Where the Ivy Hides (12 page)

And being the angel she is, she lightens it and detours ‘this’ back to easy. “Bowen is so fucking weird. I’ve never seen him act like that. Damn, girl. I’m glad I’m immune to whatever pheromones you’re putting off. And keep that shit away from Brian, or I’ll show you who’s a bitch.” She winks at me and lights her cigarette.

Only after blowing out my last drag and flicking my cigarette out of the window I’m rolling up do I notice her smoke doesn’t smell like mine.

I glance and catch a glimpse of her sparkling diamond engagement ring finger over an expertly rolled blunt between her middle and pointer fingers.

Dammit.

Dammit. Dammit.

I let out an exhausted heavy sigh at the same time I let go.

“Nahh…I promise, Brian’s safe. I don’t play like that, Livvy. Never have.”

I don’t mention the fact that I have over six years of sobriety under my belt besides the one super-sized alcoholic eggnog a year when Livvy passes me the blunt.

No. I don’t.

I just accept it, flick it, and hold it between my fingers until the ash gets long enough to flick again.

And before I hand it back to my new friend, I pull a drag from it and lock it in my lungs.

I count to some nondescript number, but I couldn’t tell you what that number is…I was too high from the first hit to remember it when I got there.

Hell, I was too high from the first hit to remember every hit that followed tonight.

Chapter 15

In hind sight, it’s always fifty-fifty. Always.

I was distracted and very easily, over the next few months. Bowen, it turns out, was the perfect chaos and just what I needed. He, not only was in his last year of residency and on the path to follow in my father’s footsteps as one of Seattle’s greatest OBGYN doctors, but he was also Seattle’s biggest coke dealer.

Like I said, I was distracted. And Bowen Teller was exactly what I needed.

Romantic. Funny. Intelligent. Wealthy and hung. Bowen Teller was perfect chaos. The fuck buddy to end all fuck buddies and smitten with yours truly to boot.

Bowen was fun. But he was most importantly, easy.

It’s Rome’s birthday, and I’m running late to dinner with family after spending half the night painting out my aggressions. Thankfully, either Bowen or Livvy put Rome’s present in the back seat of my cooper, or I’d be double late and in double trouble.

I toss my bags into the passenger seat, but not before grabbing my gold shiny vial out of my purse. After I inhale the line of powder I sprinkle across the top of my hand I squeeze my nose for a second, and sneeze. Then I throw the vial into the console and start my car, turning up the radio before pulling forward.

When I glance to my right to turn onto the main street, Reese’s car pulls into the parking lot and stops right next to me as the window rolls down. “Hey, you headed out?” he asks.

He looks good.

Happy.

“Yeah, it’s Rome’s birthday…” I start, but the silence that follows is too heavy for more.

After a minute or so he says, “Yeah.”

When we both go to speak at the same time, I motion for him to go first.

“So, you may see Ryker around. He ahh…well, he went on and opened that Lucky’s in Northern Cali a year and a half ago, and I think I’ve had just about all of Seattle I can handle, so, he’s going to be coming and going between the two shops until we can find a third owner who’s interested enough.”

And for some reason that I will never understand, I fucking ask, “What are y’all offering?” That was that, four hours and twenty-three minutes later, I had a three-way, no scratch that, a four-way date set up in four weeks with the main guests including none other than, moi, Reese, Ryker, and Bowen.

Yeah. Karma’s a dirty little bitch, isn’t she?

I drank more than I should have drank. And I popped more than I should have popped while Reese wasn’t looking. So when I stumble from the Italian bistro, of course Karma isn’t finished being a dirty little bitch, and of course, Reese is there to catch me.

His seven something beers have him frisky as they usually do, and so when his hand lands on my bare thigh and squeezes, I’m not surprised.

“Hey, come home with me, one more time. Come on, for old time sakes?” His hot mouth runs from my shoulder to behind my ear, licking and kissing along the way. “Please, Ivy.”

