How to Love (34 page)

“Hey, that’s cool. What do you photograph? Weddings?”

“Actually, no. Although I’ve done some bridal portraits. I do portraits, and I do some landscape and nudes and sell them in my gallery.”

“Nudes.” He blinked.

She nodded and held his gaze.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Nude women or nude men?”

“Both. And sometimes together.”

He choked on his beer. “Who do you sell those to? Penthouse?”

She laughed, even though his comment irked her. “No. What I do is art, not pornography.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe I should see and judge for myself.”

“Maybe you should.”

She found herself leaning a little closer to him as they talked, and yeah, she was flirting. She smiled into his eyes.

They talked more, superficial sexy banter, and then Errick said to her, “Hey, let’s get out of here. We could go back to my place.” He set a warm hand on her forearm.

She studied his face again, his tanned skin, clear blue eyes, nice lips. His hair was bleached lighter than Mike’s, and his nose was a little on the large side, but still attractive. Gah. Why was she comparing him to Mike?

Sex would be really good right now. She could be confident, in charge, knowing that this guy found her attractive and wanted to be with her. She could have some fun in bed with an athletic guy like him.

Athletic like Carlos.

She wanted to roll her eyes at herself.
Stop thinking about them!

He was waiting for her answer. The idea of going home alone made the tequila she’d drunk churn a little inside her. It would be so easy to say yes, to go with him, wherever his place was, and to lose herself in physical pleasure. Sex was fun. And she wouldn’t have to be alone.

But as she contemplated it, she found herself freezing up, her skin going cold, almost numb. She tried to stop that scary tight feeling from gripping her, but it wasn’t working and she wanted to shrink away from the touch of his hand on her arm. She swallowed. God, she wasn’t going to upchuck all that tequila, was she?

“I’m harmless,” Errick said with another smile, as if that would convince her to go with him. “Relatively.” He leaned closer and brushed his mouth over her cheek. The scent of his shampoo tickled her nose, strangely annoying.

She gave him what she was sure was a wobbly smile, trying really hard to find that feeling, that sweet sexy feeling of lust, of being turned on and warm and wet. It just wasn’t there.

She opened her mouth to tell him she was sorry, but no. And then she felt something else, a faint tingling awareness, and she turned her head and looked at Mike standing a few feet away from her.

Everything around her shifted out of focus except Mike’s face. She met his eyes and the look in them felt like a slap. Everything slowed into a thick dream, one of those dreams where you tried to move but couldn’t, where you tried to scream but nothing came out. Heat slid up into her face, burning her cheeks. Her chest ached and her throat constricted.

“Mike,” she whispered.

Errick glanced over at him and frowned. “Oh Christ,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me there’s a husband in the picture.”

She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t explain, just sat there feeling like she had a hole ripped in her chest as Mike turned and walked out.

“I better go,” Errick said, slapping a bill on the bar to cover his drink. And he too strode out. Leaving her once again alone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I’ll drive you home.”

Jules turned to look at Matt, standing behind the bar. She blinked at him.

“Give me five minutes,” he said. “I’m done here for the night anyway and we
are
neighbors.”

She still didn’t say anything to him. She could tell him not to bother, she’d take a taxi. She could also tell him she didn’t want to go home. She could tell him to just bring her the bottle of Patron.

Instead she sat there, staring at her hands on her lap, not sure if she could even move, her throat raw, her chest burning. Her bottom lip quivered and she sank her teeth into it. Thoughts spun around in her head and she couldn’t grab hold of one.

The look on Mike’s face.

She closed her eyes, but it was burned into her retinas.

What had she been doing? Flirting with a stranger. Pulling out her go-to strategy for how to cope when she felt…what? What had she been feeling? Confused. Guilty. Sad. Lonely. Heartbroken.

“Jules. Hi.”

She looked up to see Bella. Great.

“Hey, Bella.”

“I saw you talking to Errick…” Bella’s smile faded and her eyebrows rose as she took in Jules’s appearance.

“I suppose you’re interested in him.”

“No, actually I’m here with someone else… Are you okay, Jules?” Bella’s eyebrows pinched together.

Jules laughed bitterly. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“I’m not happy to hear that,” Bella said slowly. “No matter what you think, I don’t wish bad things to happen to you, Jules.”

Jules stared at the other woman. Was Bella really concerned about her?

“Come on,” Matt said gently, taking her arm. He glanced at Bella. “I’m giving her a ride. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Jules let him tug her off the stool, started to walk away, but Bella called, “Wait, Jules.”

She turned and Bella handed her her purse. Oh yeah. She took it, trying for a smile of thanks, and hugged it with both arms as she followed Matt around behind the bar, past the kitchen and out a back door. His Jeep was parked behind the restaurant. The cool night air was scented with ocean and cooking grease from the kitchen and her stomach tossed. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she slid into the passenger seat.

“You don’t have to do this,” she finally said. Her voice came out thin and high.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, starting the vehicle. “Neve asked me to keep an eye on you. She said you were kind of upset.”

“Upset.” She nodded. That was a word. Upset.

“It’s not my business,” Matt said. “But Mike looked pretty broken up about seeing you with that guy.”

She turned and gave him a long look.

“It’s not my business,” he said again, almost apologetically, and she gave a jerky nod.

He drove her home through dark streets, pulled down onto their cul-de-sac and stopped at her place. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asked.

“No.” She paused, half out of the vehicle. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch. Thank you for the ride.”

