Five Ways to Fall Page 6

  Mason is a rule follower, through and through. Black-and-white. That’s what will probably make him a very good lawyer. I’m a big “gray area” kind of guy, always looking for ways to bend and reinterpret the rules. That’s what will probably make me a damn fantastic lawyer.

  “If it means anything to you at all . . . he thinks you’ve got a lot of promise, Ben, but he won’t think twice about firing you if he catches you screwing around with anyone,” Mason says.

  Getting fired right out of law school would look terrible. Good luck finding another job in Miami after something like that, and I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future. My mama needs at least one of her children to stay close.

  “And if he caught you with Reese . . .” Mason goes on, shaking his head.

  Slapping my buddy over his shoulder, I promise, “Point made, and don’t worry. I told you, those days are over. Plus, something tells me that girl’s pride won’t let her give me the time of day.” Getting puked on isn’t something I strive for when I bring a girl back to my hotel room, but shit happens when you’re pounding booze. Hell, two weeks ago I was on a stage with Mercy’s thong on, my nut sac hanging out for all to see. Not one of my finer moments, but I’ll survive. Something tells me stuff doesn’t slide off Reese’s shoulders as fast, though. And maybe it’s not even the puking. I did watch her crawl naked across the floor, too. And I laughed at her while she was doing it. I don’t think most women would appreciate being laughed at in that situation. Even Kacey would probably beat me senseless, and she takes it like the best of them.

  Mason’s mouth opens but he hesitates, a sour expression twisting his face. “What’d you do to her?”

  I lift my hands in surrender. “It’s not about what I did to her.”

  He’s on his feet and marching forward, shaking his head. “Just don’t tease her, Ben. You’ll regret it.”

  Shit. Not teasing her about this is going to be really hard for me, seeing as that’s what I do best. Besides, I owe her for not letting me shower in my own damn bathroom. “Hey,” I call out and ask on a hunch, “what’d you do to piss her off so bad?”

  His feet slow and I hear his heavy sigh as he turns, a guilty look plastered across his face. “I said some stupid stuff about her father.”

  Chapter 7

  REESE

  “You really should try the key lime. We’re famous for it,” the waitress suggests with a smile as she places my order for a slice of chocolate pecan pie in front of me.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer, just like I’ve answered a dozen times before, eyeing the perfectly intact pecan halves that decorate the top of my sliver. It isn’t easy, finding a chocolate pecan pie. Sure, everyone’s got a pecan pie on the menu. It’s the chocolate that makes it unique. The pie is the reason I started coming to the Bayside Café six months ago. Remembering my borderline obsession for this particular flavor, Jack introduced me to it. The place has quickly become my safe haven.

  And since starting at Warner—only a few blocks away—I’m here several times a week. It has a beautiful waterfront patio with teakwood tables and royal-blue umbrellas, crammed with palm trees and plants of all sizes, enough to make it feel like a jungle that you can hide in, which is exactly what I’m doing tonight, with my newspaper crossword puzzle and a law textbook.

  I couldn’t bear being in the office anymore. Natasha kept poking her head around my door, Ben in tow, asking for this deposition or that contract. And as much as I kept my eyes averted, I still managed to see him at least a dozen times today.

  I’d be lying if I said that Ben’s not an extremely attractive guy. Now that I’m sober, I can attest to that wholeheartedly. My only saving grace is that I’m too busy trying to block out my embarrassing memories to be in any danger of tripping over myself like half the women seemed to be doing today. It was pathetic. Even Natasha seemed more bubbly than normal. And the dimpled smiles he flashed each one of them tells me he loved every second of the fawning.

  The first forkful of pie is sliding into my mouth when my phone comes alive with the sound of minions singing the banana song.

  “Happy Monday,” I mutter into the phone.

  “I hate numbers.”

  “It’s a good thing you won’t be dealing with them on a daily basis for the next forty years, then.” Lina finished her undergrad degree last spring and passed her CPA exam with flying colors. Now she’s working at a small accounting firm down the street to collect a year of experience before she can apply for her license.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Hiding from karma at Bayside.”

