The Perfect Life (7 page)

I gathered my toiletries and dropped them in my overnight bag, as I was sure I wouldn’t be coming back to the apartment until Sunday evening. Though Colin and I had never been sexually intimate, a kiss hello or goodbye every so often and lots of big bear hugs were the extent of our physical relationship—I’d started spending almost every weekend at the off-campus house he rented. We’d often stay up late binge-watching TV shows or movies, and he never wanted me to be out on the roads at three or four in the morning. And it wasn’t like I minded being cuddled all night by his big, strong body, feeling safe and secure.

Grabbing my phone off the bed, I shot Colin a quick text to let him know my class had been cancelled and I was headed over early, but I didn’t wait for a reply before I threw it in my purse and headed out the door, duffel bag in hand. He was either at the Athletic Center hanging out with his teammates and coaches, or at home playing video games with his childhood best friend, Seth, who had come into town for the weekend to attend the awards dinner with us. But either way, I had my own key to let myself in.

The drive to his place was quick, a trip I usually made on foot when the temperatures were above freezing, and when I pulled up in the driveway of the 1940’s Craftsman-style bungalow, I excitedly hopped out of my SUV and bounded up the front walk to the porch. Inserting my key into the lock, I turned it left and pushed the heavy wooden door open, surprised not to see anyone in the living room or kitchen.

“Hello?” I called out as I let myself inside. “Colin, babe? You here? Seth?”

I got no response, but since both of their cars were parked out front, I assumed they were out back. I glanced down the hall, noting that Colin’s bedroom door was closed, so I moved toward the sliding glass doors that led to the patio, but stopped when I heard something that sounded a lot like moaning coming from his room. At first, I thought maybe I’d just imagined the noise, but as I stood statue-like in the small dining area and listened to the moans grow louder and more insistent, I realized it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me. There was no doubt what was going on behind that door.

Slowly, I tiptoed down the hall as the pleasure-filled groans and the sound of bodies feverishly slapping against each other echoed throughout the house. My heart splintered before cracking in anguish. A steady stream of tears rolled down my cheeks as reflux burned its way up my esophagus, the deceit and deception searing the back of my throat.

“Yes, oh, my God, that feels so good. Don’t stop . . . whatever you do, please don’t stop.”

The throaty voice urging his partner on most definitely belonged to Colin, decimating the tiny sliver of hope my heart was hanging onto, praying it wasn’t really him. My anger didn’t revolve around my jealousy of wishing it was me in that room with him, but instead, it was the lies that he’d told me of how he had no interest in being with any of the girls that were constantly throwing themselves at him. He’d fed me a heap-load of bullshit, and like an idiot, I’d believed him. Believed he was different.

Suddenly, a surge of rage flooded my veins, and without thinking of the repercussions, my shattered heart and crushed dreams being the sole driving forces, I shoved the door open, ready to go bat-shit crazy on my soon-to-be-ex-whatever-he-was and the shameless, football-groupie bimbo he had with him.

Only, when the door flew open and banged violently against the wall, the scene before me was revealed and I gasped in disbelief, my hands flying up to cover my gaping mouth. Seeing Colin and Seth naked and entwined in each other made my head spin and my heart skip a beat, but it was then that everything suddenly made sense about why Colin and I worked.

I was his cover, protecting his secret.

He provided me with the sense of security that I so desperately needed.

We were the best of friends and loved to be together.

And together, we formed the perfect arrangement

“Aren’t you gonna eat, Roe? You need to feed those muscles you worked out or you’ll be drained later.” Colin’s voice broke through my sappy thoughts and I looked up at him and Seth with a smile. Even though the three of us had talked through everything that night, and we’d all moved on with our mutual understanding, I silently wished for more for the two of them.

“Yeah, I know, bossy pants,” I replied as I began to load my plate with a week’s worth of calories, making sure not to miss at least a sampling of everything my amazing husband had prepared. After all, we were apparently celebrating. “Do you two have plans, or are you keeping Funday Sunday here today? I’ve gotta leave around noon to meet Allison, but I should be back around two or three this afternoon.”

“Don’t forget we’ve got tickets to the Red Sox-Yankees game tonight. I’ve already texted Barry, and he got us two more for Seth and Effie. We don’t have any plans until that though,” Colin threw Seth a sly smile, “but I’m sure we can find something to keep busy with until you get back.”

I playfully rolled my eyes and shoved a bite of French toast in my mouth as Seth leaned over and caught Colin’s earlobe between his teeth. My inner thighs tingled and my belly fluttered at the suggestive sight of the two them, but I ignored the sensations like I always did. Like I’d trained myself to do for the past eleven years whenever I’d felt those things.

“Has anyone told Effie she’s coming with us to the game?” I asked, not skipping a beat.

“Yeah, I texted her a little bit ago,” Seth responded when he released the delicate skin from his mouth’s grasp. “I told her to be here between 6:00 and 6:30. I think first pitch is at 8:05.”

Swallowing a big gulp of juice, I nodded and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Perfect. I’ll be ready then.”

Easy conversation flowed between the three of us as we finished off the food on our plates and worked together to clean the kitchen. By the time all the dishes were loaded in the dishwasher and the counters were shiny and sparkly, I only had enough time to briefly check my emails and social media accounts before getting ready for my lunch, which I would not be hungry for.