When his hand slides up my skirt and his fingers delve between my legs, I push his shoulders with the heel of my hands.

“Bowen, stop.” I mutter, turning my face away from his without noticing I called him the wrong name.

He stops. Immediately standing us both to our feet and putting at least two feet between us. “Yeah, sorry. I ahh…
fuck.
I forgot, you—“

He goes to turn away, but I stop him.

Reaching my hand out, I gently pat his arm, “Hey, it’s okay. Shit happens. It’s alright.” I smile.

“Is it, Ivy? Are you alright?” The concern on his face is strong enough to be portrayed, no matter how drunk he is.

“Yeah, Reese. Of course I am. I can’t afford to not be.” I shrug and loop my arm around his waist before jerking my head towards the curb. “Come on, my boy toy will be here in a sec. We’ll pop a squat and wait for him, ‘kay?”

“Deal.” He grunts as we sit. “So, you’re okay? Sobriety obviously isn’t still going okay. Just drinks?”

His voice slurs and he winces. “Yeah. Sure, captain Moral Compass. Whatever you say.” I laugh at him while internally wincing.

“Good girl. Good girl. Sorry, I just—“I stop him for more reasons than the obvious.

“Reese, it’s okay. You were being a good friend. A good friend who just molested me, but still…” I laugh, “A good friend. You know I love you.” I tell him as Bowen’s RX7 pulls into the drive and I wave him over.

“There’s my little drunken woman, Rome’s been calling. You’re in a bit of trouble with the ol’ fam fam, dear.”

Shit. This is gonna cost me.

“Well they didn’t call my phone.” I pull out my phone and see six missed calls. “Shit.”

I barely notice as Reese introduces himself, then out of fucking left field, he does what he does.

He takes my easy and fucks it all to hell.

“—and your little woman, drunken as she may be, is also—or
WAS
a recovering addict. Now, as much as I would like to believe that my presence affects her that strongly, I have a hard time believing a little business meeting would have her falling back after six years. So, what, I say you?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Reese? Seriously?”

And of course he doesn’t stop.

No, that’s too fucking easy.

“What? No, Ivy, he needs to know just whose girl he’s fucking with. You’re not his. You may be his girlfriend, but you’re not his,” he slurs.

Bowen’s eyebrows shoot further up, if possible, and he smirks, thinking…hell if I know what he’s thinking.

I feel like I can barely breathe, and so without much thought or process, I blurt out the first thing that comes to my head, “Yeah, well, I’m not yours either. I’m not his. I’m not yours. I’m fucked up fifty shades past Grey’s fifty and that’s on Sunday. I’m a social recluse, a recovering, non-recovering addict—depending on the day, and I doubt I’ll
ever
be able maintain a growing, loving adult relationship with
anyone
other than myself. I’m mine and I love me, and that’s all I’ll need in this life and the next, so everyone else can go fuck themselves. Bowen, let me out at the light. I’m getting out at the light.” Determined as fuck. If I could use one word to describe my emotions in this moment, it is determined. I am no one’s. Mine—that’s what I am.

Bowen glances over towards me as he pulls the car to a stop, and I watch as my words catch up and process, flashing across his face a bit too late. I unlock the passenger side door, step out on the curb, and start heading down the main street towards mine and Rome’s house on foot.

A few minutes later after a hushed, angry exchange overheard from the car, I hear feet jogging up behind me, “Ivy. Fuck that fucker and whatever he says and thinks, he doesn’t know you, babe. Not like I do. We’ll deal with this later. For right now, though, let’s me and you get this drunken chap home, do some more candy.” Bowen’s hand magically appears with a long line from his wrist to the end of his pointer finger, and like a good girl, I inhale all of it. “Then take a nice hot shower. Fuck until our muscles tremble, and pass the fuck out. Come on, Ivy, love. Easy does it.” He pulls me towards the car.

Easy.