  “Don’t drink the coffee,” she warns.

  “Too late,” I mutter, swirling the last bit of the toxic substance in my mug. Every time I come here, I order a cup to go with my chocolate pecan pie. It’s habit, I guess. There’s no other explanation. The coffee is weak, it has a salty aftertaste, and there’s always a weird film at the bottom of the cup. No one with taste buds would like this crap.

  With a heavy sigh, I divulge the horror of my day.

  “So Mason is friends with your botched exorcism,” she states flatly. I can always count on Lina to lay it out like it is. No beating around the bush. No softening the blow. “What did the guy say to you?”

  “That I owe him a new shirt.”

  She snorts. “Well, he’s got you there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Maybe I’ll take a break and swing by. We can mock people together,” Lina offers. Another plus to this job: having my best friend only four blocks away from me.

  “Don’t bother. I’ve been here for two hours. I actually have to go back to the office. The law bot dumped three new cases on my desk today.”

  “Fine. Do you want to come over for dinner sometime this week? Nicki’s cooking.”

  “Does it involve turkey bacon?”

  “All unconventional meats have been banned.” Since Lina owns the small two-bedroom-plus-den condo that they moved into, she is well within her power to stop Nicki from inflicting others with her strange dietary preferences.

  “Then I’m in.”

  “Okay, good.” There’s a pause, and then Lina sighs. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Well, this doesn’t sound promising.” I shove a large piece of pie in my mouth.

  “It all depends on whether you want your best friend, the one who sticks up for you, has lied to the police for you, has gone along with all of your harebrained ideas, to be happy.”

  “You’ve never lied to the police for me.”

  “Senior year. The bottle of vodka in the trunk when we got pulled over.”

  “Fine. One time,” I heave with exasperation. “What has that earned you today?”

  “Well, I’ve started seeing someone that you may not . . .”

  Lina’s voice blurs as I watch a ginger-haired woman flounce through the patio, her purse swinging on her arm, as happy as any home-wrecking husband thief could possibly be.

  “Oh my God!” Chunks of piecrust get sucked down my throat with my gasp, stirring up a cough that I struggle to suppress. “It’s her!” I hiss.

  “Her who?”

  I struggle to swallow as I watch my ex-husband’s new wife sit three tables over with what I assume is a friend.

  “Her!” I hiss even more sharply, dipping my head so I’m not so obviously staring at her.

  There’s only one “her” that I could be talking about with such venom in my voice, and Lina catches on quickly. “What? Here in Miami?”

  “No. In hell! Because that’s where I obviously am today!” First Ben, now Caroline?

  “Has she recognized you yet?”

  “No, but she hasn’t looked this way.” Without my purple hair and piercings and in professional clothes—minus the cute and trendy cowboy boots that I’d normally never wear but Nicki insisted must be worn with this dress—Caroline may not recognize me. I hope not. Just in case, though, I open the menu and prop it up, read
y to duck behind it if necessary.

  “I’m coming down.”

  “No, you’re not, because she will recognize you.” With Lina living next door to them for months, it was impossible to avoid her in the hall completely. Knowing Lina, she would have been skewering Caroline with her eyes at every single chance. “Why is she here?” A second, smaller, gasp. “Did they move to Miami?” Jared always wanted to get a ship-welding job down here.

  “I dunno. What does his Facebook profile say?”

  “I haven’t been on it since Cancún.” As hard as it was to wean myself off that addiction—my only connection to Jared—I couldn’t bear seeing the proof of them married. Just the idea still feels like a knife plunging into my stomach.

  “Okay, just a sec. Let me see if I can get on . . .” I hear the clatter of a keyboard on the other end. “Yup. They just moved to Miami. Two weeks ago.”

