Stone Cold, page 18
“Let’s focus on the things you do like about your future wife …”
His mouth forms thin line and he shoves his laptop aside. “I don’t know … it’s hard to think of those things right now.”
“I see that. Give it a try anyway.”
It takes a concerning moment longer than it should, but he throws his hands in the air before knitting his fingers behind his neck. “Okay, fine. She speaks French. Fluent. When we go to La Fontaine, it’s kind of hot listening to her order for us. And she does this little thing with her nose when she laughs, like it crinkles a bit. And she’s always making our house feel like a five-star hotel. Fresh flowers. Egyptian cotton sheets. Little candles everywhere. She makes everything into an occasion … which was annoying at first, but then I realized it was her love language. She likes to give gifts. It’s her way of showing she cares.”
“Good,” I say. “What else?”
He shrugs. “She always lets me pick the music when we’re driving somewhere.”
“And?”
“And her parents love me—so that’s a plus,” he adds. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here. None of these things change the way I’m feeling.”
The sliding door slicks open and Paul steps in.
“Why the long faces, guys?” He ashes his cigar into his empty bourbon tumbler. “Cheer up, it’s happy hour.”
Moving for the fridge next, he cracks himself a beer and grabs two more, placing one in front of each of us.
“Jude’s still hellbent on talking himself out of marrying Stassi,” I say.
“For fuck’s sake.” Paul slams the beer opener on the counter. “Are we really back to this? She’s a nice young lady and you could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Jude’s silence is deafening.
“What is it with you and walking away from perfectly good women? First there was that girl back in college … Jovie I think was her name … she was a real catch … probably didn’t realize she could do better than you but loved you anyway … and then you tossed her to the side as soon as Stassi came along. Stassi made you grow up a bit. She got you a big boy job and made a man out of you. But here you are backtracking and God only knows why.” Paul shakes his head and chugs his beer. “You need to do some soul searching, Jude. And you don’t have much time to do it.”
“Does Stassi even want you back?” I ask, realizing our conversation took a left turn before we could get to that. “What’d she say last night?”
“She’s on the fence,” Jude says.
Ah.
There it is.
“Said she’s been feeling this way for a while now,” Jude adds. “I think it all came to a head after she looked at my search history.”
This isn’t about Jovie or cold feet: it’s about Stassi’s indifference and Jude’s inability to be alone.
He doesn’t want Jovie because he misses her or he’s suddenly grappling with unresolved feelings … she’s nothing more than his Plan B.
I leave my beer untouched. I don’t think I could drink it anyway—my jaw is clenched tight and my head is throbbing.
“I’ve got a client dinner to get ready for,” I say. “Rain check on the beer, Paul.”
I head upstairs, change, and exit through the garage to avoid seeing Jude again.
I don’t know where I’m going to go, just that I can’t be under the same roof as him right now or I might say something we’ll both regret.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jovie
* * *
“Hi, stranger,” I say when Stone shows up at my door just past six. Exhaustion colors his handsome face, and he looks every bit the part of a man who’s had a day.
A few minutes ago, he called and said he was in the area. I didn’t hesitate to invite him over. I don’t know what this is yet. It’s all so new and confusing and wonderful. And labels only ever seem to ruin things. Whatever it is, I just know I haven’t stopped grinning for days and sometimes I get so caught up in a daydream I can’t feel the floor beneath my feet.
He greets me with a biting kiss, pinning me against the wall.
His hands run down my hips, sliding behind my thighs as he scoops me into his arms and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him and lace my fingers around the back of his neck. Stone kicks the door closed with his foot then carries me to the couch.
His five o’clock shadow is rough against my neck as he tastes my flesh, and his fingers tug at my shirt as if he’s half-tempted to rip it off me again. I pull it over my head this time. If this is the rate we’re going, I’ll be out of a wardrobe this time next month.
I reach for his belt, work his zipper, and wrap my palm around his cock. I pump his length before taking his throbbing heat between my lips.
With his hand in my hair, he releases a guttural groan as I swallow his length again and again. A few minutes later, he releases—sending hot spurts down the back of my throat. I swallow in one go and wipe the corners of my mouth.
Pulling me into his lap, he buries his face in the bend of my neck before wrapping me tight in his arms. He doesn’t say anything. There’s an unspoken understanding flickering between us, the kind of thing that would only be ruined with words.
This is our story.
And for the first time, we’re on the same page.
His steady hands circle my waist before exploring my curves. I kiss his stubbled jaw, working my way to his ear then down his neck. I want to taste and memorize every part of him. I want to catalog it until it no longer feels surreal.
I rock against him, beckoning his hardness to come to life again.
Tossing my head back, I empty the thoughts from my head along with the never-ending list of questions. He’s clearly not in the mood to talk tonight, and I’m more than happy to be the release he needs.
He’s my release, too.