“Do you want me to call Neve?”

“She’s on a date.”

“I know, but I’m sure she’d come…”

“No. I’m fine. Thank you again. Good night, Matt.”

She walked up the short sidewalk toward her house on stiff legs. Her hand shook and her key wouldn’t go in, and agitation rose inside her. Finally she slid it in and opened the door. She looked over her shoulder where Matt waited, lifted a hand to him and went in.

She didn’t turn any lights on, just stumbled down the hall to her bedroom and fell onto her bed. She pressed her hot, aching face to the cool pillow. And yet, she didn’t cry.

A vast empty feeling of hopelessness opened up inside her. How was she going to get past this? How could she fix this?

She hated the way Mike had looked when he’d seen her. She knew what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking about the time at Aura when she’d gone there with him and flirted with another man. He’d been thinking that she’d turned her back on them less than a week before and was already out tramping it up with other guys. And he’d be right.

Except for one little detail…she hadn’t been going to go home with Errick. She wasn’t interested in being with him at all. She’d tried to flirt, tried to stir up a little sexual excitement, but it hadn’t worked.

And that was the scariest thing of all.

She wouldn’t have felt guilty for flirting with another guy. That was who she was. No man owned her and she’d never made any promises to Mike or to Carlos. She was the third in the threesome, the third to their committed couple. She could do whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted. She liked men and she liked sex and she liked being in control. She liked the thrill of the chase and the ego stroke of having all a man’s attention, knowing she could walk away after. She’d
never
apologized or felt guilty for that part of her.

But the truth was deeper than that, was layers below that, layers that were being painfully peeled away.

She rolled to her back and stared into her dark bedroom.

She hadn’t wanted to be with Errick. Or any other guy. Only Mike and Carlos. Both of them. What did that mean? Did it mean she was…in love with them?
Both
of them? How could that be? She’d never been in love with one man, never mind
two
.

“Oh God,” she whispered and pressed her hand to her mouth, rolling onto her side.

She didn’t know what love was. She really didn’t. Well, okay, she loved her little sisters. The sisters she was probably never going to see again, if her father had anything to say about that, damn him! A dark pain cleaved through her at the thought.

And she’d loved her mom. Her mom had loved her too, but not enough to stick around and look after her when her own heart had been broken.

Okay, she could admit anger at her mother for that. For leaving her. For letting an emotion like love be so destructive and deadly. People talked about love being wonderful and powerful and uplifting. A million other positive words. It was supposed to make people happy, make them feel good about themselves, about the world, it was supposed to make them better people.

She squeezed her eyes closed against the raw agony that sliced down through her.

Her father had loved her, in his own way she supposed, but it had been conditional love and it hurt her so much that he hadn’t looked past her exterior to see who she was on the inside, to see that she was still worth being loved even if she didn’t win beauty contests anymore. So she’d manipulated and controlled that love, with him, and with any man, really.

She’d been fooling herself. Lying to herself. For a long time. She thought that she could have attention from men, she could control them with her smile, her body, with sex. She thought she was getting what she wanted out of that. Not love, because she didn’t need that, but intimacy. Physical closeness. Connection.

But really, she’d never gotten anything. Because she’d never
given
anything, no real part of herself. Even with her father.

But she had with Mike and Carlos.

They hadn’t accepted her usual tricks. Mike had been on to her from the start, although she hated to admit that. Wouldn’t admit that to him. But she had to admit it to herself, now, here alone in her house. Alone in her life.

And the worst thing was that not only was she alone, but Mike was alone and Carlos was alone and—a raw, choking sob escaped her—it was because of her. Because of the way she was, the way she held herself back, the way she refused to let herself open up and let them into her heart. Not only was she going to end up alone, but she’d hurt people she actually cared about, people who apparently cared about her, the people who tried to love her.

A wrenching pain engulfed her, made her pull her knees up to her chest, made her heart hurt so badly she wasn’t sure she could stand it. She didn’t know what to do, how to fix things, how to fix herself, and then she cried, raw painful sobs, until she at last fell asleep, drained and exhausted.

In the morning when she woke up, she knew what she had to do.

Late Saturday afternoon, Mike surveyed the bathroom he’d just finished painting. There. It was done. New tiles, new flooring, fresh paint. It looked great, but he didn’t feel the sense of satisfaction he should have.

He washed up brushes and the roller and his hands outside, then pulled his paint-streaked, ratty old T-shirt off over his head as he walked toward the sliding doors into the kitchen.

Where Carlos stood.

Mike paused, his shirt in his hands. His fingers dug into the soft cotton.

Carlos was home.

“Hey,” Mike said. His gut clenched, thoughts racing. Why? Why was Carlos here? Was he back? Or was he getting his stuff and leaving for good?

“Hi,” Carlos said. “Smells like paint in here.”

“I finished the bathroom.”

Carlos closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Mike pressed his lips together.

“Come on,” Carlos said, stepping aside so Mike could enter the house. In the kitchen, Mike crossed to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. He chugged down half of it, still not sure what was going on, what the apology was for. He leaned against the counter, trying for calm and confident.

Carlos leaned on the other counter, bent at the waist, his elbows and forearms resting on the granite. “I’m sorry, Mike,” he said quietly. “For everything.”

Mike ran his tongue over his top teeth. “For what, specifically?”

“For not being here to help with the bathroom. While I was off sulking. For being so pissed off. But most of all, for not trusting you.”