  “Shit,” I mutter more to myself, a strange, unpleasant feeling stirring in my chest, adding softly, “I guess he got the ship-welding job.” We used to lie in bed at night with the lights dimmed and Muse—his favorite band—playing softly while he doodled ships all over my body, explaining the different parts and what his work would entail. I couldn’t care less about ships, but I’d lie still and let him get it out of his system. I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d get distracted by the naked canvas.

  “What does she do again?”

  “Besides destroying marriages and tearing out people’s hearts?” I’ve found it helps to paint her as the villain here, though I know I should be directing at least some of that hatred at Jared.

  Ignoring my acidity, Lina offers, “Well, at least Miami’s a big city.”

  “And yet it’s a fucking small world, obviously.”

  “Deep breaths, Reese,” she coaches calmly. As though she’s afraid of what I may do. I can’t blame her. I’ve never been above punching a girl when she deserves it.

  “I’m fine,” I snap, watching the key factor in my heartbreak a fork’s launch away, in her gingham dress—really? Outside of Disney World and I Love Lucy, who the hell wears gingham anyway?—and her straight hair stretching down her back. A strange, perverse pleasure blossoms inside of me as I watch the woman who had no issues stepping in to rip my life right out from under me giggle away with a friend, unaware of my presence.

  I’ve never actually spoken to her. Aside from a few details Jared provided me in the beginning of our relationship—they were childhood family friends who turned into high school sweethearts, though she lived in Savannah—he never talked about her. I thought she was long gone from his life. Clearly not.

  What made him want to marry her? Sure, I guess she’s pretty, in that average, boring way. She appears to be bubbly and sweet and probably never curses. I’m guessing she knows how to wave a pom-pom and I’d bet money she was part of some Delta Fuck You sorority. But what does he see in her? What about her makes sense to him?

  Jared always said he couldn’t stand those kinds of girls; that I was fresh air to him, after years of being suffocated by what his wealthy parents wanted of him, of his life.

  That he and I made sense.

  That he couldn’t breathe without me.

  I watch her run a hand through her hair, the sparkle from that diamond I know Jared can’t afford on his salary catching my eye, reminding me that it doesn’t matter what I don’t see. All that matters is what Jared does see.

  I guess he found a way to breathe without me after all.

  I unconsciously find myself twirling the simple yet beautiful vintage sterling silver and pearl ring on my finger that Jared surprised me with the morning of our spur-of-the-moment trip to Vegas.

  That turned into the best day of my life.

  And clearly the worst mistake of my life.

  I’ve switched the ring to my right hand, but haven’t had the courage to stuff it into the wooden box of the past under my bed just yet.

  “Reese?” Lina’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “Seriously, I’m over it. I’ve gotta go or I’ll be stuck in the office all night. See you tomorrow night.” I hang up the phone and hunch down slightly, eyeing my half-eaten pie—there’s no way it’s going to be finished.

  I think about leaving as I continue watching her. The patio is unusually quiet, enough so that that annoying southern twang of hers carries over to me. I listen to her chatter on about how she and her husband just moved into a condo down the street and she’ll be coming here a lot because they have the best coffee.

  I sit at the café for another hour, breaking off squirrel-sized bites of my pie though I can’t taste any of it. When she gets up to leave, I quietly pack my things, wait for her to exit, and then duck out of the café. To do what any sane ex-wife would do.

  I tail her for five blocks, to a condo building.

  And now I know where my ex-husband lives.

  Great. Because today isn’t bad enough.

  My humiliating one-night stand—a six-foot-three-ish smirking blond—is sitting in my chair, his feet propped up onto my desk, when I return from the bathroom.

  Reese, zero. Universe . . . I hate you.

  “Why are you still here?” It’s almost ten at night and, aside from Jack and Mason, everyone has gone home.

  Making a point of opening and closing the two side drawers of my desk, he says, “I was looking for that beef jerky.”

  “I ate it.” I push my door shut with my foot and toss my purse onto my desk.