Life is long. And hard. And confusing. And unpredictable. But right here, with him, everything feels like it’s finally beginning to make sense.
We take it to the bedroom, and for the hour that follows, we lose ourselves in unapologetic carnal enchantment.
Lying in his arms when we’re done, I spot his gaze travel to the scar that runs down my left thigh.
“Does it bother you?” I ask. “Seeing that? Does it make you think of Jude?”
He traces his fingertip along its hard ridges. “It bothers me that this happened to you.”
“I’m over it, really. Nothing I can do about it now.” I capture his hand in mine and interlace my fingers with his. “It’s not going anywhere.”
He swallows a hard breath. “Yeah.”
“Does he know?” I ask. “Does he know we’ve been spending time together?”
“No.” His jaw flexes and he stares up at the ceiling. “He’s not in a good place right now.”
“I see.”
“I’ll tell him,” he adds. “When the time is right.”
I believe Stone, yet the smallest part of me hopes he isn’t stringing me along. I don’t think he’s the type to do that, but then again, I didn’t think Jason was going to be the type to exploit me after a whirlwind marriage.
There was a time it felt real with him too.
Stone rolls to his side, facing me, and he takes my cheek in his hand. “I don’t want you to worry okay? Whatever happens, it’s my problem, not yours.”
I nod, and he seals his promise with a kiss before sitting up.
“I have court in the morning or I’d stay,” he says.
I wrap my naked body in my sheets and watch him get dressed in the dark.
He kisses me once more before he leaves, and I wait for the click of the door before tiptoeing to the living room to watch him out the window.
Thirty seconds later, he’s stepping onto the front stoop and making his way down the sidewalk. As soon as he does, Ida and Domino emerge from the house next door. Domino rears up, wagging his tail and pulling on his leash, attempting to drag Ida closer to Stone.
I watch as Stone gives her a disarming wave before lowering himself to Domino’s level and scratching behind his ears.
I can’t make out what they’re saying from up here, but it appears he’s introducing himself. Ida claps her hands on her cheeks when she puts it all together—at least I’m assuming that’s what’s happening. The next thing I know, she’s wrapping him in a hug.
I laugh to myself, watching their cute little exchange.
I have to admit, the softer side of Stone is throwing me for a loop—and I’m loving every minute of it.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Stone
* * *
Paul is watching sports highlights in the den when I get home. Meanwhile, Jude’s Amalfi Blue Range Rover is missing in action.
“Where’s Jude?” I ask.
“He went home.” Paul’s glassy eyes are glued to the TV, like they’ve been fixed there for hours. “Stassi said he could come home, I guess.”
I jut my chin out and take a seat on the leather sofa. “That’s good.”
“Damn right it is. I think we might have finally gotten through that thick skull of his.” Paul reaches for the remote on the table beside him, muting the TV. “You’re a good influence on him, you know that? You’ve always helped him keep that head of his a little straighter on his shoulders. Without you around, who knows how he would’ve turned out.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say. “You might’ve had a little something to do with it too …”
He bats his hand. “All’s I’ve got is a bunch of overused sayings. But you? You’re smart. You’re educated. You’ve got your shit together. I think he looks up to you more than either of us realize.”
“You think?”
“You’re the first person he goes to with all his problems. You’re the first to know what’s going on in his life. He doesn’t do a damn thing without your stamp of approval. When you two were kids, I used to joke behind his back that you were his security blanket. I think he’d be a little lost without you.”
While Paul’s words are meant as a compliment, the guilt of knowing that I’ve slept with Jovie twice now gnaws away at me.
I’ve justified my actions with anger and resentment.
These kinds of things never end well.
“What’s the matter over there? I hear a lot of sighing and huffing.” He pauses the TV and careens his neck my way. “Got something on your mind? It isn’t healthy to bottle that shit up, believe me. There’s this guy I met down in Florida. Spent his whole life in the closet, if you know what I mean. At least until his sixty-fifth birthday. He came out after his father passed. Guess he didn’t want to disappoint him or something like that. Anyway, he died of a heart attack on the beach three months later, never got to live his truth. Don’t let that be you.”
“I slept with Jovie,” I say in one long breath.
While I thought it’d feel better to have it off my chest, something about my confession only makes me feel ten times heavier. I’m anchored in place, ready for one of Paul’s infamous come to Jesus lectures.
“Oof.” Paul shakes his head, sitting up in his chair. “That’s … that’s a doozy.”
I was expecting a bigger reaction than that.
Still, I don’t know what else to say, so I choose silence.
“Do you like her or was she just a lay?” he blinks.
“I love her, Paul. I’ve loved her from the moment I met her.”
His curious expression lightens and a smile crawls across his thin lips. “Well, hot damn. Stone’s in love.”
“You don’t think I’m a piece of shit for sleeping with my best friend’s ex?” And then I add, “While he’s going through a personal crisis?”
