My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (11 page)

She gets a laugh outta me. I know my friend so well.

“Okay. So why again is he your ex, then?”

The question of the hour. “Because when I left home for a better life, I left him as well.”

For once, Lexi is shockingly silent.

“Hello? Did I break you?”

“No, babe. Sorry, I just didn’t know what to say. You never spoke much about your past, and I guess I never asked why you left home. But if I had something like
that,
I think I might have stayed.”

“Well, it was years ago. Too late for regrets.”

“Speaking of regrets, have you spoken to your
fiancé?
” She emphasizes the last word.

“No, actually I haven’t. I was going to call him later.”
Uh, no, I wasn’t.

“Just letting you know, I ran into him last night at Sullivan’s. And he was with some real hoe bangers. Like legit ones, too. He said they were clients, and it definitely looked like there was some kind of deal going on. Just not the kind you do when the sun is up, if you get me.”

“Like he was on a date?” I ask, shocked. Talk about taking a break that piece of—

“I’m not putting it past him, honey. There were three of them. All I know is that I was tempted to rip BTD’s dick off and wait, what did you mean by soon to be expired—”

I hear a soft knock, cutting off Lexi’s rant, and I watch the knob twist, hoping it’s not Pippa. Luckily, I see Ian’s well-built frame fill the doorway. I lock eyes with the most beautiful set of greens that have forever haunted my dreams.

“Lexi, I have to go,” I barely mumble and just end the call.

“I found you.” He leans against the doorframe, surveying my less than sober appearance.

“You win. Now it’s your turn to hide and I’ll seek.” I giggle at my own totally awesome comeback.

He nods toward my purse. “Drinking the tampons you needed, I see?” Totally blowing my cover.

“It’s really unmanly to question a girl about her feminine products.” I offer a weak grin.

His humor disappears. “What are you doing, Chris?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

“I’m hiding, Ian. Exactly what it looks like I’m doing because I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with all those people staring at me, judging me.” I grab at my purse in search of another mini bottle. I find it hiding in a pocket. With vigor I crack open the cap and take a healthy swig.

Bummer that Ian’s not down with my antics. He bends down and takes the mini goodness right out of my hands before I get to finish.

“Hey! I was drinking that!” I pout and try to grab it back. Unfortunately for me he’s quicker and I just end up lunging forward, knocking him backwards onto the floor. I land, straddling him, my knees on either side of his lap. I lie unmoving for God knows how long. I have my head in the crook of his neck, and I’m pretty sure he’s choking on a chunk of my hair splayed over his face.

A moment of facts: when you drink, whatever you’re thinking, you usually actually do. Nothing is said or thought or
done
only in your head. So when I think
this is nice
to myself, Ian’s tensing body confirms it’s probably not in my head. Then, when I start sniffing at his neck and
mmm-mmming,
it also may be out loud. I pull away, throw my beastly head of hair over my shoulders, and catch the curious eyebrow now raised at me.

Yep. That was all actually happening.

“Why are you drinking, Chrissy?” he asks, now looking hurt.

“Because I guess it’s true what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

He sighs in defeat. He lifts his hand to tuck some flyaway hair behind my ears. He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. He wants to say something. I know he does. I can see all the questions lingering in those shiny green eyes. Sometimes I remember staring into those eyes like they could tell you a story just by looking long enough. His story right now is sadness.

Truth serum. It’s a bitch. So I let my next thought slip through my lips. “I want to kiss you right now,” I blurt out.

His hands that have made their way around my waist tighten. “You say it like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

There is.

“But I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say, trying to figure out why. It’s definitely not because I am technically on a break.

With what may well be a cheating dick.

Truth be told, it’s because my heart can’t handle leaving him for a second time.

“I’m sorry about your cousin,” I say, changing routes. I know he’s also hurting.

His hands skim back up my waist and make their way up my arms. “John was an amazing guy. He was very good to your sister. They had the kind of love we all wish we had.”