At precisely 12:30 in the afternoon, on time as I always prided myself on being, I walked through the doors of the Revere Hotel and straight into the Rustic Kitchen Bistro, one of my favorite restaurants in town. Almost instantly, I located Allison who was waiting off to the side of the hostess stand with her usual warm, friendly smile spread across her face . . . next to the one person who had stood out most in my mind from the night before
—
Oliver Saxon.

“Never could

I

breathe love

if I did not

first learn

to inhale

a little bit

of chaos.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Oliver

I SMELLED HER
before I saw her. I know . . . fucking weird. But as soon as she stepped into the foyer of the restaurant, where Allison and I were waiting for our table, I was aware of her presence, even though I couldn’t see her. She had on the same perfume she’d worn the night before at the gala. Orange blossom with a hint of vanilla. A scent that reminded me of the orange cream sodas my three sisters and I used to get when we were kids at Casey’s General Store, the place our parents would pick up pizza every Friday night. As I got older and started partying in high school, my friends and I learned those same drinks were the perfect mixers for cheap vodka, and many of our weekend nights were spent sitting around a campfire on someone’s land, sipping on that sweet, fruity concoction that somehow never caused a hangover. Back when life seemed easy and all I was interested in was having a little innocent fun. Back before everything changed.

“Monroe!” Allison’s face lit up next to me when she spotted her friend, our colleague, welcoming her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could make it. Oliver and I just got here.”

Still reeling from the primal reaction that Monroe’s scent alone had on me, I was thankful the two women acted like they hadn’t just seen each other the previous evening, fawning over each other’s hairstyles and outfits for several moments. It gave me a few extra seconds to get my shit together and process the fact Monroe was apparently joining us for lunch, a detail I was sure Allison had not-so-accidentally failed to mention. The foyer of the restaurant suddenly heated up, rising to temperatures that rivaled the fiery pits of Hell. The sinfully sensual fantasies I’d had about the married woman standing only a few feet away from me while I’d jacked off in the shower that morning flooded through my mind once again. Had I known I’d be sharing a meal with her mere hours later, forced to hold a conversation and not think about how I’d envisioned her naked body looking and feeling underneath mine, I’d have definitely held out until I was safely back home in Chicago the next day, nearly a thousand miles away and with no chance of a humiliating run-in.

“Hey, Oliver. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you again,” she greeted me cheerfully, though it was apparent that Allison had also neglected to inform her that our lunch would be a party of three. “And thank you again for coming last night. Having you, Jeff, and Tracie there for support meant so much to me.”

The same lyrical voice I’d pretended was moaning my name in sweet release prompted my pulse to spike along with my internal thermostat. As I pivoted around to offer a polite smile and handshake, I inconspicuously tried to rub my sweaty palms on the dark denim of my jeans while also ensuring the growing bulge in my pants was hidden behind my fly. Thank God, it was. Lifting my gaze to meet hers, the instant our eyes locked, I sucked in a deep breath and completely lost my train of thought. I froze mid-movement, my arm embarrassingly stuck reaching out between the two of us in no man’s land. Every drop of moisture that was in my mouth evaporated, and then somehow multiplied exponentially and reappeared seconds later in my armpits. Much like it had done the first time I met her.

Never in my life had a woman ever had that kind of effect on me, and after I’d shamefully indulged myself in the shower, leaving me feeling dirtier than it did clean, I’d spent several minutes staring in the mirror, berating my reflection for my inexcusable actions before convincing myself that I’d imagined Monroe to be more beautiful than she really was. I blamed the soft lighting of the ballroom, along with the classical music and bold city skyline for creating an atmosphere straight from the final scene of a romantic comedy. Her tight, low cut, sparkly blue dress was like a beacon in a sea of standard black, and with her smoky eyes and the way her hair was up, revealing that long, creamy neck, I didn’t have a chance. I mean, even
I
had looked pretty debonair in my designer tux with my long hair tamed into a low knot and my facial hair neatly-trimmed, and I was often mistaken for being homeless in Chicago.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad.

I came up with all kinds of excuses for why she’d affected me the way she did, and had I not seen her again afterward, I might’ve gone on believing she wasn’t nearly as impressive as I’d first made her out to be in my mind. But as I stood there in front of her, for the second time in as many days, in my slack-jawed, semi-aroused motionless state, I knew I’d been wrong. In her modest turquoise blouse, linen capris, and tan wedges, Monroe had left her hair down, allowing the wavy, golden locks to cascade around her shoulders and frame her fresh, youthful face, somehow appearing even
more
beautiful than I remembered. How that was possible, I hadn’t a clue, but there she was. The most exquisite sight I’d ever seen.

“Those aren’t very good jazz hands, Sandy,” Monroe’s voice broke through the awkward silence that seemed to last a lifetime. A playful smirk teased the corners of her mouth as she glanced down at my outstretched arm. “If you’re gonna be in The Pink Ladies, you’ve gotta nail the jazz hands and kick-ball-changes every time. Otherwise, you may be too pure to be pink.”

Then, like the altruistic idiot she seemed to bring out in me, I chose not to muster up any sense of dignity and self-preservation I had left, and instead did the exact opposite. In front of her, Allison, and anyone else around that cared to watch, I kick-ball-changed in place three times before my face split in two with the goofiest grin known to man. My mom, who was a dance teacher all of my life, would’ve been proud. “You makin’ fun of me, Riz?”