The Ground Rules: Undone (30 page)

I’m folding a load of laundry when Weston calls. As soon as I hear his voice, I trudge over to the powder room and lock myself in there with the phone. I don’t need Gabe hearing this conversation. He’s likely to blow his stack if he knows Weston is still calling me.

“Weston,” I sigh. “You shouldn’t be calling.”

“I needed to see how you were faring. I want to know you’re well. I’ve been in tatters thinking about you.”

“I’m great,” I assure him. “Both physically and emotionally,” I tell him, wondering how he’s doing. I know he was broken up about the baby. The last time I saw him, he was completely shattered. “How are you?”

“Hanging in there,” he says, and then adds without preamble, “I’d love to see you.”

My heart beats a little faster when I tell him, “Weston, we can’t. We need to stop this. Our story is over.”

“It isn’t for me.”

“Well, it is for me. It has to be.”

“You just need a little more time, Mirella,” he presses, not letting go. “You’ve been through something awful and you’re trying to run away from it.”

Yes, I’m trying to run away from you.

I press my head against the wall, not wanting to say what I’m about to say. “I’m not running away. I’m trying to move forward with my life…my life with Gabe. But you’re not letting me do that.”

I hear a sigh and I can tell I’ve hurt him, but I carry on, needing to tell him this. “I won’t be moving in with you, Weston. I know you have this beautiful house all ready for us but–”

“I don’t care if there’s no baby anymore, Mirella. Like I’ve told you, it doesn’t change a thing. We belong together.”

“Weston…”

“We can try again,” he says. His voice is animated like he’s just had the most brilliant idea. “We can have another baby. We can still be a family…you, me, the girls and…”

“Weston,” I sigh. “You’re acting crazy again.”

“I’m not crazy, Mirella,” he tells me, his voice soft. “I’m in love.”

My toes are tucked uncomfortably into pink foam toe separators. I apply a second coat of bright pink with military precision.

I remember sitting in my walk-in closet that day so long ago, playing dress-up with the girls. Appalled by the dreadful state of my feet, I vowed to pay a bit more attention to myself, pamper myself a little. Although, I may have taken it all a little too far — I had been thinking along the lines of the occasional mani or pedi or bubble bath —
not
taking on a lover. But ever since, I’ve been doing a weekly manicure and pedicure, usually at night after I’ve tucked the girls in.

“Claire promised me she won’t get up again,” Gabe tells me, standing just outside my room (
our
room), his tall frame filling the doorway. I focus on my toes and try to not look at him. It seems I’ve been very ultra-aware of this casual-sexy vibe he’s got going; the worn tees, loose summer pants, and grey sweats hanging off his hips, just so.

I smile. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He walks in uninvited, although I must admit I’m not even close to being upset about it. He sits on the edge of the bed, and as his two-hundred plus pound body lands on the mattress, the bed bounces. Thankfully my bottle of pink nail polish sits safely on my night table.

He lies back on the bed, arms outstretched. “The garage was a mess but it’s looking pretty good now. I’m exhausted.”

My gaze darts from my toes to him. The edge of his tattoo peeks out from under the sleeve of his grey tee. As he rakes a hand through his unruly locks, his shirt rides up.

Mmmm…

“Tomorrow, we should go look for vanities. I was thinking maybe a double vanity or two single ones,” he says. “It all depends on what we find, I guess.”

He obviously has no clue what effect he has on me. What naughty thoughts I’m having.

I twist the cap of my nail polish closed, and tuck my supplies back in my toiletry bag. Suddenly it’s a little hot in my room.

I peel off my robe and stretch my legs. He doesn’t even notice! He stares at the dimmed light fixture on the ceiling, looking…well, utterly exhausted.

“You and Claire were having quite the little chat,” I point out.

He turns to look at me and does a double take. Now he notices. He smiles. “Yeah, we were playing this little game we like to play. She calls it ‘What do you care more about?’”

