Chapter Nine

Marshall—

What

The

Fuck

Did

I

Do?

What the holy fucking shit did I do? I kissed her. She kissed me back. We kissed.

And it was so goddamn good. No, not good. It was off-the-charts amazing. There are few times in life when a kiss is so perfect, when the vibe, the flow between two people, is so perfectly in sync that it all comes together in a hot meeting of the lips. In our case, this happened, and it wasn’t just hot, it was a…fucking explosion of relentless hunger and desire. And what was left when the dust settled, and we could see what we’d done?

Total carnage.

There was no word strong enough for what an asshole I was. Not only did I let my dick take over for any reasoning my brain had in regards to how this would change the entire dynamic of the delicate relationship Al and I had, but also no doubt she had some sort of feelings for me, too. You can’t kiss someone like that, feel the heat rising and not be able to stop it, and not have something hiding behind it.

None of that held a fucking candle to the loathsome betrayal I inflicted on my best friend. I could justify it any way I wanted, but I let what I wanted take a front seat to what I knew was right, what I knew was the honorable thing, and dug a knife right into the back of Aaron. The worst part? He didn’t even know it. It was just yet another thing I was hiding from him.

His ex-wife. The mother of his daughter. The woman who left them with barely a word, didn’t look back, and nearly destroyed him. I had to watch someone who was like a brother to me crawl and claw his way through the wreckage of his life, while still being the best damn dad I’d ever seen. I saw it, and all I could do was watch. Delilah was pure sunshine. No one who knew the truth would ever be able to wrap their mind around the fact that she had a mother that would never know how kick-ass she was. She’d grow up wondering why her mom left her, and she’d have to grapple with it for her entire life. It was really fucking unfair because she didn’t deserve it. Neither she nor Aaron deserved any of the grief inflicted on them.

And Al was the one who did it. She was the one who hurt them, and I fucking kissed her.

I did more than kiss her.

I wanted her.

Given the chance again, I didn’t know if I could tell her no.

I almost fucked her right there. She was going to let it happen, and while there was doubt in my mind that it would’ve been insane, there was a part of me that was angry at her about it. Granted, I should’ve fucking known better. Hell, it never should’ve even been in my brain, either of them, the one in my head and the other in my pants. It didn’t matter what was happening between us or why, but it was a place I couldn’t go.

And she was so matter-of-fact when she left. It was odd and nothing like I’d ever known any other woman to do when she was rejected. Her face went neutral, almost cold, and she was gone after her remark about my self-restraint. I stood there, watching her car drive off, and then long after her car disappeared. I was so fucking torn up, so confused. Not only did I not know what happened, but I also didn’t know how it happened so damn fast. It was anger and bitterness one day and then a shift. I didn’t know if it was the night of the opening or if it started before then. Was there always something there? Even when she was with Aaron?

No. No, it wasn’t. She was my best friend’s girl. She was always hot. I noticed from the first day on the beach. But she was off-limits then.

She was off-limits now.

I ran my hands roughly through my hair in frustration, my fingers digging through the tangled ends.

Her hands were all in it, intertwining her fingers and tugging. I knew why girls got off on that shit when we did it because it felt fucking amazing.

Those same hands that I knew were capable of making delicious cupcakes and cookies were also capable of yanking me gently to her, both with purpose and caution, recalling my rib injury. Her fingers across my skin, the palm of her hand against the side of my face…all of it lit me the hell up, like she’d struck a match and dragged it across every area.

Her soft goddamn lips, the way she sighed against mine, it all seemed orchestrated. It was like it was something composed only for us, but it couldn’t have been.

And those fucking eyes. There was so much behind those eyes, even more so than I saw on a daily basis. There was desire and tragedy and so much hidden beneath the blue. I wanted to reach inside and pull it all out of her. I wanted to lay it in front of her so she could see all the things I did, all the wondrous things that rose above all the past bullshit. It was there. I just couldn’t reach it yet.

It can’t.  

I slammed my laptop shut and slid away from my desk in frustration. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

“Hey,” Wells said, entering the office. “How are you feeling? Should you even be here?”

“It’s my goddamn bar so I can always be here,” I barked. “The real question is what are you doing here? I texted you this morning and told you not to come in until later since I know you were here all night covering for me on your own.”

I was being a dick. I knew it and also knew it was misplaced anger.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“And I can see you are feeling better, considering your cherry disposition is still firmly intact again.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Back at you,” he said. He leaned up against the door, taking a sip from his frosted coffee monstrosity with added chocolate sprinkles. “Seriously. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said with a sigh. “Thanks for everything last night.”

