Broken (11 page)

His deep blue eyes searched my face as his hand took mine. Even as he was smashing my heart he was showing compassion. Damn him.

“Please don't.” I pulled my hand away, shoving it between my thighs and out of reach.

“It's not what you think, with Annabel. We're not together anymore.”

“I saw you gettin' dressed, Adam. If it's not what I think, then tell me why else you would be half naked with her all over you?”

I waited. I waited for what felt like a lifetime for him to explain it away, and for a moment I thought he was going to. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes…changed. From the open lines of communication we'd always had, a wall went up and he shut me out.

“Whatever, Adam. It doesn't matter. It's not my business what you do,” I said resignedly as I stood and headed for the door.

Adam followed behind. “Evie, please, you have to believe me. I would never do anything to hurt you.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, the warmth drawing me back to him. “I can't go into it right now—I need to get organized before I leave—but I'll be back in a few days.” His fingers brushed my collarbone and I closed my eyes, unable to control the racing of my heart. “I need to ask…would you mind looking after Max while I'm gone? It's a long drive to Philly for a dog and I'll only be there a day, two at the most.”

I sighed. I couldn't be angry with Max—he was less of a dog than his owner.

“Fine. Everythin's just fine. You go do what ya need to do.” I forced a smile, thankful that I'd had so many years of being let down by Charles and cloaking my disappointment behind a well-worn mask. “We'll be okay, won't we, Max?” I scruffed the dog's head and he wagged his tail excitedly.

I was dying inside, my heart so heavy I thought I would never be happy again, but I couldn't show it. It was yet another carryover legacy from my time with Charles.

Adam studied my face and I held the illusion that I was perfectly fine with his going away. “There's really nothing going on with Annabel. Do you believe me?”

I nodded, but didn't risk speaking for fear that my voice would catch in my throat, betraying me. I didn't believe him, but more than anything I didn't want to make a fool of myself by breaking down in front of him. They had so much history together, where as we had only a few weeks. If he had chosen her, then that was just something I would have to deal with.

He smiled, his demeanor relaxed as he stepped through the doorway. “Thanks, Buttercup. I'll see you in a few days.”

I ain't doin' it for you. I'm doin' it for Max.

Sliding the door closed, I turned my back as my bottom lip began to tremble. “And stop callin' me Buttercup.”

Writer's block is a bitch…a bitch named Annabel.

I couldn't get her shiny blonde locks out of my head, or the way her boobs stayed perfectly still as she moved. I would put money that when she lay on her back, those titties kept pointing straight up to God. She was obviously so full of plastic they would melt right off if she got too close to a fire. Still, she did look as if she'd just stepped off the cover of
Vogue
. No wonder Adam was running back to Philly to see her; she was gorgeous.

I had to stop. All this obsessing over Barbie and Ken was driving me insane. I needed a sanity check.

“Ang, I need you,” I blurted out when she answered on the third ring. “Can you come to the Hamptons for the weekend, please?”

Offloading the kids with her parents was never a problem for Angie; in fact, I think she looked for an excuse to get away from them. She was an amazing mother and doted on them, but now that she was raising them on her own, and received no support from her cheating ex-husband, the chance for a girls' weekend was like a trip to the Bahamas.

Angie was on my doorstep within hours, still dressed in her business suit and heels, her arrival announced by Max's protective barking at the door. She looked flustered, and I felt bad for not telling her that it wasn't a life or death emergency, only that my heart had been broken once again. Taking one look at my swollen, bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance, Angie dropped her bags and pulled me into a hug.

“What'd the dirtbag do?” she muffled into my hair. “Come, tell Aunt Ang all 'bout it.”

I filled Angie in on all the gory details. The supermodel figure, the blonde shiny hair, the slinky outfit that hugged her shape perfectly, and the fact that on top of all that, she was a doctor with loads of letters after her name.

“Well at least you hadn't slept with him yet, right?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

Her eyes lit up. “What?”