I hate it when he calls me Ivy, love. Almost as much as I hate who I’ve become.

But, like a good girl, I follow him back to the car, and ignore the fuck out of everything that falls out of Reese’s bitch ass mouth on the way to drop him off.

It takes a handful of mornings waking up and running to the toilet gagging, to alarm any bells. But like every woman knows, one warning bell is too many, and one morning tossing your crackers is too much. By ten o’clock, Livvy’s walking into mine and Rome’s house and up the stairs to my floor, blabbing the entire away, “That sexy ass brother of yours here, or did he have to run off to work?” She says as she walks into my room with plastic bags hanging from both arms, I heard them. That’s how loud they were. I heard them, not saw them.

“Did you buy every pregnancy test in Seattle, Washington, Livvy, shit.” I come out of the bathroom only to stop dead in my tracks, screaming bloody murder. “What the fuck?!”

Bowen’s hands fly into the air as he steps forward. “Babe, babe. It’s not technically her fault. Although, she did leave her cell phone on the bar in the kitchen, I was the one who read the text when I walked by on my way to the fridge for some yogurt. Technically not her fault. A baby?” he quietly asks.

“You couldn’t start off with, “Ives, I’m not
fucking
alone, oh and by the way, your possible baby-daddy is in tow? Bitch,” I growl under my breath.

“I’m sorry. He wanted to surprise you.” She looks guilty as shit. “I told him it was a bad idea,” she whispers.

“Ya think?” I bark.

And butting right in, Bowen doesn’t hold back, God forbid. “A baby, Ivy?” he repeats. Where’s easy at now? Huh? Where?

“Oh just give me the bags.” I start snatching them from Livvy and muttering cuss words under my breath before heading back towards the bathroom.

Bowen’s right on my heel the whole fifteen steps, “Ives, what about your birth control? I thought you were on birth control. When I asked—“

Both bags slam against his chest at the same time my hands do, “Stop it. If you think I wanted to procreate with you any more than you wanted to procreate with me, you are sorely mistaken. I don’t want this, you are wrong. Dead fucking wrong. Now let me piss on these sticks
in private
. Give me ten minutes on top of that, and when I know whether or not you and I will be parents, I—again, will let you fucking know, deal?” He and I both nod.

Then I slam the door in his face.

Fifteen palm sweating, nausea, bile at the back of my throat minutes later, I breathe a breath of relief.

I passed.

I am not fucking pregnant. Praise the lord. I passed the test!

Bullet dodged and easy does it, indeed.

“I passed!” I yell coming out of the bathroom dancing like no one’s watching. “I passed! I passed!” I sing.

After some group hugs and high fives, I kiss Bowen goodbye and shower. When I come out of the bathroom, Livvy hands me a tightly rolled blunt and runs around the room holding a lit incense to cover the smell.

As we plan our sick day around the time, we chat and laugh about life, work, and love and I get dressed and fix my hair.

But when Livvy asks about next week’s meeting, it causes butterflies in my already fragile stomach. “Did you decide on a dress? I know you were freaking out yesterday at work about what to wear next week. Deli right?” she asks as she pulls her car into traffic towards Tom Chee’s and I nod.

“Yeah, deli’s good. I don’t know what I’m going to wear. Not yet. Rome said he’d help, but everything he picks is slutty as hell. I can’t tell if he’s being serious or an ass hat when he gives his opinion, either.”

“Okay, and why do you care? I’m sorry, I’m still confused about that part,” she asks as she parks.

I try the easy way out by shrugging and smiling. After we’ve sat down, we’re waiting on our food when she starts in again. “What color are you thinking? And dress or blue jeans and t-shirt. Like, obviously you’re over thinking it, so now let’s measure how much you’re overthinking it. Because if it’s blue jeans and t-shirt meeting with old friends, then I’m going to stop letting you out of my earlier question so easy. Are you following me?” she asks, looking at me suspicious.