“Man, that was an ugly scene. Everyone was so freaked out, especially Alexis. She get you home all right?”

What did he just say?

“What did you just say?” I asked.

“Thattttt…it was an ugly scene? Did you get home all right?”

“No,” I said. “The other part. That everyone was so freaked out, especially Alexis.”

His straw made a slurping noise as he sucked the bottom of his drink. “Yeah. She flipped her shit,” he said, walking out of the office.

“Like what?” I shouted. “How did she flip her shit?”

“I don’t know,” he called back. “She just…freaked. When she saw it happen, I had to hold her back because she was trying to get to you. She was screaming your name and stuff.”

I didn’t remember any of that. I only started to get my bearings and my brain back in order when I got to the hospital. Bits and pieces would return to me about the incident, but mostly there was the recollection that there was no time for reaction, just action. There were vague glimpses of Al’s face in those memories, and somewhere inside my mind I could imagine the scared look on her face.

It made my fucking heart ache.

“I guess she doesn’t hate you after all,” he mumbled, his mouth clearly full of something.

I pushed back from my chair and stood up too quickly, my side reminding me it got kicked good last night. As I peeked around the corner, I saw Wells taking a bite of one of the cupcakes Al had brought.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted. “No wonder we always run out! I’m always catching you sneaking.”

He was startled and swallowed what was in his mouth. “There was already one missing so I know you had one, too.”

“This is my bar. It’s important for me to maintain quality control.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted, taking another bite. “Who dropped them off? Was it Phoebe?”

“Can you please wait to talk until after you’re done chewing? It’s like it’s raining chocolate cupcake crumbs in here, you gross bastard.”

He leaned over the side of the bar and retrieved a cocktail napkin. “It has to be Alexis,” he said, wiping his mouth.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re cranky. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two had a thing for each other.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Be cool. Just play it cool. Avoid and deflect.

“Aren’t those cupcakes magic? So good,” I said while trying to disguise an automatic grin.

His eyes widened. “And now you’re making me wonder.”

“About?”

“You and Alexis. You’re completely avoiding my previous statement about you two having a thing for each other.”

Or I could meet it head-on and try to extinguish any thoughts from that angle.

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” I said with a fake laugh. “You know who she is to me. She’s Aaron’s ex-wife. Aaron, my best friend and business partner. That alone makes her the most undesirable woman to me.”

And the mother to his child. Their child. The one she left.

Fuck. Why was this so complicated? Why did it have to be her? The first time I’ve had feelings for a girl in ages, and it was her. I wasn’t sure what the hell was in my DNA or if all the drinking years caused brain damage, but I was finding it impossible to wrap my brain around the situation.

“Then why are you two always so…together?” he asked.

I couldn’t get into all the nuts and bolts of what went down years ago, even though that was part of it, but there was something more now. Things I wondered, and it irritated me that I didn’t know—that I couldn’t ask her more.

“I don’t know,” I said. “There’s a lot of history there and a lot I don’t know. I’m not sure what she’s been up to all these years.”

“That’s dumb,” he said.

“What’s so dumb?” I asked.

“I forget how old you are sometimes. You want to know what she’s been up to? Use something called the Internet. In-ter-net, boss.”

He was about to get an ass kicking worse than what I got last night if he didn’t change his tune. “I’m aware of what it is, Wells. What’s your point?”

“My point is you know her name. Google her. Find her social media. There is a wealth of knowledge out there just waiting for you to snoop through.”

“That seems so…” I trailed off, trying to find the right word.

He closed the cupcake box, trying to seal it back up. “I didn’t do this,” he said, pointing to the ripped box lip. “And yeah, it’s totally invasive, but everybody does it. You’ll hear chicks talking about it, and every guy will deny doing it, but we do.”

“I ripped the box, and this is just so weird. I mean, I’m not that much of an idiot that I didn’t know you check stuff out online, but I thought it was after you were dating and shit.”

“Oh no. As soon as you know you’re interested in someone,” he said, raising his eyebrows, a smirk pressing against the sides of his lips. “You start scoping out the situation. But of course, you aren’t interested in Alexis, so whatever.”

“No, I’m not,” I said with firmness. “But—”

“But you want to do it anyway, right? You want to see what she does in her spare time? What dudes she hangs out with look like? Is there a particular one in a lot of pictures and thus means they’re close, dating, or banging?”

