Black Swan Affair (9 page)

T
he bass of AC
/DC’s “Back in Black” thumps, the beat setting a new rhythm for my heart. I let it thrum through me. Enjoy getting lost in it. Tonight, at Peppy’s, it’s karaoke night. It’s supposed to be a once-a-month event on Friday nights, but somehow it’s turned into more of an every-other-week event. I think somehow Kael popularized that a few months back.

“Beer or Captain tonight?” Kael’s question whispered in my ear makes me shiver with lust. I feel his knowing smile against my cheek. One hand skates up my side. He rests his thumb right underneath the mound of my breast. Now, I’m practically trembling. He starts chuckling, muted and sexy.

We turned the corner last week. Granted, we haven’t had a lot of it, but we had the best sex we’ve ever had after I blew him on the back porch. It was rough and dirty in the shower before turning sweet and sensual in the bedroom. He fulfilled his promise of making love all night long. Four o’clock came around pretty damn early the next morning. And it turns out Helena may very well have caught our little show because she hasn’t looked me in the eye since. She moved faster than any eighty-one-year-old with a bad hip should have when we met at the mailbox. She was clearly trying to dodge me.

“Barley pop,” I tell him on a grin. I want to keep my head clear tonight, hoping for a repeat. Some people swear drinking improves their performance, but I think it dulls the senses too much. I want to feel every slow stroke into me. Ride that glorious wave to the top and let it crash over me, reveling in the too-swift rush of euphoria that’s harder to reach and even shorter when too much alcohol flows through you. I want to actually enjoy making love to my husband, not just get through it like I have been since we’ve been married.

“Barley pop it is, Swan.” The corner of his mouth lifts at our inside joke as he walks away.

“You guys and your weird sayings.”

I just shrug, eyes glued to Kael’s backside.

When I was six, he stole a Bud heavy from his father’s garage fridge and tricked me into drinking it. He told me it was “barley pop” and see…I loved pop. My parents didn’t buy it because “it will rot your teeth,” they said. I wasn’t generally naïve, even at six, but he knew I’d be a sucker for this prank. But the joke was on him. He got a face full of foamy beer and the rest of the “barley pop” ended up soaked into the mulch of the forest floor.

“You look happy, Mavs. So does Kael for that matter. And I mean newlywed, I’m-getting-the-shit-banged-out-of-me happy.”

I tear my stare away from my husband’s fine ass, which is molded perfectly in his dark-wash jeans, I might add, when MaryLou’s slides a finger under my mouth and closes it. She grins. So do I. I feel it reach my eyes and dive into my soul.

“I am.” I shift toward MaryLou, tucking my right foot under the thigh of my left leg, and take the few minutes we’ll have by ourselves all night to dump out my soul. I keep an eye out for Kael and Larry just in case. “Some days are harder than others, though.”

The edges of MaryLou’s mouth fall into a sad smile. “Like Monday?”

“Yeah, like Monday.” This past Monday was Killian’s thirty-first birthday. I didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t even send an impersonal Facebook post. I pretended it was a regular ol’ day in Dusty Falls. I patted myself on the back, but stewed in that decision all night, wondering if I’d hurt his feelings. Would he think I was acting childish? Did I care if he did? I hated that the answer was yes.

“There will be days like those, I guess.”

“I suppose. But I can honestly say I feel I’m finally taking baby steps forward instead of standing still. So there’s that, at least. It feels good.”

“An inch is an inch, Maverick. As long as it’s forward it’s movement in the right direction.”

“I feel like this lifelong shell Killian has around me is finally cracking. And the more cracks I get, the more room for Kael I seem to have. He’s seeping in, little by little.”
In the way a husband already should have
, I don’t add.

I look over to catch Kael watching me. He’s intense. Almost as if he knows what we’re talking about. I want to reach up and rub the ache in my chest. I don’t, though. I let my lips turn up reassuringly. Kael does the same.

“I’m glad,” MaryLou says.

“Me, too,” I mumble to her, meaning it with every fiber in me.

