End With A Bang (Slap/Bang Duet #2)

11. Off Limits

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Off Limits

Ivy stood outside of her apartment door, psyching herself up. She’d been dreading this moment all weekend.

The keys were in her hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to put them in the deadbolt. She looked at the doorknob.

Jason had it wrong. Sever wasn’t a snake. He was a sheep in snake’s clothing. Or, a puppy who maybe wasn’t properly socialized... in snake’s clothing.

Of course, Jason would never see him for who he really was. Especially now, with the unforgivable betrayal. In which she was a key player.

And now she was back, and every wrong thing she’d done was back, too.

She centered herself with a firm, You’re a big girl. You can do this, then faced her fear.

The apartment was dim and quiet.

Taking her bag off her shoulder, she said, “Jase?”

No answer... and no Huey bounding to the door to greet her. Maybe they were out on a walk? Ivy ventured into the living room, where he’d been sleeping. No messy work piles on the coffee table, no crumpled cigarette pack, no clothes...

She rushed to his closet.

Full.

With a shaky exhale, Ivy sat on the bed. The power of guilt, ladies and gentlemen.

If she’d checked her voicemail sooner, she’d know that Jason had gone straight from the dog park to Amy and Chris’ house in Silverlake. It became an impromptu party, and he’d probably get home late.

Well, good, she thought, as she listened to the laughter in the background. He deserved some fun. The kind of fun, she hoped, that involved coming home so late there were no questions about her weekend, or who she’d spent it having sex with.

She began to take off her jeans— I like you in jeans —and her top. She had tan lines from the bikini. And very, very red nipples, for which the sun was not to blame. Giving one an exploratory touch, she hissed. She went to the bathroom cabinet for aloe, and as she daubed each one, she noticed Jason’s cologne, open on the sink.

Is he with Kara?

No. She heard the party. Even heard Amy’s laughter.

She imagined confronting him in her current state of undress: Did you fuck Kara? What, my nipples? They’ve always looked like angry thimbles. This is about what you might have done, not what I’ve definitely been doing.

Maybe she wished he was fucking Kara right now. Maybe she wished that he’d been doing it all along. It would even the score, or at least put a counterweight on the teeter-totter of guilt she sat on.

But that was her brain being an asshole. Her feelings begged to differ: every time she thought about him with Kara, it hurt. She’d trusted him, and he’d stuck himself into another woman—a woman she hated almost as much as he hated Sever.

Besides, Ivy was an only child. She didn’t like to share.

Hypocrisy, thy name is me.

She let out a long sigh, and turned away from herself. Grabbed her faux silk robe from a hook and clicked off the bathroom light.

There was a part of her that expected this all along. She’d been quietly dreading a relapse ever since her first tête-à-tête with that boa constrictor with legs. Kara clearly felt a bizarre claim over him, one that obviously transcended marriage, and the haunting song Jason had once written about her, Baby Packs a .45 , implied that he felt it, too. Jason kept underlining his repulsion for Kara, but all Ivy heard was I have strong, complex feelings for this woman who isn’t you . It wasn’t love, but it ran just as deep.

Now that it had happened, she didn’t know what to do. He’d confessed, felt awful about it, and was in grovel mode. And if anyone should be groveling, it was her.

Clad in robe and undies, she padded to the kitchen. Had he drank all of that beer himself? She tried not to think about the possibilities. She grabbed a water. The same brand they’d drank on the boat, the same smooth, green, glass bottle mouth he’d twisted over her nipple.

“What are you doing?”

“Dunno. Looks pretty.”

“You’re so weird... Twist it more.”

That’s when it hit her. Why she’d been avoiding a conversation with Jason. If she let him push for forgiveness, she’d feel the compulsion to come clean about Sever.

She’d feared the obvious consequences since day one: hurting Jason, officially shattering the dream she’d had for their forever, veering off the path she’d set so well for herself, earning Jason’s scorn, losing their mutual friends, initiating a complete life change...

But she saw now that there was another consequence that motivated her to keep this under wraps. If she ended it with Jason, she and Sever would end, too.

The entire foundation of her relationship with Sever was her inaccessibility. Yes, he was besotted, but for how long? She knew this could be short-term lovebombing; knew his affection could vanish in a blink. ...Like that time she hurt his feelings and he kicked her out of his car in the middle of the night.

This was an affair, not a foundation for a happy ever after. He’d treated his wives like afterthoughts, his longtime mistress like an inconvenience... How long until she got that treatment? Ivy had a feeling that if she was suddenly up for grabs, she’d be a lot less exciting to him, and he’d lose interest. Maybe not right away, but it would happen.

Thus, nothing was allowed to change. This was where it had to stay. She liked him right now just as he was. Liked the way he treated her. Liked the way he laughed.

She unpacked her weekend bag on the bed. Her pink bikini smelled like coconut and come—both his and hers—and she was suddenly in the mood to rub it all over herself.

As if he had some kind of horny-Ivy alert, Sever sent her a text message.

I want a picture of you.

She couldn’t help but smile.

We said no photos, horndog ;)

Just your pretty face. Take it right now.

Charmed, she lay back on the bed, and snapped a selfie.

Ivy wasn’t very photogenic. Much like a yeti, or the Loch Ness Monster, hers was a likeness that was notoriously difficult to capture on film. This casual snap was a rare exception.

Hair fanned around her, cheeks pink from the sun, there was something about the light in her eyes and the meaning of her smile that she’d never seen before, yet made her more recognizable than ever. It was childlike, it was womanly, it was her soul in a 3x6” frame.

She sent it to Sever, and he replied soon after with a voice note:

“J’aime la fa?on dont tu me regardes,” he purred. “Bonsoir, ma belle.”