Despite feeling as if I'd been pulled through the wringer, I couldn't help laughing at her reaction. Just having Angie there made me feel better. Good enough at least to have a shower and change out of my sweats and sloppy sweater. She followed me into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed while I entered the bathroom, leaving the door open so we could shout over the sound of the shower.

I told her about Christmas night on the beach and the make-out session that had ensued. Even under the thundering water, I could hear her squealing with delight as I went into too much detail explaining our swim the next morning and how he had so easily found my buttons and pushed them.

“Well, I'm sorry things didn't work out, hon,” she said, reclining on the bed while I dressed. “But at least now you've discovered that a guy who knows his way ‘round can get your motor running. That's somethin'.”

That was true. All my years with Charles had never amounted to any more than a tingle, and secretly I was worried that maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe my inability to get pregnant was somehow linked to my hormones and libido, and I was destined to live my entire life, not knowing how it felt to be totally swept away with lust to the point where you were screaming the walls down.

Angie was on a mission and decided I needed to know my competition, or enemy, as she put it. Not that I saw Annabel as competition; I was nowhere near her league in looks or brains, and I was pretty certain in the bedroom either. Still, I was curious to find out a little more about her, to discover what was so wonderful about this woman that had Adam running back to her even after she had laughed at his marriage proposal and broken his heart. How could he forgive something like that and sleep with her again after she'd clearly thought that she was so superior to him? He was sweet and thoughtful and sexy. He had come into my life and swept me away with how caring and helpful he had been. I needed to understand for my own peace of mind.

We typed in what we knew, which wasn't much.

“Her name's Dr. Annabel Carmichael, XYZPQM, or somethin' like that. From Philadelphia.”

Angie looked at me quizzically. “What the hell does XYZPQM mean?”

“I don't know. She had a stack of letters after her name. PhD somethin' or other.”

As soon as we typed in a few basics and hit Enter, page after page of search results pinged up, and I scanned them greedily, looking for any chink in her armor. If there was one, it wasn't in print.

The more I read, the more I wished we hadn't gone exploring for dirt. She was as clean as a whistle, and then some. From accolades in breakthrough surgery techniques, to published articles in prestigious medical journals. If there were sainthood on offer, she would have won that too.

“Okay, so do you feel better or worse knowin' the woman who burst your bliss bubble is a freakin' cardiologist who can juggle, tap dance, and recite poetry in French while performin' a heart transplant blindfolded?”

That image made me laugh a little maniacally. I dropped my head into my hands. How did I ever think I could compete with that? The woman had every base covered, and the man of
my
dreams was icing on the cake. What did I have to offer someone like Adam?

We decided to get business out of the way, so I showed Angie what I had written so far. I was probably two-thirds of the way through the first draft, but she was pleasantly surprised, especially with the kissing scene.

“That's steamy,” she said. “Good as anythin' I've read by published authors.”

That had me beaming. I had been so concerned I wouldn't measure up to the other authors Ang had signed and would let her down.

“So are you gonna write as Eden Rose, or use your real name?”

I hadn't thought about that. I had only written as Eden Rose because I'd wanted the anonymity at college, for myself as well as for Charles. Now that I was an adult and no longer with Charles, the whole secrecy factor didn't need to come into play. I could publish as Evie Rivers, and if I ever met a man and wanted to settle down, well, he would just have to accept me and my career.

Angie tapped away at the computer, making notes in my manuscript, while I took Max for a quick walk on the beach to get some fresh air. I could tell by his restlessness that he was waiting for Adam to come home, and as soon as we were outside, he ran to Adam's house and up onto the back deck, but the little cottage was dark.

“Come on, Maxie, your dad's not home yet.”

His head tilted to one side, his big brown eyes full of sadness.

“I know, buddy. I miss 'im, too, but at least you'll get to spend time with 'im when he comes back.” I stroked his fur. “I don't think I'll be spendin' much time with 'im anymore.”

