Love, Chloe (29 page)

I opened my eyes and blinked, my alarm clock coming into fuzzy focus. I rolled over carefully, stilling when I realized I wasn’t alone, Carter next to me, stretched out on top of the covers, jeans on, a couch pillow squashed underneath his head. I closed my eyes and did a self-assessment.

Foul taste in my mouth? Yep.

A little sweaty underneath the hot blankets? Oh yeah.

Knot in my stomach? Gone.

Shame of my actions? Non-existent.

Hmmm. I felt brave enough to prop up on my elbows and look around. I was pretty certain, given his full dress and … I peeked under the covers … my own jeans and top, that we didn’t have sex. Or get even close to it. I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. The memory came fuzzy through the grip of a headache.

I’d told Carter about Vic and me. Then, I’d vomited. Apologized while … crawling to the bathroom? I winced, and Carter shifted. He opened his eyes and saw me.

“Chloe.” His hand lifted, rubbing over his face. “Good morning.”

“I slept with Vic. In Joey Plazen’s trailer.” It was like my vomit from last night. It just wouldn’t stop coming out.

He smiled. “Yes. I know. You mentioned that, several times.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

He considered me for a long moment. “I wasn’t. But … you’re pretty hard to stay mad at when you’re bent over a toilet.”

I winced. “Sorry.”

“You said that a lot last night.” He met my eyes. “But you also told me it was over, with you and him.”

“It is.” My words were firm, no hesitation in my gaze. “Definitely.” The words rolled out strong and confident. And I was sure of myself, positive that I
wanted
it to be over. What I wasn’t as confident about was if it actually
was
over. It took two to tango, but it also took two to part.

“Why do you seem surprised that I’m not mad?”

“Well…” I kicked off a tangle of sheets. “It was after we hooked up. That’d bother some guys.” It definitely would have bothered Vic.

“I didn’t exactly walk away from that night expecting loyalty.” He reached for me, but I rolled away. Mainly because I was pretty sure my morning breath was horrific. But also because he was
so
casual about this that it was raising my own questions.

“Did you have someone like that? An ex who was still around? Or who still is?”

“You mean, like Presa?” he raised his eyebrows and I fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. “Before that show, I hadn’t seen Presa in months.”

Months?
I would have preferred
years
. “Anyone else?” The memory of the brunette—Brit—came to mind.

“Someone who gives me exorbitant gifts and drags me into isolated places for impromptu sex?” He shook his head with a smile. “No.”

“I’m serious.” I faced him squarely, wanting a straight answer. “Do you?”

“No.” He pulled at the front of my shirt and I was forced into a kiss. “I don’t. You’re it.”

“Vic and I are over.” I said the sentence a second time, because surely that would make it true.

Something flickered in his eyes. “I think you should tell him that.” The suggestion was simple, no edge to the words, but they still cut me to the bone. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.

“No.” I stood up and headed to the bathroom, beelining for my toothbrush.

“Chloe.” There was enough command in his voice to cause me to look over. “You tell me that it’s over, but I’ve tripped over this guy since I met you. That car … you hooking up with him…” He took a deep breath. “Speaking as a man, I can tell you that we are dense. We miss subtle clues and tend to ignore things we don’t want to hear.”

I frowned. “Then he’ll just ignore everything I say.” Perfect logic.

“Talk to him.” He pushed the subject, ignoring my logic, and I looked away, giving full concentration to the application of my toothpaste in a proper manner.

“Okay?” He poked me, and I looked up with a snarl.

“Fine.” I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth with a scowl, and the conversation was over.

My stress, on the other hand, was just beginning.

“It’s unnecessary.” I shook my strawberry shake, trying to unclog my straw. “Why do we need a conversation to confirm the fact that we broke up? He
knows
we broke up.”

“It’s
absolutely
necessary,” Cammie interjected from across the table. “Especially after you let him…” She eyed me. “You know.”

“Chloe can’t handle it,” Benta said. “It’s asking for disaster. That man will give her one wink and BAM.” She slammed her hand on the table, and Cammie and I flinched.

“Jesus, Benta,” Cammie chided. “You’re gonna break the table.”

“He can wink his damn eye off,” I stated. “It won’t matter.” It was one thing falling for Vic when I was single. But now, in a relationship with Carter, everything was different. Loyalty in a relationship—especially for me, especially after what I’d been through with Vic—was sacred. Which was just one of the reasons I was struggling so hard with Nicole’s affair.

“Oh. Right,” Benta said. “Forgive us. I didn’t realize that so much had changed in … what? A month?”

“She did give back the car,” Cammie pointed out.

“Hey!” I said sharply. “
She
is right here. And yes, things have changed. I’m with Carter.”

“Okay, but
he
doesn’t know they’ve changed,” Cammie said slowly. “Which is why you need to tell him.
Clearly
and in person. So the idiot gets it.”

“In person is stupid. You should just call him.” Benta argued, and my gaze darted between them before landing on my phone. A call certainly would be easier. And risk-free.

“Chloe can handle a face-to-face without falling on the man’s dick,” Cammie snapped. “Short and sweet.” She set down her milkshake and gave me her full attention. “Just tell him you’re exclusive with Carter and that he needs to back the F up. Forever.”

“Forever,” Benta repeated, and they both stared me down.

I straightened in my seat. “Okay.” I could do this. A clear face-to-face conversation where I would end any lingering expectations on Vic’s part, part ways amicably, and emphasize we would never-ever-ever get back together. *cue Taylor Swift* I set down my empty milkshake cup. “I think I should do it in person,” I decided.

