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Authors: Kelly Stuart

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BOOK: The Other Side of Anne
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“Yes.”

I belong with him.
The feeling was invigorating, bracing and frightening. Damn frightening.

“Take me against the wall,” Anne ordered.

Avery’s expression turned dark and powerful. “No. Not like this.”

“W
hy?”


What you seek is temporary release that will harm our friendship.”

Anne snorted. How dare a man respond in such a way?
She ran her hand down his chest, felt the hardness of it, and ended on the hardness straining against Avery’s pants. “Then leave,” she said, choosing careless words on purpose. “Go. Leave.”

She did not expect him to, but he did.

Chapter
Fourteen

 

 

 

That night, Avery thought about the first time he and Mandy made love. The way they had gazed into each other’s eyes. The feeling that their reconnection was a miracle after their separate orbits in high school. He remembered the way she looked at him with joy and emotion bursting from her face. Her charming moans. Her embarrassed cheeks when she admitted she had never given a blow job but had always wanted to.

Their m
aking love happened after five dates. It could probably have happened sooner, but Avery knew instinctively that their relationship was not one to rush. He knew that their lovemaking would be more special if he didn’t press. Before then, he had been a bit of a pusher, ever since sophomore year of college when one of his female friends took him for a makeover. After that, he started gaining the attentions of the fairer sex—especially at the college gym and at parties, which were always boozy.

Leaving Anne’s apartment had been one of the most difficult decisions of Avery’s life, but if he were to prove himself to her, he
could not let either of them take advantage of the other. Anne had fallen back on using sex as a way to control a man. She did not need to. Not with Avery.

“Avery,” he murmured, replaying the way his name sounded on
the queen’s odd, ancient tongue.

 

**

 

The place was loud. And jumpy. Anne had struggled to sleep after her latest nosebleed, so she walked to a nightclub near her new apartment. The blaring music hurt her ears, but she pressed on. She got water from the bar and found a place to stand. She surveyed her fellow club goers: all types. Male, female, indeterminate, short, tall, fat, thin, all colors. Just like people everywhere.

Ann
e sipped from her water and searched for a man she could spend the night with. Something simple. No Avery with the soft heart and moony eyes. Rage scowled from Anne’s stomach. How dare Avery leave?

Anne searched for
men like herself who were one with the background. She considered several possibilities and made her selection. Her heart was going crazy, and she realized she liked this. Yep. She did. The badness. The anonymity. The risk. The independence. No reliance on Avery or Pegasus.

Review your cover story.
Amy, a starving artist who works at Starbucks to pay the bills? Perfect.
Anne gulped down the rest of her water and tossed the plastic cup in the trash. She approached her prospect: a man of average build and graying brown hair. He looked about fifty. “Hello,” Anne said.

The man shook his
head. “Can’t hear you!”

“Hello!” Anne shouted over the music.

“Hey! What’s up!”

“How are you doing! My name is Amy!”

“Liam!” The man took Anne by the elbow and led her to a quieter spot. “Isn’t that better?” he said with a grin.

“Much better indeed.”
Pour on the charm.
Anne would become the woman who seduced Henry VIII. She leaned into Liam and batted her eyelashes. “Would you like to be naughty tonight?”

 

**

 

In the morning, Anne opened her eyes, saw the wall facing her, remembered Liam and clamped her eyes shut. Her bladder protested, and Anne sent out mental feelers to figure out if Liam was in bed or if he had mercifully left. What time was it? If Anne’s normally regular internal clock was on track, the time was six a.m., when she awoke most days.

And if the time was six a.m., chances were L
iam remained in bed.
Lovely.
Their sexual encounter had been adequate. No, that was being kind. Lukewarm was a more apt descriptor. Liam had insisted on pleasuring her first. On inserting his tongue between her legs. All she wanted was wild thrusting against the wall. Men in this modern time were somewhat disconnected from their animal selves—for better or worse.

I am stupid. I am terrifically
stupid.
Anne’s reasoning for a one-night stand eluded her at the moment.
Shoo Liam off nicely.

Anne rolled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, making sure to keep her back to the bed.
After completing her morning ablutions, she tiptoed back into the main room of the studio apartment. The bed was empty, and there was no sign of Liam. Good. He must have heard Anne and left.

Anne checked the door. Unlocked. So perhaps L
iam had gone for breakfast and would be back? Sure enough, he returned five minutes later. “I hope you like chocolate chip muffins!” he said with a stupid grin. “Last night was awesome, huh?”

“Out,” Anne said. “Get out.”

 

**

 

Anne was glad for the lull
on her first day of work. Her body screamed, her feet were on the verge of tears, and when Rosemary called her over to a table, Anne collapsed into the offered chair.

They made small talk then Rosemary asked: “So, are you seeing anyone?”

“No. Are you?”

“Eh. Here and there. I don’t tie myself down.
Hey, I thought maybe you were seeing that guy who met with you that afternoon you applied for the job.”

“Why did you think that?”

Rosemary grinned. “I felt like I was in chemistry class. There was a lot of tension. He’s either your lover or your enemy.” Rosemary cocked an amused eyebrow. “Perhaps both.”

“Ah.”

Rosemary snorted. “Tell me about him.”

“H
is name is Avery. We are not romantically involved with each other.”

“He’s m
arried and won’t leave his wife?”

Anne shook her head. “His wife is deceased.”

Rosemary flinched. “Ouch. Recently? He’s hung up on her?”

Anne sighed. “Not unhealthily so.”

“Why aren’t you jumping his bones, then?” A knowing look came into Rosemary’s eyes. “Don’t tell me your ex-husband scared you off love.”

“No.
Maybe.”