  His eyes roll lazily over me from head to toe, not even bothering to hide it. “I thought we should talk.” And then he abruptly slides his legs off and stands, giving me a full view of his solid frame, which I try not to get caught noticing. Ben doesn’t overdress—not like Mason, who would wear a three-piece suit to bed if it was considered appropriate—but he’s got one of those bodies that everything hangs from well.

  We trade places, Ben wandering around to the front of my desk, while I keep my distance by circling around the other side to take a seat in my now vacant chair.

  “I never told Kent about what happened in my hotel room. I let them think I scored.”

  An odd sense of relief swarms me. And surprise. I figured Ben was the type to tell a good story at others’ expense. But . . .“Mason?” I’d imagine that the disgust I feel with the idea of my stepbrother having sex goes both ways. Fortunately, I’ve never seen him so much as second-glance a female.

  Ben dismisses that with a slight wave. “Oh, he knows what really happened, but he won’t say a thing.”

  “Oh my God!” I cry out, my previous relief burning up with the sudden fire in my cheeks. I lay my forehead down on the cool desk. Mason won’t say anything, my ass!

  “Relax.” I hear footsteps approach and then a hand settles on the back of my neck. It has the opposite effect on me, my body going completely rigid. “I left out the part about the puking. And the crawling. I’m guessing you’re still a little sensitive about that.” I hear the humor in his voice. “How were you feeling the next day, anyway? You hit the ground pretty hard.”

  “Now you’re concerned?” I spent the rest of my Cancún vacation with bruised knees and a cracked nail from where my toe must have caught the bed frame.

  “I didn’t mean to laugh.” I look up in time to see a giant grin stretch out across his face, making his words hard to believe. “And if it’s any consolation, you have a phenomenal ass. I should know. I got a really good look at it.”

  I groan inwardly. “Today’s not a good day for me, Ben.”

  His hands lift in surrender. “Fair enough. I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” He rounds my desk again—it’s as if he’s circling his prey, but in a very casual, nonthreatening way—and stops in front of the personal pictures I’ve hung on the wall.

  His finger swings to the picture of the rusted old blue Chevy. “What’s with you and vintage trucks?”

  “I like them,” I say simply, not willing to elaborate further.

  I quietly wa
tch him evaluate things for another few minutes, until he suddenly asks, “Hey, do you want to go for lunch tomorrow? Seeing as you do a lot for Natasha and I’ll be working with her over the next few months, maybe we should start over.” He turns to peer at me with earnest blue eyes, his voice cracking under its sudden softness. “What do you say? Truce?”

  Jack is always telling me that I need to make decisions based on common sense and not emotions. After spending a few weeks with Ben, my mortification will disappear.

  Right?

  So making peace with Ben now would be win-win.

  Right?

  I open my mouth.

  And then I see that devilish twinkle and the corners of his mouth twitch. “They make extra-strong margaritas at Amigos, down the street. Just like you like them. I’ll bring a change of clothes, for after, of course.”

  “Get out.” This is going to be hell.

  “We could take a nice long crawl down the boardwalk, and then—”

  “Fuck. Right. Off.” I hate him.

  He grins, completely at ease, his attention grazing over my life-sized cardboard cutout of that stupid alien thing I ordered online a few weeks ago as a “fuck you” to Nelson, the annoying contracts lawyer down the hall. “Oh, come on, Reese. It’s not that big a deal. You need to learn how to laugh at yourself.”

  Maybe if reality—in the form of a troll in a gingham dress—hadn’t just stuck its spike heel into my heart again, this wouldn’t bother me so much. But I walked in here already feeling pathetic. Now I’m beyond livid.

  I feel the wicked smile stretch across my lips as I turn my attention to my monitor. “Enjoy your first few months here. I imagine June will be helping you out, seeing as her caseload is light. I think you’ll enjoy working with her.” He won’t. June talks to herself and has permanent pastrami breath. Her caseload is light because she’s every lawyer’s last pick. She’s slow as molasses.