Paul waves his hand in the air, as if to clear a slate. “The whole thing about bro codes and exes being off limits, I’ve never understood. In my day, that wasn’t a thing. These ridiculous rules you guys put on yourselves are comical, really. You can’t put all these restrictions on your own happiness. And you know what else? Jude had a shot with her years ago and he blew it. He had her and he let her go. He hooked her, caught her, reeled her in, and then he threw her back into the sea. As far as I’m concerned, that makes her fair game.”
“I have a feeling he’s not going to see it that way.”
“Then let that be a lesson to him.” Paul points at me, driving home his words. “A priceless one at that. One in the hand is not always worth two in the bush. You have something good? You keep it. You hold onto it. And you never let it go.”
“When should I tell him?”
“After I fly out tomorrow,” he says with his raspy smoker’s chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve got no desire to stick around for that fight. You two can sort it out like the grown men you are.”
Something tells me it’s not going to be that simple.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jovie
* * *
I wake in Stone’s bed Saturday morning, disoriented for a moment. Last night was the first time I stayed over, and while I meant to leave after we had our fun, he insisted I stay for a second round—which turned into a third round sometime around 2 AM.
The clock on his nightstand reads a quarter past eight, and while I’m so exhausted pain sinks into my marrow, I’m back in that wired-but-tired stage. Who has time for sleep when everything is buzzing and Technicolor?
I slide out from beneath his covers and find one of his white button-down Oxfords draped over the chair in the far corner of his room. I pull it over my head, fluff my hair out from the collar, and tug the hem into place a few inches past my rear. The faded scent of his cologne clings to the starched fabric, and I steal a greedy lungful before tiptoeing downstairs to his kitchen to make coffee.
With a little bit of work, I manage to locate his K-cups, some almond milk creamer, and a couple of mugs.
I’m brewing the first cup, when I turn to place it on the island—only to be met with a fully clothed man standing on the other end of it.
I scream, dropping the mug on the porcelain tile, miraculously managing to jump out of the way of the scalding hot liquid.
“Jude, what are you doing here?” I ask. I cross my arms over my chest, uncertain of how transparent this shirt is.
His face is twisted and his gaze is frozen, pointed. “I should ask you the same thing.”
A second later, the heavy thud of trouncing footsteps coming down the stairs grows nearer, and Stone makes his way to the kitchen. In his wrinkled t-shirt, low-slung sweats, and messy bed head, the scene has been set.
There’s no denying that this is exactly what this looks like.
The two of them are locked in a visual standoff, neither one saying a word.
Jude’s nostrils flare, and his creamy complexion turns a deeper shade of scarlet by the second.
Earlier this week, Stone confided in me that Jude and Stassi were both having cold feet about the wedding, and while it killed him to keep quiet, he wanted to wait until Jude had less on his plate. He didn’t want to give him one more thing to deal with on top of everything else. His logic made sense at the time.
Now it’s irrelevant.
“What are you doing here?” Stone asks Jude.
“Came back to get the rest of my things … thought I could come in through the garage and not wake you … sure as hell wasn’t expecting to walk into this.” Jude’s steely gaze drifts from Stone to me and back. “I knew it.”
Jude sneers, pointing his finger in the air.
“I fucking knew it. You piece of shit,” Jude says, charging toward Stone. “You lying sack of shit.”
I’m unsure if Stone’s silence is his way of pleading the fifth—or if he’s weighing his options here, trying to choose between his best friend and a girl.
If I were him, it’d be a no-brainer.
They’re practically family.
Jude and Paul are the only family he’s got.
I’d never expect him to give that up for me.
“I thought it was strange … how you had one of Jovie’s books in your study,” Jude says, “and then when you used that line on me last week … the one about nostalgia being a beautiful liar … it’s the same thing Jovie said to me when I ran into her last month … I knew then and there, Stone, but I wanted to give you a chance to come clean. To tell me like a man.”
Stone still hasn’t said a word.
“You’re my best friend,” Jude says, his voice breaking but his face remaining stoic. “My brother. How could you?”
“I won’t insult you by denying any of this,” Stone finally speaks. “But you have to understand … I’ve been in love with Jovie from the moment I saw her … and I saw her first. She was the girl at the party that I told you about freshman year. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about all week. The one I shut up about when you brought Jovie home because the girl I liked … was also the girl you liked. And as your best friend, as your brother, I saw how happy she made you, so I let it go.”
“Wait,” I turn to Stone. “You told me you didn’t remember meeting me that night … I asked you several times and you denied it every time.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”
“By lying?” I ask.
“It’s a bit more nuanced than that,” he says, letting his hands fall at his sides. “But yes. I lied to you, Jovie, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s fucked up is what it is.” Jude’s expression hardens all over again and he points at Stone. “You were the one who told me to break up with Jovie.”