“Are you
overthinking stuff? You really like him, right? Avery.”

“Yes.”

“So what is the problem? You like him, he likes you.”

So what is the problem?
The question buzzed painfully between Anne’s ears. “Me,” Anne said at last. “I am the problem. I have led a tangled life. Simplicity appeals to me.”

Rosemary leaned into Anne. “You’re overthinking. Quit that.”

“What you label overthinking I call practicality. Before I married my husband, he was married. He wanted a divorce, but his wife refused to grant one. He married me anyway, and his wife died of heartbreak. She held her head up high through the whole ordeal. She said my assignation with her husband mattered not, because it was she who had married him before God.”

Rosemary scoffed. “Some
women, right? They can’t face facts. Like, hello! He isn’t into you anymore, so get over it.”

Anne ignored the comment. “I have seen jealousy up close
from my husband. He accused me and his other wives of stepping out on him. Jealousy is an ugly creature, and it is simple fact that I would never be equal in a relationship.”

“First up, a little jealousy is good. Okay?” Rosemary said. “Second, life isn’t fair. You gotta assert yourself.”

“I—”

“Listen to me. You tell
Avery what you just told me. Your fears. Assert yourself. Don’t hide.”

Anne glanced out the window. A woman was pushing her daughter in a stroller. The child had red hair and reminded Anne of Elizabeth. “You make it sound simple.”

“That’s because it can be,” Rosemary said. “It can be simple.”

“What if
it turns into a mess?”

“Then
he is wrong for you. At least you’ll know.”

“I
do not wish to jump into a relationship.”

“Then don’t. Say you need to take it slow. Say y’all are just testing things out, sending feelers out. The main thing is to assert yourself. Life is too short.”

Life is too short.
Anne was tempted to say: “I am dead. Very dead. I have been dead since 1536.”

 

**

 

Anne chose her clothes carefully. Tonight she was meeting Avery for dinner at Uno’s at Union Station. The transportation hub was not far from her apartment, and she would walk. About a week had passed since her first day at work—with one nosebleed per day.

She told herself that the distance and time away
from Avery had done her good. Her head was screwed on better. Anne liked making head jokes—most of the time, anyway. Sometimes she did not like them.

Lost my head.

Head’s out to lunch.

Running around like a headless chicken.

Girl, where your head at?

Anne would literally lose her head one day. Had. Had lost her head. Would lose her head. Anyway, the break from Avery had done her good. Work was going well. It was hard, back-
crunching work, and something Anne was unsure she could do long term. Some customers were unbelievably rude, but the employee discount was nice, and Rosemary was a kind boss.

Anne arrived a few minutes early for dinner. She had never eaten at Uno’s. It was technically named Uno Chicago Grill and was a chain that boasted deep-dish, Chicago-style pizza. Anne had studied the menu online the day before. The
varied offerings included many styles of pizza and items such as chicken, hamburgers and steak.

Anne saw Avery
come up on the escalator. He wore a long gray coat and gazed off to the side, so he did not see her. Anne’s heart fluttered. What a handsome man. She would love to mount him, to feel his life force inside her, to take him into her mouth…

The
break did me good
thoughts vanished down a vacuum, and Anne’s feelings, her insecurities, rushed back. Why did she have to fall in love? She would have to do something about her feelings. Period. Avery had wanted a conversation, and Anne would give him that instead of continuing to run.

A
very stepped off the escalator, and Anne went to him. “Hello,” she said.

“Hey! How have you been?”

“I have been well. And you?”

“Great.”

Anne straightened.
You are no longer a mouse, Anne George. Act like it.

“How’s work?” Avery asked.

“Good. Let us get a table.”

Dinner
turned out to be a stilted business. Conversation started and ended in fits, and Anne and Avery avoided each other’s gazes. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers. His manly smell. Why did words have to be so difficult? Maybe Anne should pretend she was Rosemary, and then words would come more easily. Anne moved her gaze to one of the statues, a warrior god or something, circling the upper level of Union Station. She wanted it to leap to life and swoop for the table. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“My life has been a tan
gle of thorns and complications,” Anne said. “Simplicity appeals to me.”

“I imagine so
,” Avery said.

“I am not good at opening myself up. My life has been...it has been...I have been so lonely. I miss my brother and my daughter very much. I have always missed Elizabeth because, as you know, she did not live with me long. I pretend I do not miss them, and I do not let myself think about them.
However, when I am with you, I almost feel like I will be fine, and things are easy with you until my brain gets in the way. I never expected to…May I share my concerns?”

“Yes, please,” Avery said.

“I will tiptoe no more. You and I click as a couple, is that correct?”

A s
light nod in response.

“It seems to me inevitable that we will collide eventually. I believe it best to make the collision of our own happenings rather than letting thorns and snakes make a mess of it for us.”

“Okay, yeah,” Avery agreed.

“I
shall simply dive into this. Inequality is a concern for me. You are a white male. You are respected in your community and gainfully employed. I do not wish to be powerless again in a relationship. I recommend one or two days or nights a week with you so our relationship moves at an appropriate pace. This is a delicate matter. However, the facts are these: we get along well. We have a bond that surpasses other bonds. I feel that you will be good to me, and I will do my best to be good to you.”

Silence.
Extended silence.

The warrior god statue pretend-bowed his head, and Anne heard Elizabeth’s laughter rise up to the ceiling.

Avery nodded thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, and a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. Anne hated it. He thought she was being silly, did he? Overworrying her pretty little beheaded head? Resentment hit her, but she choked it down. She was reading too much into his expressions.

“That sounds reasonable,” Avery said. “Thank you for sharing your concerns. I get them
. I do.”

BOOK: The Other Side of Anne
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