Um, okay, thanks for that blow.

I try and struggle out of his grip, but that only forces him to hold me tighter.

It’s also a shame I’m a glutton for punishment, because I really don’t know who I’m trying to convince. I don’t want out of his embrace. I want to do things to him right now and I won’t feel a bit of shame. Or guilt. Or possibly remember. I’ve technically had seven mini bottles of vodka in the past two hours and the evening is still young.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed,” he whispers.

“I’m not tired. And I like where I’m at right now.” I watch his chest lift up and down. Approval or defeat?

Mmmm, that delicious chest.

I sigh and lie back down where I feel perfect. He wraps his arms around me and I feel him shifting to stand with me in his arms.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I snuggle more into the baseline of his neck.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

“Like old times?” I ask, the words drunkenly spilling out of my mouth.

“To bed to sleep.”

“That’s too bad.”

He presses me tighter to his body as we make it to the bedroom where I’ve slept the past two nights. He tries to lay me down, but my impressive bear grip doesn’t allow for it. “Please. Just stay here with me for a bit,” I ask him.

He hesitates just for a moment, then kicks off his shoes, and lies down with me still in his arms. I squirm and twist so I’m facing him.

“I think I’m still in love with you.” Was that me or him?

The room is spinning, and I’m losing the fight to the booze. I slip into oblivion, a smile on my lips.

I
AM HAVING THE
best dream. I’m on
Gilligan’s Island,
and I’m Ginger. I mean, duh, everyone would pick Ginger. I’m just walking out of the Sephora Hut, because yes, it’s a dream, so the island has Sephora, and I make toward the shore. Ahead of me, I see the most glorious sailboat. Okay, lie. It’s a yacht, and I wave at the only other person on the island. I can’t see his face, but I know I like it. I feel the warmth in my chest build as I watch this man throw some water over the side, then bring his hand to his sweaty forehead wiping away the wetness from his skin. He’s bare-chested and the sun is glimmering off his tanned muscled body. Unable to just sightsee any longer, I start walking to the ship. And yes, I’m walking on water. Come on. It’s a dream. I make it to the ship, when I feel tugging on my arm. I brush it off. Dreams can kinda get a little strange, so we’re gonna avoid the antics and continue on mission get-some-of-Captain-Hotpants.

I make it to the escalator made of ocean water and as I rise to the top of the ship, the tugging happens again.

What the feck? I try and hold onto the water railing, but it just dissolves in my hands. I start to actually run up the escalator, but under my feet, the water is not so solid and I begin to fall through the mirage.

Just as the smokin’ hot man dips his head over the edge of the boat, I plunge into the water.

I wake up with a start. I bolt upright and frantically say, “My Sephora bag.” I had a lot of cool stuff in that bag and now it’s drowning. Two seconds of realizing I’m back to reality, and I shield my eyes quickly and throw myself back onto the bed.

“Oh, my God, I think I’m blind!” I groan into my hands. The scorching sun is so bright it’s sending daggers into my skull. I’m starting to wish I’d drowned along with my cosmetics.

“Why were you two hugging like Mommy and Daddy hug in bed?”

That little precious pipsqueak of a voice. I hear her, but I’m not sure what’s she’s saying is registering. My head is going to explo—

Hugging?

I quickly open one eye and turn to my left.

And there I see Ian’s sleeping figure, so handsome. So peaceful. So . . .”Shit.” I have no idea why we’re in bed together. I’m not proud of what I do next. But I check to see if I have clothes on.

Okay, fully dressed. Check.

“What is shit?” Pippa asks.

Oops.

“It’s a word little princesses should never say.” That’s Ian with his groggy sex voice. I turn again to see him slowly peeling his eyes open.

God.

Like God, as in he might be one. Even waking from sleep he can work wonders on my libido. I’m still totally turned on from my dream and I’ve started gnawing at the inside of my cheek to fight the hunger to attack him and bite and lick every part of him.