Benta leaned forward, pushing my cell toward me. “So set it up.”

“Right now?” I shouldn’t have drunk that milkshake so fast. I felt nauseated.

“It’s noon. The pretty boy will be awake.” She nodded to the phone. “Call him.”

My eyes jumped from her to Cammie, not one ounce of sympathy in either face. I groaned, grabbed my phone, and stood.

“Fine. But stay here. I’ll call him from outside.”

I leaned against the brick of the building and closed my eyes. Went through a breathing exercise, which didn’t help at all, then tried a pep talk.

The call wouldn’t need to be long. Short and simple would work just fine. We’d agree on the time and location, then hang up. Morning would be best, and I would keep the meeting short. There was a French cafe just off Central Park that would work. I scrolled down to Vic’s number and took a deep breath. Then, my finger hesitant, I placed the call.

“Hey baby.” So casual, so confident. Vic’s familiar greeting was painful, and I swallowed the urge to point out that I was not his
baby
anymore.

“Hi Vic,” I spoke quickly, my fingers picking at the seam of my shirt. “Are you in town?” I held my breath, half hoping he wasn’t, our interaction pushed off further.

“Nope. Blue marlin are hitting in the South Pacific, so we’re going out. I’ll be back in Fiji by the first, then back in the States by the fifth. Why?” His voice sharpened. “You need anything? I can have Jake there—”

“No.” I tried to collect my thoughts. “I just wanted to talk. In person. We can do it when you get back.”

“Is everything okay? I can fly back today.”

“NO.” I took a deep breath. “No, that’s not necessary. I just wanted to…” This was stupid. A face-to-face wasn’t needed. Discussing it right now was a better idea. “I’m seeing someone. I just wanted to tell you about it. And talk through it.”

“Oh, yeah. The handyman.” I could hear the smirk on his face, and it pissed me off.

“Just call me when you get back in town,” I snapped. “We can talk then.”

“I’ll be back on the fifth. Let’s meet then. My club. Ten o’clock.”

“No.” I sputtered. “I was thinking breakfast. In Central Park.”

“Breakfast isn’t good for me. And you said it was important. So let’s knock it out as soon as I get back. Ten o’clock.”

“I can’t meet you at ten at night, Vic. That doesn’t …
work
for me.” I let out a hard breath and dug harder on the seam, finding a loose thread.

“For you or for the insecure boy you’re dating?”

I frowned.

“Ten on the fifth. Wear something hot.”

And before I could find a response, he hung up.

I knocked on Carter’s door. Glanced at my watch. Tried a second time. No answer.

I eyed the stairwell and took that route, jogging down the stairs and into the basement. Carter had an office there, a tiny box stacked so high with items you could barely get inside. I had about forty-five minutes before Nicole would get out of her spa appointment and was hoping for lunch with my—I swallowed hard—boyfriend. That word still seemed foreign in my throat. Especially now, when I entered the dirty bottom floor, a place my prior boyfriends would never set foot in.

His office was empty, but the engine room door was cracked. I peeked in, the room cool and dark, and saw him. His shirt was off, the giant mechanics of our building behind him. We were talking rough big machines framing his tan, muscular skin, and I couldn’t help but step inside, my hand pulling the door shut behind me, my sandals smacking against the floor.

He looked up, a wrench in hand, and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. Saw the look in my eyes, and stood, setting down the wrench. I forgot all about eating.

He picked me up under my arms, carrying me backward, my feet hanging limp, a huff of breath leaving me as he pushed me against the wall. My red sundress got shoved up, his pants quickly unzipped, and then he was inside me. Concrete cool and hard against my back, his grip biting into my ass, the grunt of his thrusts hot in my ear. He fucked me against that wall, and when I came, I screamed, the yell lost in the loud rumblings of the machines. When he finished it was sudden, his grip on my skin tightening, and I felt the shudder of him right before he pulled out.

That night, I told him about my attempt to call Vic and the disaster it had become. He listened quietly, his eyes darkening when I didn’t sugarcoat the ending and told him exactly what Vic had said. How he’d called him insecure. How he’d wanted to meet me at night. Carter had looked away, a pulse in his jaw ticking, then back at me.

“I didn’t want to force you to meet him. That wasn’t what it was about.”

“I know.” We sat on his couch, my feet in his lap, his thumb rubbing gentle pressure into the soles of my feet. I rested my head on the arm of the couch and looked at the ceiling. “And I do think I should talk to him. Just to clear the air. Just so there’s no doubt, in his mind, that we’re over. I want him to stop everything he’s doing.”

“So then meet him. What difference is morning or night?” Carter’s thumb resumed its massage.

I shrugged. “It’s a control thing, really. I guess I don’t like him dictating the place.” My lie came out perfectly. It wasn’t really the place, or the time that bothered me. It was the thought of seeing him. I wanted to put Vic in a box and pretend he didn’t exist. I didn’t want to look up into his face and see our history there. Even scarier, any regret on his face.

“It’s the last time you’ll have to see him.” Carter ran his hand up the entire length of my leg, and I shifted, giving him better access.

“Right.” I was starting to lose my train of thought, his fingers sliding along the inside of my thigh.

He watched me squirm and his eyes darkened. “I don’t want you to meet him alone. Make sure there will be other people there.” There was possession in his words and it was unbelievably hot, his face tightening, hands a little rougher on my legs. My mind flashed back to our second encounter, in the hall of my apartment, when he’d been pissed. I’d thought that look on him was hot. A possessive Carter was even hotter.