I wiped my teary eyes, and Max and I trudged back home to the warmth of the welcoming fire. It was New Year's Eve, but we weren't planning on going out.

Instead, Angie opened her suitcase, half of which was full of booze. “I stopped off for essentials on the way here,” she announced, grinning, holding up a bottle of Patrón in one hand and three limes in the other. Tucked under her arms was a bottle of champagne, and one of Jim Beam. “Pick your poison.”

We popped the champagne first, deciding it would go best with dinner, not that there was much for dinner. Having neglected the grocery shopping once more and not having Adam there to cook and take care of things in the kitchen, the only food I could find was some leftover spaghetti carbonara and cold pepperoni pizza.

Making ourselves comfortable on cushions on the floor around the coffee table, we tucked into the thrown-together dinner. It was reminiscent of our college days, and it made me teary to think that so much had happened in our lives that had jaded us, from Angie's cheating husband to my marriage turning into gray nothingness over the years. We'd had our share of heartache but we were still here, each hopeful that one day our very own Prince Charming would come along.

“We need a toast,” Angie said, refilling my glass. “To bein' a kick-ass success in the literary world, and makin' all the douchebags that have crossed our paths regret breakin' our hearts.”

I drank to that. How could I not? “Well, I know one thing for sure—I'm givin' up men. My tunnel vision is firmly set on finishin' this book. My only concern is writin' steamy sex scenes when I have no experience to draw on.” I was worried. How could I convincingly write about people getting hot and sweaty when I'd had no experience? Now writing about waxing the furniture or making cupcakes for a bake sale, that I could do no problem.

“You need to watch some porn so you can see firsthand the positions you wanna write about,” Angie suggested.

“I reckon I need a drink for that.”

“I've got just the thing.”

While Angie opened the bottle of Patrón, I found the shot glasses. We set up the laptop on the coffee table so we could both see, then sat back into the soft cushions of the sofa. I had no idea where to look up porn, so Angie took over.

“Ya need to go into Redtube and search Decker Steele,” she explained, typing in the URL. “He's A-grade amazin' porn, not like some of the B-grade actors who you wouldn't touch with a full-body condom.” She grimaced at the thought, making me giggle. It seemed the alcohol was having the desired effect, and I was beginning to unwind.

As easy as that, my laptop screen was tarnished for life, as various body parts did the bump and grind up close.

“There he is.” She sighed, as if she were watching an old friend.

“Oh, he's quite attractive, isn't he?” For some reason I'd been expecting some hairy, potbellied middle-aged man with a cheesy mustache, but that was not the case at all.

“Yep, he's my go-to guy. There's nothin' a vibrator and Decker can't fix.”

Man, I needed to be taking notes. As we watched the naked gymnastic display unfold, my thoughts went to the first conversation I'd had with Adam, where he had described various positions in detail. It was one thing to have them explained, but seeing them brought the entire scenario together. I finally understood what Adam was trying to convey. I could use this in my books—maybe not the emotion behind the deed, as these people were acting, but definitely the physicality.

I watched in awe as bodies writhed in unison and people moaned in ecstasy. Decker moved farther down the buxom beauty and Angie and I tilted our heads to the right to get a better view of the tongue tricks he was performing for our viewing pleasure.

“He's won awards for that,” she stated.

“I ain't surprised.” But watching Decker weave his magic just made me think of Adam giving Annabel a rash.

Angie must have sensed my mood change and quickly clicked the video off.

“Now this is what you
don't
wanna describe.” She clicked into a fuzzy, older-looking clip. From the décor in the room it had been shot in the ‘70s. The guy was the cliché porn actor that I had imagined. The girl looked so high I doubted she would be able to recite the alphabet.

“Let's make this a bit more fun,” Angie suggested. “Turn it into a drinkin' game.”

I liked the sound of that. I needed something to get the image of Adam from my mind.