“Are you hungry?” I hear him ask me.

“
God
yes,” I say instantly. “Wait, no!” Hmph. “I mean no. I’m fine.”

He laughs, disregarding my horrible lie, something I have never mastered, and sits up.

“Good morning there, little princess. Since Chrissy isn’t hungry, are you?”

“I’m hungry! I’m hungry! I can make pampakes!”

Strange, in unison we both quickly say, “No!” Apparently I’m not the only one who’s caught on to the dangers of those poor frozen flapjacks. Too bad the look of complete disappointment shatters our fight against it.

“You know, I was wrong, I would
looove
some pancakes. Do you think you can make some, Pip?”

Ten points for me, I’ve saved the day because with her signature squeal she jumps off the bed and races out of the room into the kitchen where we hear banging of drawers and cabinets.

This allows me to lie back down. The thought of attempting to eat a mound of pancakes makes me want to upchuck right now. If I hadn’t worked so hard to become such a classy broad, I would totally twist to my right and yack in the nightstand drawer.

Hey, it’s happened.

“So . . .” Ian says. Oops, kind of forgot about him. And why are we in the bed together?

I open one eye and look at him. He’s lying on his side, his right arm holding him up.

“Hi there.”

“Hi,” I reply shyly.

“We seem to have found ourselves in the same predicament again.”

If it’s his goal to make me blush like a schoolgirl, then he’s hit his mark. Twice I’ve woken up with him now, and I think I’ve also slept like a goddamn baby. I want to sigh, then snuggle into his armpit, which probably also smells like heaven.

Geesh, focus girl.

Regrouping, I say, “Yeah, and it feels like déjà vu with me owing you another apology. Sorry, I think I drank too much.”

“It’s okay. And you don’t owe me anything,” he responds.

Ugh, lie. I probably owe him everything.

“So . . .” I begin, trying to change the subject.

“So,” he repeats. “What are your plans, Chris?”

Hmm, in life? Who knows. In love? Definitely who knows. In general? Who the feck knows.

“I’ll be more specific since it looks like you’re having an internal debate. What do you plan on doing about Pippa?”

Ha! If he thought my first mental debate was a biggie, asking me what I’m going to do about my niece is like asking me to solve global warming or world peace.

I answer him honestly. “I have no flippin’ idea.”

At that he actually laughs. “Well, I can’t tell you how to handle the future with Pippa. I don’t know if your life in California has room for a four-year-old, but as long as you’re here, I’m here to help, obviously.”

His comment reminds me of my drunken voicemail to Brent. Wondering if he got the hint, I conclude probably not. Then the email filters to the front of my memory. I need to check to see if I got a reply. I wonder what the logistics are for taking a child back to California. Do I need ownership papers? Can I even take her out of the state?

You’re not kidnapping her to Mexico, Chrissy . . .

Right.

Still, just thinking about a four-year-old in an all marble high-rise, playing dress up while her aunty sips on her Cristal with her fancy snob friends sounds like the almighty perfect setup for Pippa’s future.

Not.

I deliriously snort. Then I remind myself how to breathe since I’m all of a sudden suffocating.

In and out. In and out.

“Ookay. How about we do baby steps here,” Ian says.

I’m breathing in and out, trying to hold back my anxiety attack. I nod quickly, closing my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Chrissy, I know this is a lot for you to take in, but I have to ask this, before we begin to figure out what to do. Do you plan on staying long?”

I just stare at him. As in, staying in this bed? Staying today? For the next week?

“Okay. I’ll be a bit clearer. Do you plan on staying in Ashford with Pippa?”

What I want to plan is to stay in never-never land forever and not have to address these realistic questions. But if I’m honest with myself, I already made up my mind that I’m going to step up to the plate with taking guardianship of Pippa. I might have no idea how to take care of her yet, but in the last forty-eight hours I think I’ve fallen in love for the second time in my life. And if there is one thing I can still do for my sister, it’s creating a home and family for that little girl.