I didn’t consider any of those things because I assumed she wasn’t. She said she hadn’t dated anyone since Aaron, but was intentionally vague when I asked her about sex.

Maybe there was more about her I didn’t know.

“Everybody does it,” he sang, walking past me and back into the office.

“Fuck off.”

*  *  *

I sat in my dark apartment, the only light coming from the screen of my laptop on top of my coffee table. The flashing cursor on the Google bar taunting me to enter the Stalker Zone.

What the hell was I doing this for?

I knew why. I wanted to know more about her. I didn’t want to admit it, but I did.

“For Christ’s sake,” I said to the empty space. I picked up my beer and took a long sip.

It wasn’t like someone was outside my window, knowing what I was doing.

Wait.

There wasn’t some secret software or something that would alert a person when someone was searching their name was there? What if there was an app or shit that notified her, by alarm, someone was hitting up her name all over the interwebs? How would I even explain that?

I grabbed my phone and texted Wells—

Me: There’s no way she’ll find out I’m creeping on her all over social media and shit, right?

I stared at the phone screen like a pathetic fuck, hoping his response would be swift and reassuring. Luckily, osmosis was a real thing and his message came through.

Wells: How the hell would that even happen?

Me: I don’t know! I don’t do this shit. I didn’t know if there was some alert.

Wells: Ah. No. The Internet snoopers police isn’t standing outside your door with their Tasers, ready to drag you out into the middle of downtown and make you wear a scarlet letter.

Me: Fuck off. Why do I even ask you anything ever?

Wells: You’re certainly very worried about being found out for someone you’re not even interested in.

Dick.

Me: I told you. I’m just curious. I don’t want shit to get awkward, since we work together, if she found out.

Wells: Whatever. Go forth and HUNT!

No doubt he was on to me, but I had to keep doing as I had that morning. Deny. Deny. Deny. There was no other way. While it would be nice to confide in someone about all this Al business, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d divulge that to Wells. He had a big mouth, and with him being as into Phoebe as he was, I couldn’t risk him slipping something to her. He was too close to Alexis, and he was too close to Aaron by being my right hand.

Aaron.

This was the time I needed him to hear what was going on with me and give me level advice. He’d always done that for me and vice versa, but that couldn’t happen either for obvious reasons. I couldn’t even imagine how that conversation would go.

“Hey, Aaron! What’s up, buddy? Great. Good to hear. Oh, me? How are things here? They couldn’t be better. Ginger has hit the ground running, and lines are out the door every night. It has all come together just like we’d hoped. Plus, as an added bonus, I hired a local baker who makes daily deliveries, in the sexiest like retro waitress dress thing, and she makes liquor-infused mini desserts. And guess what? You’ll never guess in your lifetime who it is that makes these treats, the most goddamn delicious sweets I’d ever had? Lexie! Yes! YOUR Lexie! Isn’t that a hoot? Are you surprised? Yeah. I didn’t tell you because I knew her involvement in the business was a win, and I let my selfishness about making sure Ginger was a hit trump telling you that Lexie was aiding in that. You know, she goes by Alexis now, but I hate that so I call her Al. By the way, I’m totally hot for her and kissed her and really would like to have sex with her, and maybe more. I know, right? I agree—I’m a total jerkoff who has no moral compass and who obviously has brain damage from all those years of drinking to have even taken it this far.”

I was being optimistic about how well that call would go. It wasn’t going to happen. Ever.

Which was why as I typed in her name into the search tab, I was more conflicted than ever. I was indulging, allowing myself to dip my toe into dangerous waters, by seeking out more information about her. Sure, I could pass it off as being nosy or some other bullshit, but what was the point in lying to myself.

So I typed in “Alexis Bell” and hit search.

The results came back, and I started scrolling through to see if any of it was about Al. Her name appeared in a few articles about Tipsy Treats, and there was a simple website for it as well. But I couldn’t find photos of her or any other information.

I dug deeper and deeper, feeling more and more like a creep the further I went. It was like I was sneaking through her attic or, even worse, her underwear drawer, looking for answers. To what questions? I didn’t have a fucking idea.

I rubbed my eyes, remembering as soon as I did it that I’d been knocked out in one of those eyes twenty-four hours ago. Pain radiated across my entire eye socket and into my cheek until it dulled to a burn.