I smile. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this game. “How does it go?”

His gaze sweeps over me and then travels across the room. He scratches his chin. “Well, what do you care more about?” he says as he takes in the bedroom. “Uh, that blue vase there,” he says, “or the table lamp?”

I smile. “Well, the blue vase I just picked up at a garage sale. But the lamp is from my aunt Rachel. And I think it’s worth something, so the lamp.”

He smiles at me. His smile stretches a bit lower on the one side, revealing crooked bottom teeth, but somehow his smile still manages to be one of the sexiest I’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says, leaning up on an elbow. “So what do you care more about?” he asks again. “The lamp…or,” he trails off, his eyes sweeping over the space, “ the TV?”

I laugh. “Well, that’s easy,” I say, looking at the fifty inch flat screen we just bought last year. “Definitely the TV. Screw Aunt Rachel.”

He laughs. “Okay, I have a tough one for you,” he says, and all of a sudden, he seems closer. I can smell the sweat on him. “What do you care more about? The TV or the dresser?”

“Oh damn,” I say, my mind at work. “This game is getting tougher.” He knows I bought this dresser a few years back at an antiques auction for a pretty penny. It’s one of the very few pieces of furniture in the house that doesn’t come from Keates Furnishings.

“Damn, Gabe, you know I can’t give up my TV. The TV, I guess,” I say reluctantly.

He trails his finger along my freshly lotioned foot. It feels so nice. My feet have never been an erogenous zone, but my body is pretty desperate for his touch. It clings to anything it can get.

“So, it seems like the TV is very loved,” he teases. “But what do you care more about? The TV or your bed?” His hand trails to the back of my calf. I really don’t know if he’s doing this absent-mindedly or with intention.

I bite my lip. “Well, I need something to sleep on, but I can probably buy one of those blow-up mattresses for two hundred bucks, so I’d have to say the TV.”

“Oh wow,” he says, blowing out a breath. “The TV is doing real well,” he says as he studies me intently. “But what do you care more about the TV or…your house?”

I smile. “That’s easy, the house,” I say without a second thought. I know we might be planning on moving soon, but that’s a no-brainer.

He cocks a brow. “Okay so, what do you care more about? The house?” he says and pauses for effect, “or your pinkie finger?”

I laugh out loud. “Oh, this is getting morbid now. A nice manicure would just not look the same if I were missing a finger.”

“You have to choose.”

“Well, do I get insurance money for the house?”

“No,” he laughs. “There’s no insurance money in this game. You lose it, babe.”

I shake my head with a shrug. “Well, in that case the house, I suppose.”

He takes my hand in his and kisses the tip of my pinkie. “Poor pinkie,” he whispers.

I smile down at him, suddenly wanting to play a whole different game.

“So,” he says, his voice a little ragged. “What do you care more about? The house or your hand?”

I cough a little. “My entire hand? Which one?”

He mulls it over. He knows I’m left handed. “Your right hand,” he finally decides.

“Well, this is a tough one.”

He smiles. “You can still do a lot with one hand,” he points out. “You probably won’t be able to knit. But you could still teach, paint, read, cook,” he says, his hand trailing higher to my thigh. “You could even…you know.”

“You know what?” I ask, completely oblivious. Like I’ve said before, I’m not the fastest horse on the racetrack.

He wears an impish smile. “You know…”

I gasp, still confused. “What do you mean exactly?”

He cocks a brow. “You know…what you do sometimes when I’m not there.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t do that.”

He laughs. “Oh, you do. Don’t think I don’t know,” he teases as he tickles my hip with a gentle touch. “I’ve seen your toys.”

My first instinct is to pull his hand away. But he tickles me again, and suddenly he’s over me, and his face has taken on a whole different expression.

I want him to kiss me. I know he wants to. I can feel it, literally. “Of course you have,” I breathe. “You’re the one who bought them for me.”

