t have to bring anything.

  Tessa: WTF. Fine. I’ll bring EVERYTHING.

  Mia: HAHA.

  Me: I don’t mind bringing something. It’s not a big deal.

  Tessa: You are bringing something. Your chatty little mouth.

  Mia: Next time we do lunch you can bring something. Can you come over at 2?

  Tessa: Why are we eating at 2? Who the hell eats lunch that late? I’m going to have to eat something before I come over there.

  Mia: The boys will be down for their naps by then. I’m not having girl time with a kid strapped to my boob.

  Tessa: Nice change from Ben though, huh?

  Mia: Shut up.

  Me: I can be there at 2.

  Mia: Yayyyy! Here’s my address: 79 Arrondale Drive. We’re the house with the blowup bouncy castle in the front yard.

  Tessa: Have you and Ben had sex in that thing yet?

  Mia: What? No! It’s in the front yard!

  Tessa: And . . . I bet it’s like fucking on a water bed. That’s on my bucket list.

  Mia: Is everything on your bucket list a different place for you and Luke to have sex?

  Tessa: No. I also have skydiving on there.

  Tessa: While having sex.

  Mia: Nice. Okay, the baby needs me. See you both at 2!

  Tessa: Don’t stand us up, Clapton.

  Me: I won’t. Thank you for inviting me.

  Mia: I
just love her. She’s so much sweeter to talk than you.

  Tessa: Mia, we’re still in the group text.

  Mia: Oh . . . okayyy, see you soon!

  I toss my phone onto the bed and grab some clothes. Even though I already took a shower today, I hopped right back into my pajamas after I dried off.

  Pathetic, I know, but why bother getting dressed when you have no intention of leaving your bed?

  I step into my boots, grab my keys, tuck my phone into my pocket, and head for the stairs. “Aunt Hattie?” I call out, peeking my head into the kitchen.

  “I’m in here, darlin.’”

  I turn around and walk back down the hallway.

  Hattie is sitting at the computer with the shoe box I gave her in her lap, sifting through the pictures. She stops and looks up at me when I walk in.

  “I was beginning to worry about you. You haven’t come out of that room much since Sunday.”

  My eyes wander to the floor as I try and think of an excuse.

  She can’t know the real reason why I’ve been shut away for two days. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Informing my sweet aunt that I had face-down, ass-up, hanging from the ceiling, spread across the table, do me faster, harder, has any man ever done you here sex might make this situation worse. But I have to give her something.

  A sickness. Of course! I could’ve easily been sick.

  I flatten a hand to my stomach and raise my head. “I think I had a virus or something. My stomach hated me.”

  She seems convinced, a look of concern pulling together her eyebrows. “Oh, no. You’re okay now?”

  “I am. I feel so much better.”

  “Well, that’s good. There was this horrible stomach flu going around right before you arrived. Maybe that’s what you caught.”

  I nod, letting my hand slide down to my side. “Maybe.” My eyes flick to the shoebox. “Have you looked through all of the pictures in there?”

  She looks down into her lap. “No, but I’m only allowing myself to pick a few a day. Seems silly, I guess. But I want to experience every picture as if I’m living it with you. It might take me a while to go through all of these. I framed one when you were a baby and put it up at the bar.” Her deep brown eyes find mine. “I hope that’s okay. It’s not out in the open or anything. It’s back in Danny’s office.”