The Breakup Read online

  Oh, damn it all to hell and back. That voice belonged to Christian Jordan. I don’t know how I knew it wasn’t Cain, Christian’s identical twin, who realistically could be there to see Sophie. But I just knew it wasn’t. It was Christian. Because from the first moment I had laid eyes on Christian a few weeks back I had felt very female flutterings deep inside my body that were strange, intriguing, and really seriously wrong.

  I would have pretended to be asleep except my eyes were already open. I glanced up at him, horrified he would see me like this, sobbing and pathetic. Of course, he had seen me throw up on my best friend the night before. And then there was this morning when I had gone to the jail looking like Morning-After Barbie, with half my acrylics missing and my hair extensions jacked to hell. I had bailed him out after he and Cain had gotten into a fight because I felt bad for being an elitist bitch to him when I was super drunk.

  But I didn’t want him here, not now. Not when I still looked like ass and had just had my entire world shattered.

  Yep. He was still gorgeous. And yes, he still made my vagina tingle, which was mortifying. But he was just so hot. He had broad shoulders and short dark hair and a mischievous smile. I wouldn’t be female if I wasn’t at least intrigued by a bad boy.

  But his timing was terrible.

  “Hi,” I said, a lifetime of manners compelling me to speak. “How are you?”

  He frowned. “Are you crying?”

  That irritated me beyond belief. My manners evaporated. “No, I just threw water on my face in two perfect streaks down either cheek.”

  His eyebrows shot up. I wasn’t known for sarcasm or snapping at people.

  But I was officially done with this day.

  And yet I apologized, because that’s what I do. “I’m sorry.”

  Christian squatted down and shifted closer to me. “What’s wrong, Bella?” His voice was smooth, coaxing, sympathetic.

  “Nothing.” But even as I denied it, fresh tears welled up in my eyes. “Where is my sister?” I asked. “Why are you here?” And how soon could he leave? I needed to be alone with a pint of ice cream. Or maybe a half gallon. I had to get my shit together before Bradley and my dad returned from golfing.

  Christian Jordan being in my personal space was not helping me pull it together.

  Then he did the unthinkable. He reached out and wiped the tears off my cheeks. His touch, warm, his hands, rough, startled me. I shivered. I tried to tell him he was crossing a line, that I was fine, to get away, something. Anything. But the words died on my lips. He looked genuinely concerned and it made my throat tighten.

  “I came to pay you back for the bail money. But now I’m worried about you. Are you just hungover or is it something else?”

  I found my voice, sitting up so his hands fell away from my face. I needed to be more in control for this conversation. Lying down felt too intimate. Too passive. “I’m just hungover,” I lied. “I have a headache. And this is really embarrassing. I look so ugly right now.”

  Basically since birth, my mother had drilled it into me that you don’t let anyone outside of family see you not put together. This was so far from put together I wasn’t even sure what to call it. Call FEMA, because I was a federal disaster.

  But Christian, still squatting down so he was face-to-face with me, just shook his head. “You are the type of woman who can’t even try to be ugly. You’re fucking gorgeous, Bella, but you know that.”

  I didn’t. Not now. Not when I knew my fiancé was cheating on me with Tight Ass. Not to mention Best BJ. I felt devastated, unwanted. And ugly on the inside, full of hateful and bitchy thoughts, which were foreign to me and scary. Tears welled up in my eyes again and I was horrified. “Thanks,” I managed. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m not feeling good today. Sophie can show you out.”

  Hint, hint. Go away.

  He pressed a wad of cash into my hand, taking my fingers and wrapping them around the bills. “Thanks again for bailing me out. I didn’t want to sit there until Monday.”

  “No problem.” I was a lot of things, but a bitch wasn’t usually one of them. I wasn’t proud of my behavior the night before. “I’m sorry again for being so rude to you.”

  “No problem. Where’s your phone?”

  “What?” I pushed my ratty hair back off my face, wincing when I saw the two jagged nails where I had yanked my acrylics off in a drunken fit of irritation when they prevented me from easily texting. “It’s in my pocket.”

  “Let me see it.”

  By nature, I’m an obedient person. Plus I wanted to appease him to get rid of him. I pulled out my phone and handed it over, wondering where the hell my sister was.

  He held it up in front of my face to unlock it. I started to feel alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you my number. If you need a favor in return, let me know.” He stared at me, his gaze intense.

  He had pale blue eyes that were downright hypnotizing. “Sure,” I said, with zero intention whatsoever of doing anything other than deleting his number the second he left. Christian was trouble and I apparently already had plenty of that in my life. “Thanks.”

  I reached out and snatched my phone from his hands and gave him a wan smile.

  “Text me so I have your number,” he said.

  Glancing over to the door leading to the family room, I willed my sister to appear. I did not want to give him my number. “That’s not a good idea. I’m engaged. To be married.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “I am aware of that fact.” He took my phone for the second time.

  I gasped. “Hey!” Enough was enough. I stood up. He stood up too, and he had a substantial height advantage on me. I swallowed hard. “Give me my phone back.” I sounded like a prissy princess. I almost winced. But having someone picking through my phone was like a finger in my ass. I didn’t say you could go there. You had to ask first, and I would most likely say no.

  “If you stomp your foot I’m going to laugh, I’m sorry,” he said. He looked amused. “I just am.”

