Page 7 of Beauty and the Pucker (Puckers #4)
CHAPTER 7
BATH TIME
KALLIE
After holing myself up in this big house, Maryann, the food delivery service lady, has become my best friend. Whoever thought of an app where you could order Ben and Jerry’s to be delivered to your home night and day is a genius.
“Trying Death by Salted Caramel tonight, huh, sweetie?” She says with a sympathetic smile, handing over the goods. Over her nightly ice cream drop off, we bond a little more. I learn that she’s gone through a painful divorce after finding out her husband had cheated on her, and they were married for nineteen years.
It only confirms that I did the right thing and broke off my wedding to Jeremy. I saved myself the time and hassle of a divorce.
“I think tomorrow I’ll try the Peppermint Twirl.” I nod and bring up the app on my phone and tip her an extra twenty tonight for speedy delivery and her pleasant smile.
“Oh, you know what goes good with that? Hot cocoa. Dunk a scoop of the twirl into the mug and pour the drink over it. The best. You won’t regret it.”
“Good idea. Same time tomorrow. Thanks, Maryann.”
A few minutes later, I’m undressed and dipping into my bathtub, the custom one I had installed, and the only reason I haven’t left the house yet. Jeremy and I had just moved in together before I cancelled the wedding, hardly enough time to enjoy the one thing I really care about in this home.
The extra wide, extra deep tub curves to my back. The water temperature I can manage with just my big toe adjusting the knobs. Waterproof pillows allow my back and neck to relax in the bliss of the steamy water.
I’ve warned Jeremy to stay away, to give me space. Dad, too. I’ve lazed on the couch, depressed for a few days, doing nothing, mindlessly watching TV. I can’t eat much or sleep. And I don’t want to think. But each evening I draw a luxurious bath, and eat the pint of ice cream I order.
I don’t know if this ritual will fix my problems, but it sure feels damn good when I’m done.
After moaning through several bites, I set the container aside and sink lower into the heated water. I definitely don’t want to dwell on my father’s threats regarding money. And I definitely don’t want to think for a second about the dozens of texts from Jeremy making all sorts of empty promises to me to stay sober.
They’ve backed me to the wall, and I know I need to adult here and decide what to do. My indecision is my decision at the moment.
“Damn.” I forgot to add tonight’s bath bomb fizzy. The glass jar on the ledge of the bathtub is empty, and I glance at where I keep a plastic bin of them beneath the sink. I’m too lazy to get it now.
I let my thoughts wander back to Montana, to the small bathtub in my hotel room, made even smaller by Cody and his big body taking up most of it. But we made it work. I found a way to ride his big cock, his beautiful veiny monster, despite the cramped space.
A tub like this, though, would be perfect for us.
Us. Last year, I thought of only me and Jeremy. It’s funny how a one-night stand with a cowboy reminds you that there are plenty of fish in the sea, and more opportunities to create an us with someone new.
“Mm,” I moan, caressing the insides of my thighs, recalling how Cody filled me up so perfectly. I dip my hand low, beneath the water’s surface, splitting my seam. My pearl waits for me, throbbing at once. I’ve been too tired to do this, to take care of myself, but tonight, screw the world. I give myself permission to replay every second of what Cody did to me while I strum my clit.
I ride the wave of memories of our perfect night together, all I have of him. Is it too late to run back to Montana? Would Cody still be there?
With each of the six orgasms re-enacting in my head, my fingers dip deep inside of me, pumping, as my palm presses against my clit, over and over. I bring myself to crest fast, tumbling down the other side, water spilling slightly over the edge as I moan his name.
A door slamming downstairs echoes up to me, followed by Jeremy shouting, “Kallie?”
“Fuck,” I whisper, trying to bring my breathing under control. I wipe the sweat from my brow and remain quiet. I can hear him going from room to room, then taking the stairs by two. He finds me a minute later, unfortunately.
“There you are.” He appears happy to see me. I can’t for the life of me understand why.
“What are you doing here? I specifically told you I need space.” I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, denying him any view of me as he steps into the room.