I love the way you look at me, he’d said. Goodnight, beautiful.

Unclenching her toes, turned to her side, then saw something peeking out of the bag beside her. Something white. And cotton. And not hers.

She sat up, and pulled out The Shirt. “You little sneak...”

She brought it to her nose, lay back down, and listened to his voice again.

The next morning, Ivy woke to the smell of coffee and the clank of dishes in the kitchen. There was something balled up under her cheek. She pulled at it, and her eyes widened. It was the shirt she’d sniffed and bitten and humped all night while using it to sop up her come. She didn’t remember falling asleep, just mewling in mindless contentment.

It still smelled like Sever.

She tucked it into the bottom panel of her weekend bag, along with the pink bikini that had joined the party, and stowed it under the bed. Note to self: burn that.

Her cheek felt ...bumpy. She went to the mirror. The shirt—and a bikini string—had left an impression on her face.

She wanted to text him her displeasure, but her phone was dead. Besides, he’d only given it to her; she didn’t have to fuck it.

Another clank from the kitchen.

If Jason wanted to talk, she needed to get it over with. She washed her face and hands, put on her pj pants and a tank top, moved her hair over her facial macrame, and entered the fray.

“Hey,” she said, leaning on the wall at the edge of the kitchen.

“Hey.” Jason looked at her, then down and away.

She touched her earlobe. “Did you have fun last night? You got in late.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that. Me and an old friend of Amy’s got into it and I lost track of time.

“Into it? Like, fist-fighting?”

“No,” he laughed. “Just talking. Heavy stuff. Is this the last of the butter?”

“Um,” she said, plugging in her dead phone at the bar counter, “there might be some in the freezer...”

“Doesn’t matter, there’s enough.”

She grabbed a mug from the cupboard. As she squeezed past him, their bodies and eyes met. Ivy tore away quickly, and went to the coffee machine.

“What happened to your face?”

Her hair did not do its job. “Got branded. All the kids are doing it.” When he didn’t get it, she said, “I’m kidding. I slept on my clothes last night.”

“I thought maybe you won a fight with a facehugger.” The toast popped up.

“My night wasn’t as eventful as yours. No fisticuffs or heavy talk.”

“I wouldn’t call it eventful, so much as ...enlightening.”

She didn’t love the sound of that. “Enlightening how?”

“We talked about family,” Jason said, buttering his toast. “Mistakes. Expectations. Fathers and sons...” In her periphery, he glanced her way. “Husbands and wives...”

She was sorry she asked. “That is heavy.”

“Yeah. She called me out on a few things; really made me think.”

Ivy paused mid-pour. She?

“Turns out,” he brought his plate to the bar, “she’s a shrink. Has a private practice in Bel Air, wrote a book, does talk shows... the whole nine.” He shook his head like he’d been duped. “Guess what her specialty is.”

Hitting on unhappily married men? “I can’t imagine.”

“Kids born into wealth.”

“And did you leave a Jason-shaped hole in the wall when you ran the other way?”

“No,” he said. “I made an appointment with her.”

“Oh. Wow.” Ivy had only suggested he see a therapist since month two... “She must be good.”

“We’ll see how it goes. How was your weekend?”

“It was good,” she said, shaking frozen berries into the smoothie maker. “Sun and surf. Very chill. Relaxing.” Stop saying words, Ivy.

He clearly wanted to ask more. “I’m glad.”

She drowned him out with a whir of the blender. Maybe he didn’t want to talk after all? Maybe his therapist told him not to. If so, she approved of their love. Have at it.

“Is that my phone or yours?”

“Huh? Oh—” It was hers. Message from: Le Mal. Heart pounding, throat closing, she said as normally as she could, “It’s Mala.” Why did she feel like she had to explain?

“How’s she doing lately?”

Just think, I could be licking your sweet spot right now.

As goosebumps rose against her will, Ivy composed a reply, saying, “Good. She can’t remember the name of the old candy shop we used to go to.”

Jason asked, “What was it?”

I could be biting your neck.

Ivy answered, “The Sweet Spot.”

Dark chocolate cherries, butter, fresh cilantro, olive oil, black pepper, brown rice, granola,

“Going out?”

Ivy shut the kitchen cabinet to see Jason raiding the fridge. “Grocery run. We’re down some essentials.”

“Oh.” He glanced at her bare midriff and opened a bottle of Modelo. “Need a hand?”

“Nah.” Arms over her navel, she typed hand soap - the foamy kind , into her phone. “It’s more an excuse to hit Nordstrom for their one-day sale. Something tells me you’d rather stay home and catch the game.”

“It’s like you know me.” He tipped his drink at her and took a swig.

“Anything I can get you? Groceries, I mean.”

Jason shrugged. “Few more of these, I guess. Oh, butter.”

She wished he would stop saying ‘butter’; she couldn’t hear the word without thinking of being on her back in Paris... “Got it.”

12 pk Modelo Especial - bottles, not cans.

Message sent. She slid the phone into her back pocket.

“You look nice.”

Did she overdo it? Not sure where to look or what to do with her hands, she said, “Thanks. How was therapy?”

“Good. Great. Weird.” He nodded, squinting. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine.” Kinda what she was going for. “I’m just glad you went.”

Jason left the kitchen. Her phone vibrated, and she read the reply:

Your wish is my command, Tiny Tyrant.

Suppressing a grin, she said to Jason, “So, I’ll see you laterish?”

“Have fun.” He sat on the living room couch, his self-imposed bed since the Kara confession. “Don’t buy out the store.”

Funny, that was exactly what she told Sever when he hatched this little plan. The conversation opened with him asking, What are you doing tonight?

Shopping.

What are you really doing tonight?

Seeing you.