Scared Stiff

we decide to call it quits, I’m embracing my loser status and struggling to rein in my hormones.

We order two more beers and settle back in at the bar. I can feel the sexual tension growing tauter by the moment and we spend a few moments sitting side by side sharing another awkward silence. There is a foot of space between us but I can feel the heat radiating off his body and my mind is imagining how it would feel to nestle my head against the broad expanse of his chest and the soft flannel of his shirt. It’s Hurley who finally breaks the silence with a husky clearing of his throat before he speaks.

“So, Winston,” he says. “Can I ask where things are with you and David?”

“Nowhere,” I tell him. “He’s made some overtures about trying again but I’ve made it pretty clear I’m done with him. I can’t forgive him for cheating on me with Karen.”

“People screw up sometimes,” he says with a shrug. “You must have some residual feelings for the guy. Are you sure you want to throw away your marriage because David made this one mistake?”

I give him a disbelieving look. “It’s a pretty big mistake, don’t you think?” I say, angry that he’s defending the slime bag. “I mean, it’s not like he didn’t pick up his clothes, or came home late for dinner, or tracked mud in on the carpet. He risked everything we had, everything we’d built, everything I believed in. He showed a total disregard not only for my feelings, but for my life. So yeah,” I conclude, my ire hitting a crescendo. “I’m sure.”

Hurley has hit a nerve and the feelings I’ve been working so hard to suppress over the past few months come boiling to the surface. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes and swipe irritably at them, turning away from him and staring at the dwindling head on my beer.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice soft. “I just . . . I wanted . . . I wondered . . . shit.”

He lowers his head and starts scraping the label off his bottle with his thumbnail. The awkward silence returns, hovering between us like a noxious gas. After several, agonizingly long minutes of it, he pushes his bottle away and says, “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

Not trusting my emotional state enough to speak, I simply nod and climb down from my bar stool. I follow him to the car and when he gallantly opens my door for me, I nearly burst into tears. The drive is blessedly short but uncomfortably quiet, and as he turns into my driveway I feel the need to say something to try to salvage the moment, and my future with him.

“It’s not easy for me,” I manage, twiddling my thumbs and staring at my lap.

“I’m sure it’s not,” he says, sounding weary.

“But I’m very certain where I stand on the matter. David and I are through. I know I haven’t taken the steps to make it official yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m having second thoughts. I promise you, that part of my life is over. Done with. Finis.”

“I believe you,” Hurley says, pulling up in front of my cottage and shifting his car into park. “But based on what I see here, I’m not sure David does.”

Confused, I look over at him but his eyes are focused on my front porch, his expression grim. I follow his line of sight and understanding glimmers. There, sitting on the porch, is David.

“Damn it,” I mutter.

“Do you need me to stay or will you be okay?”

Every fiber of my being wants him to stay but I know that now is not the time. Reluctantly I shake my head. “I’ll be okay,” I tell him. Keenly aware of David watching us, I make an impulsive decision. I lean over and kiss Hurley on the cheek. His skin is soft and warm on my lips, and his smell is heavenly. “Thanks for driving me tonight,” I whisper in his ear.

He turns to look at me and the normal blue of his eyes has darkened into something edgy, smoldering, and electrifying. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to open the car door and get out.

As I approach the porch, Hurley turns his car around and heads down the drive. I hear his wheels squeal as he pulls out onto the road, and a terrible sense of loss washes over me. Part of me wants to go running after his car and beg him to take me away. Part of me wishes I’d asked him to stay. But I do none of those things. Instead I climb my front steps and brace myself for whatever David has in store.

Chapter 26

“Hello, David.”

He stares at me with an annoyed expression. “Just what the hell was that?” he grumbles.

I ignore him, open my front door, and head inside. David follows, firing questions in machine-gun fashion.

“What the hell was that, Mattie? Did you just kiss that guy? Is there something going on between you two? Are you dating him? Are you sleeping with him?”

This last question piques my ire enough to make me whirl on him and fire back. “Who are you sleeping with these days, David, now that Karen’s gone?”

He pulls back, blinks hard several times, and then his whole body sags. “Okay,” he says miserably. “I had that coming. I’m sorry.”

He plops down in a nearby chair and stares at his hands, picking at a cuticle on one of his fingers. I study him, taking in the waves of his blond hair, the taut patrician angles in his face, and the tall, lean lines of his body. I still find him handsome, but its effect on me at this point is nil.

“Why are you here, David?”

“I heard you were in a car accident. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am, as I’m sure the ER staff told you. So if that’s all you want, you—”

“I wanted to talk to you about something else, too.”

“What?”

“Us.”

“There isn’t any us anymore, David.” The words come out harsh and angry, and he shoots me a wounded look that momentarily softens me. Then I remember what he did and my spine stiffens again. “For a relationship to work there has to be trust. And I don’t trust you anymore. That’s it in a nutshell.”

He nods wearily. “I understand that, and I deserve it,” he says. He leans forward with his arms on his knees and looks up at me with that wounded, puppy-dog look again. “What I did was wrong, but I’ve learned from my mistakes, Mattie. I’m asking you to consider forgiving me and to maybe, just maybe, give me . . . give us a second chance. I know it will take time and I’m not here to push you, but I don’t want you to rush into anything else either.” He pauses and I know the “anything else” he is referring to is Hurley. “Don’t close all the doors yet, Mattie,” he says, making his final appeal. “Don’t throw away everything we had.”

I stare at him a moment, and even though I feel bone-weary tired, I remain standing, not wanting to give him the impression that this discussion is going to continue. “What we had was a facade, David. It wasn’t real. I can’t forgive what you did, at least not to the degree necessary to make things work between us.”

“Not now, maybe,” he appeals. “But if we give it some time I’m sure we can—”

“I don’t love you anymore, David.” The words stop him dead, and as I utter them, the truth of the statement rings through to my core. It’s oddly releasing, but it also leaves me feeling terribly sad. “I’m sorry,” I say honestly.

There must be something in my expression that drives home the truth of my claim because his shoulders sag with resignation.

“So that’s it then,” he says.

“Yes.”

He digests things for a few seconds, then pushes himself out of the chair and takes a last look around the small confines of my cottage. Rubbish appears from the bedroom, strolling languidly into the room, pausing for one of those luxurious cat stretches. He eyes David then dismisses him as handily as I have, walking over to me instead and winding himself around my feet. He purrs contentedly and when David takes a step in my direction, I quickly reach down and pick Rubbish up, holding his warm, soft, vibrating little body close to my chest. As barriers go, he isn’t much of one, but the action has the effect I want; David stops moving toward me.

“Are you seeing that detective who drove you home?” he asks.

“That’s none of your business.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to but if it bothers David, he