“Enough. Quit ignoring me. We’re going to talk, regardless of whether or not you want to.” He brings out the stool I keep at the vanity and perches on it. His hand swipes the sponge from the bath tray. “Lean forward. I’ll do your back.”
I don’t budge, and I hate his imposition on my evening. This is my life and I’ll deal with it in my own time. “You know, a little warning about what Dad was doing might have been nice. You could have called me to tell me he’d given you the job. Hell, I wouldn’t have bothered coming back to Austin. You could have saved me a trip. Montana suited me fine.”
“Don’t even go there. I called and texted you all summer, none of which you answered.”
“I didn’t want to talk to you. We broke up, remember?”
“You broke off our wedding. We didn’t exactly break up.”
“There’s no difference in my mind.”
“There is a huge difference, and fuck Montana. Come on. I spent all summer in an outpatient program, getting better for you. I’m sober sixty-eight days and counting.”
Better for me? He acts like he deserves an award for this.
He spreads his hands on the edge, leaning in, getting that red-faced look when he’s upset, but at least his eyes aren’t bloodshot and dilated.
Being high never suited him. The drugs always made him an asshole. The way he’d treat me when he was under the influence—I deserve better, and I know it now.
“And how many days pussy-free?” Both a question and an accusation I throw into his face before I can stop myself.
He rears upright, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, will you never forgive me?” But he doesn’t exactly answer the question.
“You fucked my best friend and maid of honor. Why should I forgive?” I shout.
“Because I still love you, dammit.” He pounds a fist against the vanity, and we lock eyes in a stalemate. My heart quakes, my chest heaves, and I’m a little scared, but I refuse to show it, instead focusing on casting the most deathly glare at him.
Love? He can’t mean it. I can’t say it back. It wasn’t just a fling with Marissa. They’d had an affair the entire year while I planned our wedding. After his injury in the last game he played, he needed physical therapy and massage, and all kinds of specialized treatments, possible surgery. She was his masseuse in his physical therapist’s office, and their affair began there. Not to mention the ease with which she could get him prescriptions and access to drugs.
I knew she took drugs recreationally. She was always my wild, fun friend, such the opposite to my serious side. But this? It was the ultimate betrayal. The entire affair I blamed on her at first. Who does that? Having an affair with a man your bestie was engaged to? But Jeremy was totally at fault. He loved playing the victim, the injured hockey player, all too well. Pathetic.
I turn away from him and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears. The last thing I want to do today is cry in front of him. Except with eyes closed, images come flying back of the day I discovered the two of them.
My return from Montana isn’t supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be the one to take control, to call the shots, to work and prove that I don’t need him or my dad running my life. I did not expect to find my ex sober and still professing his love, and my father to have given him my job.
When I open my eyes again, he’s still there, face calmer. He reaches out a hand and presses my hair back off my face. I freeze in place. “Please, babe. Give me another chance. We were so good once. We could be again. Please.”
How could he be stupid enough to think I’d welcome him back with open arms?
He grabs my bun, more than a handful of hair, and pulls my face closer to him. His other hand reaches up, circling my neck, pressing his thumb against my pulse point. My hands react on instinct, fingertips trying to peel his digits free. His lips land on mine. But I don’t react or kiss back. I’m frigid.
I pray. Oh, God, I’m holding on by a string here. I need strength to get through this. Even an ounce of courage would help.
When he lets me go with a little shove, I don’t say a word. He lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Fine. I’ll give you fucking space, but you’re not moving out. We are figuring things out between us, and that’s all your father needs to know. You’ll show up for work tomorrow, because we have shit to do and I need you there working beside me.”
In other words, he doesn’t have a clue how to be the marketing director. Does he even know the seven Ps of Marketing?
“And if I don’t?”
“Don’t push me, Kallie,” his voice darkens, possessing an edge to it with a full warning I can’t ignore. “I’m working on my sobriety. Any undue stress can cause my relapse. Who knows what I’d be capable of under the influence again?”
He leaves me there in shock, lost in his veiled threats, and I stay in the water long after I hear his car pull out of the garage and drive away. I shrivel like a prune, shivering in the chilly water by the time I finally get out.