Our conversation shifts to the bakery menu as the guys return with a drink in each hand. They set them down and I notice that MaryLou’s looks clear. And not bubbly like a 7 and 7 would. Then I notice she’s found something extremely fascinating with the tabletop.

“Hey,” I prod as Kael slides into the booth beside me and throws an arm around my shoulder. I lean into the possessive kiss he plants on my cheek. “Hey,” I say again, a little louder this time. MaryLou doesn’t look up so I kick her under the table.

“Ouch.” She reaches down to rub her shin. Angry eyes find mine. Good. At least I have her attention.

“What’s that?” I point to her glass.

“What’s what?”

I reach for it, but she’s faster. She grabs the cup and yanks her arm back, spilling liquid in the process. She thinks she has the upper hand on me now. I see it in her smug grin. She should know me better.

I dip my finger through the liquid now on the table and stick it in my mouth. It’s gross. I know. I’m not sure how well these tables are cleaned and there’s some unsavory stuff that can happen in this more secluded corner of the bar. But hey…I’ve had worse things in my mouth.

“You’re sick,” she chastises. “Do you have any idea whose ass germs you may have just shoved into your mouth? I heard Andrew Bolger was banging Holly Brummer on this exact table last weekend. She came all over it and everything.”

Both Kael and Larry chuckle. I ignore her diversion. If that were true, she would have picked another spot. Still, I plan to use the complimentary mouthwash in the bathroom in a minute.

“And you’re drinking water. Why?”

It’s not that I care she’s drinking water. I’m not about to get rip-roaring drunk tonight, even if a two-day hangover would be a good excuse to get out Sunday’s family brunch. So I don’t need a drinking buddy. But MaryLou can drink any man here under the table. And the girl like’s her Seagram’s, so the fact she’s drinking water is highly suspicious.

“Are you pregnant?” I ask. I’m dumbfounded. That’s the only reason she would be drinking water. Why would she not tell me she’s pregnant? I notice Larry glance away. That stabs me.

“No,” she responds fast. “But we’re trying again.” Reaching across the table she links our fingers. I let her, even if I do want to pull away just to hurt her the way I’m now hurting. That my best friend kept something this big from me stings more than I can articulate.

Wow.

First Jilly. Now MaryLou.

I’ve felt as if I’ve been left behind my entire life. With men. With love. Now with babies. Everyone’s happiness crowds around me until I feel smothered.

Kael squeezes my shoulder. He knows I’m upset. “Hey, Larry, how about a round of darts?” Larry, the clueless fuck, says no. Kael slips out, scoops up Larry’s drink, and takes off. He knows Larry will follow like a bloodhound when alcohol is involved.

When they’re gone, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I can’t keep hurt from double coating my words. I try. Really I do.

She just stares at me until my dense brain works through it.

Ah.

I get it.

“You could have told me,” I tell her firmly. “We share everything.” And I mean everything. From learning to use tampons together to practicing French kissing on each other when we were ten to crushing on the same boy. There’s not a female in all of Adel County who hasn’t crushed on Killian Shepard.

“I’m sorry. I should have. You’ve just been going through a lot. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You could have added to it. You
should
have, MaryLou. We’re best friends. I don’t want you to feel you don’t think I can be happy for you just because I’m going through my own shit. I am. Happy for you, I mean.”

“I know.” She’s contrite. “But the bigger part of me is just scared. It’s like if I start telling people, it becomes this real pressure and…”

She doesn’t need to say any more. MaryLou was pregnant when she got married. At five months she lost the baby. They were both devastated. I was devastated for them. But they tried again. Twice more. Unsuccessful, they gave up. My heart has bled over and over for her.

“Hey,” I say. I see her glassy blues peak through her lashes. “I guess you’ll get good use of that sex swing then.” When she laughs a tiny tear rolls down her cheek. “And then when you’re done, he can just tip you upside down and let you ferment a while.”

She fake slaps me. “You’re terrible.”