I wasn’t getting anywhere. She had wanted to stay under the radar, and she had done that. She had done it well. Even when I searched under Lexie Matthews, a few things popped up, mostly career related, but even that ended abruptly six years ago. How does one not have any social media or Internet information out there on them? I wasn’t as savvy as most with the whole Facebook, Snapchat, or whatever everyone was using to keep tabs on others 24-7, but I wasn’t ignorant to it, either. Photos got posted every day of others without them even knowing it. With no idea about her family, either, to try and sneak through that way, I thought I’d hit a dead end. Then, it came to me. The one person in her life and who was probably on social media.

Phoebe.

But I didn’t know her last name. However, I knew someone that did.

Me: Hey. What’s Phoebe’s last name?

Wells: Why?

Me: Because of course, I can’t find shit on Alexis, and I bet Phoebe might be the only link where I can.

Wells: Williams. And do me a favor? If you find out any dirt on her, pass it along my way?

Me: Like what kind of dirt?

Wells: You know, like ex-boyfriends (or even ex-husband she has neglected to mention!) still sniffing around. Risqué or excessive partying or duck lip photos. Questionable political views. Overly vague status updates.

Me: Why does any of that, aside from the dude stuff, even matter?

Wells: It speaks to character. Plus, it’s annoying.

I shook my head at the phone because all of it was so ridiculous. Maybe it was a twentysomething thing. These were things that were important to them—status updates and duck lip photos. Here I was trying to figure out if the girl who had been married to my best friend, abandoned her daughter, and was once one of my friends had done a one-eighty since then. Maybe that was a thirtysomething thing.

I didn’t even want to consider what the fortysomething thing was. What a fucking shitshow that must be.

Me: I thought everyone was snooping on everyone? Don’t you know all this stuff about Phoebe already since you’re interested in her?

Wells: You never know when truths may rise to the surface.

Whatever, I thought, as I tossed my phone to the side and typed in “Phoebe Williams San Luis Obispo.” I hit search and, as I expected, jackpot.

Every social media and reference a twentysomething girl would be on popped up. Clicking on her Facebook link, it opened to her page, her profile picture of a smiling Phoebe, with a New Year’s Eve tiara on her head. I scrolled down her page but a lot of it was hidden, probably because of her privacy settings or whatever.

One photo that was in an album was linked to an Instagram account, so I clicked on it to see where it led me.

And it led me to right where I wanted to be. An unlocked, solidly stuffed with photos, Phoebe Instagram account. I picked up my beer and took a sip as I began to scroll through, looking for any sign of Al. My eyes scanned rapidly, knowing if she was there somewhere, I would catch her. As I took another long swig from the bottle, I saw it. I saw her, and I almost choked on the beer I was swallowing.

What the fuck? Who the hell is that?

I scrolled through the next several photos of Phoebe, Al, and others at some sort of a party. Al was mostly background in some, but there was one shot of her and Phoebe together, Al’s long hair curled into glossy twists and her lips a shiny pale pink, appearing to be having a good time. It was nice to see her having fun for perhaps one night, but it was the next photo that had me seeing red.

Al and some…dude…her arms wrapped around his waist, as he kissed the side of her face.

She was smiling, a bright, strong grin.

His hand was resting on her lower back, dangerously close to her ass.

Asshole probably tried to cop a feel right after the picture was taken.

I had no idea why this angered me so much, why a blaze of rage was bubbling up inside of me.

Stupid fuckbag Marshall. Of course you know why.

She said she hadn’t dated since Aaron, but it was evident by the photo there was something—and by something, I concluded probably boning—going on between them.

I recalled her saying no, she hadn’t dated, but that it didn’t mean she hadn’t had sex or some variation of that. If sex had happened, was happening, this was probably the guy.

Or at least one of them.

I didn’t begrudge or judge any woman out to get hers in the sack. In fact, I found it downright sexy. The double standard between men and women’s sexual behaviors was fucking archaic, and a woman going after what she wanted, fulfilling her own desires was kick-ass.

However.

That was where the double standard ended.

No guy wants the girl he was interested in to be with other guys, even if it’s assumed he was with other girls.

And if a man was truly interested in pursuing something more with a lady?

Not only did he not want her sleeping with anyone else, he didn’t even want her looking at anyone else.

I wasn’t sleeping with Al, nor could I indulge in anything further with her. It didn’t stop me from reeling with jealousy, though, my desire to make her my own, to claim every inch of her body with a trace of my tongue and make her mind think of nothing else but me.

There was right and there was wrong.

Angel and devil.

You never knew what truths would rise to the surface was right, Wells.