“And I know you use them,” he teases, his hand under the skirt of my slip. I bite my lip, wanting him to stop playing games and pull off my cotton briefs…now.

“Okay,” he says, “back to the game. That one was too tough. How about this,” he says softly, his mouth inches from mine. “What do you care more about? The house? Or me?”

I laugh, but my laughter is jagged. I’m so aroused as I feel him still pressed against me. I want to play a little. “Why, that’s a tough one,” I tease. “This is a really nice house.”

He laughs but doesn’t say a word.

“But you… you’re a very nice man; a good husband, a good father,” I tell him as I trail my hand to the band of his sweat pants. He closes his eyes and moans as I travel further south and feel his hard-on through the thick fabric. “A good lover,” I go on, “and you do have rather impressive attributes,” I add with a cheeky smile.

He groans and laughs at the same time, the sound is slightly odd.

I smile and bite my lip. “You, of course,” I finally reply.

He smiles. “Good answer.”

I pull him to me and kiss him.

Finally.

His lips are warm and soft, and his kiss warms my entire body. I feel myself soften in his arms. I trail my hands under his grey t-shirt and glide them along his smooth skin. I want to touch every inch of skin. I suddenly wish I had ten pairs of hands.

I don’t quite understand when he pulls his mouth away from mine. I know he wants this as much as I do.

“Uh, Ella,” he says as he pulls away. “We should stop. I don’t want to start anything we can’t finish.”

I sit up on the bed. “What do you mean? We can’t finish?”

“It’s only been five weeks,” he reminds me. “The doctor said up to six weeks.”

“Yes,
up to
six weeks. It’s not an exact science.”

He bites his bottom lip. “I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to hurt you or give you an infection or something. I think we should wait.”

Ugh.

“Fine,” I scoff.

He smiles at me, seemingly amused. “And besides, I need to go take a shower. I’m so sweaty. I probably reek.”

I smile. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ll be doing in that shower.”

He laughs, bouncing off the bed. “You know me too well.”

“Tease,” I mutter under my breath and crash back down on the mattress in a heap of pent-up sexual frustration.

CHAPTER TWENTY

And he does what Gabe does best.

“H
i, Mom,” Chloe cheers as she enters my classroom. She’s in charge of getting her little sister and bringing her to my classroom every day after school. And she’s very responsible, does a great job without fail.

I smile at her. “How was your day, girls?”

“Fantastic,” Claire tells me.

“Epic,” Chloe says.

When did ‘epic’ become a word?

I gather my things and head out with the girls, keys in hand.

As soon as I step out, I see a tall shaded stranger, looking like the back of a fashion magazine, a glossy black and white ad for Calvin Klein. This time I know who he is. It’s like déjà-vu. An unwelcomed déjà-vu.

Despite myself, my gaze sweeps over him and I say a little prayer. He’s decked out in a white shirt and suit vest, and he looks
so
good.

He slides his shades to the top of his head and flashes a smile at the girls. I notice all his battle scars are gone. He is flawless again.

“Hello, girls.”

Claire runs to him and gives him a big hug. “Hi, Weston. Where have you been?” She asks, just like he’s an old friend. It would be so cute, if it weren’t so damn wrong.

Chloe shoots him a shy smile.

And I glare, but just a little. I’m desperately trying to control my emotions. I cannot make a scene. “Did you just come from work?” I ask. “You’re a little overdressed.”

He smiles. “Yes, I did. Just thought I’d come and see how your day was.”

I bite down a curse. “You did, did you?” I say politely, knowing this is far from an innocent friendly visit.

His smile fades as he buries his hands in his pockets. “How are you?”

I attempt a smile, trying to retain an iota of composure. There are people all around and I don’t want to look like I’m in a lovers’ quarrel. And then there are the girls too. Chloe is not stupid.

“Walk with us to the car,” I finally manage. “We’ll catch up.”

“Sure,” he says, eager. I catch a glimpse of his town car parked on the road, off in the distance.