“Has he ever … had a girlfriend before?” I hope my question seems natural.
“Only one that I know of.” She rests her head against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “Veronica was her name. They started dating before I was even out of diapers.”
I do some quick math in my head and conclude that she was likely his high school girlfriend.
“They were ob-sessed with each other.” She returns her attention to her magazine and flips to the next page. “Annoyingly obsessed. Together all the time. Joined at the hip. He even proposed to her.”
My stomach drops at the thought of the stoic, unreadable Madden that I know being that head over heels for another woman, and then it drops again when I imagine him down on one knee, hoping to spend the rest of his life with her.
“They broke up a few years ago,” she says.
“Do you know why?” I have to know …
Devanie shrugs. “No clue. He just came home one day, told me they’d broken up and that I wasn’t allowed to say her name ever again.”
Sounds like Madden—or at least the Madden that I know.
Warm water bubbles around my feet and the technician shakes the punchy pink bottle of nail polish, thumping it against the heel of her hand.
I can’t help but wonder if Madden is still hung up on Veronica, if that’s why he won’t let himself move on or fall for anyone else.
Maybe he’s waiting for her to come back?
I don’t know this woman, obviously, but the sting of jealousy burns my chest anyway.
I’ll never be his first love.
I’ll never be the one who broke his heart.
I’ll never be the one he misses, the one he longs for.
I’ll only be the girl he kept at arm’s length for a tiny sliver of his long life.
I’ll only be the girl who kept his bed warm once upon a time.
And at the end of the day, I’ll only be some girl he never wanted half as much as he wanted Veronica.
“Anyway, tell me more about this Dylan guy,” I say, forcing a smile and blinking away the tears that prick my eyes.
I have no right to feel this way.
I knew from the beginning what I was getting myself into.
I knew from the start that he could never be mine.
I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that this was going to hurt.
Thirty-Six
Madden
* * *
A pretty little thing with a mess of blonde waves and glossy pink lips sneaks in the back door of my shop Wednesday night, a tinfoil-covered plate in hand.
“Brought you dinner,” she says. “And for once, I didn’t burn any of it.”
It’s shortly after ten and I just wrapped up my last appointment. I’d planned on sticking around a little bit more, sketching some new flash on my Wacom as I’m getting sick of looking at the same old, same old on the front walls of the shop.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I spray my client bed with disinfectant and tear a couple sheets of paper towels from a roll.
“It’s fine. I know you said you had back to backs all day today. Figured you didn’t have time to eat.” She places the plate on the counter. “I don’t know where you want this …”
She glances past the half-parted curtain, to the darkened shop.
“Everyone gone for the day?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Come upstairs.” Her mouth slips into a hesitant smile.
I nod toward an open sketch pad on top of my chair. “Was just going to finish working on a concept I was doing for this new client.”
“Can’t you do it upstairs?” She maintains her rosy, hopeful disposition. The last few days, I’ve been finding every excuse to work late. I need to distance myself from her. Shit’s getting way too real and moving way too fast, and this is how people get hurt.
And the last thing I want to do is hurt Brighton.
“You look tense …” she slinks up to my client bed and perches on the edge before grabbing a fistful of my shirt and pulling me closer.
Her legs are spread, anchoring me into place, and her hands slide up my arms, stopping at my shoulders where she rubs the knotted muscles, forcing the day’s tension to evaporate. Her fingers trail up the back of my neck next, and she lifts her mouth to mine, a silent plea for a kiss.
I try to resist her.
I try to think of an excuse.
But one taste of her cherry lips and I’m a goner.
I haven’t had her since Saturday night, but it might as well be a lifetime ago.
“Brighton …” I try to stop her, try to peel myself away. It’s a feeble, pathetic attempt, and I know it.
She leaves a trail of kisses around my collar, working up the front of my neck until she returns to my mouth.
My cock throbs, anticipating what’s to come, and when she tugs my shirt over my head, I lose my resolve completely.
Reaching for the curtain, I pull it shut so we’re not on display for anyone driving by who happens to glance through the front windows, and then return my focus to the beautiful girl offering herself to me on a silver platter.
I peel her jersey soft pajama bottoms down her long legs, tossing them aside, and slick my palms up her thighs in search of her panties—only there are none.
She came prepared.
“You must really want this …” I smirk, running a finger along her wet folds before circling her clit with my thumb.
Brighton’s answer comes when she widens her legs a few inches more. Lowering myself to my knees, I bring my mouth to her sweet pussy, tasting her arousal and waiting for that first sigh.
I live for that first sigh …
All week I’ve been thinking about what she asked me two Mondays ago … about what would become of this little arrangement should one of us meet someone else. I have no intentions of meeting anyone. I’m content with the way things are.
In a perfect world, they’d stay this way forever.
But I know this isn’t what she wants. At least not in the long term. She’s having fun now, but eventually she’s going to want something more, and she’s going to want to be with someone who can give her that something more.
A few times I’ve tried picturing her with someone else, but whenever I thought about another guy making her smile the way she smiles at me, another guy crushing those pillow-soft lips or trying to “impress her with Radiohead,” it makes me want to rage.
Brighton’s moans intensify, which tells me things are moving along a little too quickly. Probably doesn’t help that she’s waited days for another release. Her hands tug at my arms, guiding me up, and I unzip my fly, gripping the base of my throbbing cock.
I don’t have a condom on me—they’re not exactly something I keep in stock in my shop—but I know she’s on the pill. Either way, I plan to pull out when it’s time.
Guiding myself inside her, slow inch by slow inch, her body melts beneath mine and our eyes meet, holding for a few moments longer than usual.
She smiles.
And fuck it—I smile back.
I’ve never screwed a woman in my shop—not even Veronica. But I’d always envisioned it being a little dirtier, a little hotter.
But this is almost … sweet.