“Yeah. But I can tell by the sparkle in your eye you think it’s a good idea.”

She fights a smile for all of five seconds before whispering conspiratorially, “I never thought about that.”

“Well, see…that’s what best friends are for.”

“Thanks, Mavricky.” Her relief is palpable. The weight of secrets is a heaviness MaryLou can’t handle. I wish I was like that.

“No problem, babe.”

Our attention turns briefly to our men. Kael looks smug and cocky. Larry a bit more pissy. Guess we know who’s winning.

“Hey, karaoke’s going to start in a few. Let’s hit the bathroom before we miss Paulie singing ‘Walk Like an Egyptian.’”

Paulie, our forty-five-year-old town pharmacist, not only sings a good rendition of The Bangles’ most famous song, he’s choreographed a pretty fancy little routine. He even brings his own tambourine and does that side eye roll better than Susanna Hoffs. And since he hasn’t lost his eighties mullet yet, he’s very entertaining to watch. He usually gets the first spot to start karaoke night off with a bang, pun intended.

“Good idea,” I say.

I follow her into the ladies’ room. We chat through the stall walls as we always do. After we wash our hands and I’ve sufficiently rinsed my mouth with the generic version of Scope, I watch MaryLou primp her hair, vowing to be a better friend. I want to be there for her as she is for me. I can understand why she didn’t tell me. I’ve been pretty self-absorbed lately.

“We good?” she asks, eyeing me behind her.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

She launches herself into my arms and hugs me tight as a boa constrictor. She takes a breath and I know she’s going to apologize again. I cut her off. “Don’t. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

She breaks away. Plants a sticky kiss on my lips. “I have all the feels for you, you know that right?”

“Right back at ya.”

When we walk out of the bathroom, my head is tweaked to the back. I’m hysterical as MaryLou hops on one foot, trying to pull off a long string of toilet paper that’s stuck to the bottom of the other. I’m so focused on her I’m almost knocked backward when I run smack into a solid, massive wall. Warm hands grip my waist to prevent my ass from meeting the gummy floor.

“I’m sor—” I start. But when I crane my neck forward and up, my apology drops off a cliff of confusion. I find it’s not a wall at all I ran into.

It’s Killian.

The scent of Burberry Brit mixed with expensive leather blitzes through me two seconds too late. It makes my knees weak. It makes my heart race. It makes me want things I know I shouldn’t.

Fuck.

Damn him. I was doing so well, too.

Mostly.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. I’m angry he’s here. Furious, actually.

One of the unspoken reasons Kael and I come here together is that Jillian refuses to lower herself to Peppy’s. And because Jillian refuses to come, Killian’s not allowed to either. If he were with me, I would never control him like that. He knows it.

“It’s a public place, Small Fry.”

And why doesn’t he look surprised to see me in the least? Asshole knew we were here. “Don’t call me that,” I spit.

I realize that MaryLou is quietly observing behind me, the bathroom door now blocked by the three of us. Then she moves into action faster than the dazzle of a lightning bug.

“Come on, Maverick.” Swooping past me, she snakes her arm through mine. She has me halfway down the hall when Killian grabs the hand swinging behind me. His hold is firm. Unyielding. It burns in the most hatefully delicious of ways. A memory flashes of that palm curved perfectly around my ass as he drove into me from below. By the hungry look drawn over his face, he’s remembering the same thing.

Shit. I need to get the hell out of Dodge. Pedal to the metal.

Except Killian has no intention of letting me.

He tugs one way, MaryLou the other. They’re both pulling so hard, I feel like Gumby.

“Killian, please,” I beg. We simply can’t be caught in the darkened hallway alone. Especially by Kael. I can’t believe he would have missed Killian walking in.

“Two minutes. That’s all I ask. Please, Maverick.”

My gaze cascades between MaryLou and Killian. The looks on both their faces are the same, yet so different. He’s begging me to sin. She’s begging me to choose salvation. “Two minutes,” I tell him. “Starting now.”

A sinner I am, then.
Put it on my tab
.