Yanking open the door, I groan. Brandi. Just what I need. A shitshow Brandi style. “What do you want?”
“Is she in here?” Her words are slurred, and she wobbles on her heels.
“Brandi, you need to go.”
“Why?” As she falls against the doorframe, she stares at me with glassy, bloodshot eyes. Well, isn’t this familiar? When she isn’t pregnant, she’s drunk.
I must give her credit; she’d remained sober when she was pregnant. But breastfeeding was out. The day after she got home from the hospital, both times, she headed to the bar to get trashed.
“Because I don’t want you here.” I stand in the doorway, blocking her way inside. The last thing I need is for her to get past me. She’ll pass out, and then I’ll have a bigger problem on my hands.
“Where is she?” She peers around my shoulders, and then she tries to juke and jive around me.
I stand still and marvel at the idiocy of her movements. Drunk Brandi is a sight to behold. Lord, have mercy. How did I end up married to this woman?
Granted, at sixteen, she’d been the cute, bubbly cheerleader to my captain of the football team. We’d been the perfect pair. Then, at seventeen, I got her pregnant. Smart move.
It wasn’t the life I had planned. I was going to go to college on a football scholarship, but I had obligations. I declined the full ride. Asked her to marry me. For a second, she’d been excited. Being married made her feel like a mature woman. Then, the bottom fell out.
She’d hated being pregnant. The food cravings, nausea, weight gain, stretch marks, everything was disgusting to her. At eighteen, we were parents. Two years later, another baby was born, and she skipped town.
“Leave Dalilah out of this.” I crack my neck and hope no one hears us. But fuck if I care. I’m not dragging this conversation inside to avoid a scene.
“You know she’s only after you because of your money.”
My eyes narrow. No, Brandi, that’s you. She wouldn’t give me the time of day for years; until Karissa let the cat out of the bag. Now, she knows I’m flush with money and is up my ass. “She doesn’t know about my money. Unlike you.”
She jerks her head back like I slapped her. “You think I’m after you for your money?”
“Yes.” I grind my teeth together, and my jaw flexes in anger. I inhale and take a steadying breath.
“I’m not.” She steps forward and runs her fingers down my bare chest. A shudder goes down my spine. Not the one that Dalilah elicits with her sweet touch, but with a revulsion that leaves my hands balled into fists to keep from ripping her hand off me.
“Yes, you are,” I grind out. “You wanted nothing to do with me when I was broke and raising your children.”
She beams and wobbles on her feet. “See. You can say they’re mine.”
I’m going to lose my shit. I stand still waiting for my anger to dissipate.
“It was so hard,” she whines.
“Leave,” I utter the word like a machine gun going off.
At this point, I’ve done lost my shit. I’m going to regret it, but for fuck’s sake, how was it hard on her? She skipped town. Left without a backward glance. I spent the first ten years of their lives, begging her to show up for birthdays and holidays. But she’d always been too busy. She’d been gracious enough to see them for two days every other year when she flew in for a special treat. Yep, that must have been hard.
“No.” She shoves me and tries to get past me. I shift to the left and block her. “I want to see the little …”
“Get out.” The anger I felt when remembering Brandi walking out is surpassed by the revulsion, I feel for someone talking shit about Dalilah. It doesn’t make any sense, but I’ve already established I’m not lucid at this point.
“Move.” Her eyes are bugged out as spit scatters in all directions.
I place my hands on her shoulders to hold her in place. “You need to leave now before I call the police.”
“You’d call the cops on me?” Her eyes well with tears and her bottom lip juts out.
Damn. She’s a good actress. How many emotions has she displayed in five minutes? She should have run off to Hollywood instead of shacking up with some punk-ass attorney she met at the local bar. “Yes, I would.”
“On your daughter’s wedding day?”
“Yes.” I’m done messing around. Karissa is going to have to get over it. I’ve got no use for her. “Brandi, I don’t want you near me. I will never take you back. You disgust me. I’m sorry to be blunt about it, but you don’t seem to understand what I’m saying.”
“What do you mean?”
Oh, for the love of Christ. “I. Can’t. Stand. You. Get out of my life. If you continue to make a scene, I’m going to have security block you from the wedding.”
She jerks her head back and stares with hate-filled eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Yes, I would.” I gently push her backward. “Test me on it.”
When she’s out of the way, I slam the door shut, lock it, and walk to the liquor cabinet.
Chapter Seven
Chloe
THE NEXT MORNING, I climb out of bed and shower. Dalilah’s words reverberate through my head as the steaming hot water beats down on me. What would be wrong with spending the weekend with Damon? We’re two consenting adults. Why not enjoy me for once?
There doesn’t have to be promises of eternal love. Hell, we’ll never see each other again. Long-distance relationships never last, and neither of us is looking to uproot ourselves from our families and move halfway across the country to make a relationship work.
As I dry off, I consider the consequences of enjoying what Damon has to offer. He’s sexy, mature, caring, and experienced. I shudder. I could take advantage of his skills.
The potential of having an orgasm at the hands of another person is worth the risk. Hands. I giggle, and heat floods my body. He undoubtedly knows exactly what to do with his hands, fingers, tongue, and hard shaft.
That settles it. I’m taking Dalilah’s advice. Dalilah, aka, me, is getting laid tonight. Then, I’ll head home tomorrow afternoon to deal with the shitstorm that awaits me.
Since the wedding isn’t until late afternoon, I throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Once I’m dressed, I brush my hair and pull it back into a ponytail. There’s plenty of time to worry about dressing up and looking my best later.
The dress. A giant smile breaks out across my face. I can’t wait for it to arrive. It’s perfect.
As I’m getting ready to leave my suite and head to Damon’s suite, I wrinkle my nose and survey the room. That same nagging feeling I’ve had since I left New York pops into my head, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what’s wrong. Besides the obvious – my worthless ex-boyfriend. I shrug. Whatever it is, it can’t be that important.
I snap the door shut and walk the few feet between my door and Damon’s room. For a second, I stand motionlessly in front of his door. I’ve never been forward enough to show up at a guy’s place unannounced.
What if he tells me to leave? I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. Who cares? He’s not the only man in the place. I cringe. Yuck. That’s going a little too far. Granted, I’m not looking for forever, but I’m not a slut either.