  He was really kind of a bossy jerk. “Can we just call ourselves even and go back to being casual strangers? I think that would be best.” I crammed the money he had given me into the pocket of my joggers. I held out my hand for my phone, afraid if I tried to grab it he would pull it back like we were in middle school. I had been terrible at those games with boys. I was notoriously gullible.

  “Whatever you want, princess.” He handed me my phone back and gave me a smile. “Walk me out so I don’t get lost in this massive house.”

  I didn’t want to do anything other than fall asleep for ten hours and wake up back to the real me instead of this hungover hell, but if I had to walk fifty steps to get rid of the sexy and annoying Christian Jordan, I would. “Right this way,” I said, sounding like a demented spa employee. I even gestured by arching my arm out.

  Sophie was in the kitchen pouring herself lemonade and I shot her a dirty look, which she pretended not to understand. Sometimes she played the socially awkward card too often. I was on to her more than our mother was, who believed all of Sophie’s manipulations. I was in the middle of a crisis and she was pouring lemonade? What the hell?

  Unfortunately, when I opened the front door, Bradley and my dad were coming up the front walk right toward the house. I stepped out, Christian right on my heels.

  Bradley frowned.

  A glance over at Christian showed he was grinning.

  My father looked confused.

  And I wanted to throw up again.

  Chapter 2

  This had to be the fiancé. He had rich tool written all over him. He was wearing a sweater around his shoulders in the world’s biggest cliché. Either he had spent the day with Ralph Lauren or he was just a pussy who needed a sweater in June.

  Both made me hate him.

  I don’
t have a problem with rich people. I have a problem with assholes, and this guy, this Bradley Alexander, reeked of asshole. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a pretentious asshole. There’s a big difference.

  “Who is this?” the older guy asked.

  I assumed it was Bella’s father. I opened my mouth to introduce myself as Bella’s friend, but the fiancé smiled and stuck his hand out to me first. “Bradley Alexander. Are you the tent guy?”

  That caught me off guard. I shook his hand. His grip was firm. Mine was firmer.

  His skin was smooth, soft, like my son’s. Only Camp was a baby. This guy had to be close to thirty and had clearly never done a hard day’s labor in his life. I didn’t begrudge him that. Nice life if you can get it.

  “Oh, the tent guy,” Bella’s father said. “Right. You two take care of that. I want a drink.” He never looked at me, just headed into the house whistling.

  “I’m not the tent guy,” I said, annoyed and not sure why. There was no reason for Bradley to have any clue who I was.

  He gave me a look like I was a fucking idiot. “I know,” Bradley said brightly as he turned from me and walked toward Bella. “You can deal with this, right, sweetheart?” He kissed the top of her head. “When you’re done meet me in your room so we can talk.”

  Bella looked stricken. On the verge of tears again. Something was clearly wrong in her relationship and I didn’t want to give a shit. I shouldn’t give a shit. But I felt bad for her, damn it. That annoyed me. I tried to remember how bitchy she had been the night before calling me a loser. It helped. I tamped down my compassion.

  “Thanks for the money,” Bella said, her voice a polite dismissal. “I appreciate the prompt return, though it honestly wasn’t necessary. I meant it as an apology.”

  “I know. But it was too much money for a simple apology.” I stared at her. “Who does your fiancé think I am?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Sophie’s boyfriend?” She darted a glance back at the house. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

  So damn polite. I lingered, wanting to trigger her impatience. See if she would tell me to fuck off as she so clearly wanted to. But she just watched me, her fingers fluttering over her neck, her eyes wide and slightly maniacal. She looked like she was going to cry again, yet she still wasn’t going to be rude. Apparently only alcohol made her pretentious.

  “Thanks,” I said, willing to let her off the hook. “You too.” I backed up a few steps, slowly. Maybe I didn’t want to fuck Bella. Too complicated.

  “Your brother might want to consider staying away from my sister.”

  I paused. Cain and I had a lot of issues. Hell, the night before he had punched me in the face when I was bartending. Which was why we’d both wound up sitting in jail. But where the fuck did Bella get off suggesting my brother was bad for her sister? He was. But no one had the right to say that who wasn’t a Jordan. “And why is that?”

  “He obviously has issues with alcohol and anger management and Sophie is inexperienced.”

  I scoffed. So typical. “One could say the same thing about you last night,” I said, turning on my heel. I waved over my shoulder. “Have a nice life, Bella. Enjoy your wedding.”

  She gasped at my words, but I didn’t stick around to hear if she had a response. It didn’t matter.

  And I had a date with my baby mama. Cain’s ex-girlfriend, Ali. She had rolled back into town without telling either one of us and had asked to meet me for coffee.

  Let the shit show begin.

  * * *

  —

  What the heck was that? I wasn’t even sure why Christian had shown up at the house, let alone had lingered like that. My palms were sweating from the strain of being polite and my thoughts were scattered. Bradley had seemed strange. Hadn’t he? I wasn’t sure, and now I felt hot with anxiety. Pushing Christian out of my mind, I went into the house and ran straight up to my room, heart racing.

  I wasn’t sure what to say to Bradley.

  He was sitting on the chair in front of my vanity, slouched back, casual, legs apart. “Have you seen my phone?”

  Shit. Of course he would ask about that immediately. I lied strictly out of panic. I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront him about his bathroom sex. “No.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Call it for me.”

  Fabulous. My cheeks bloomed with color. I guess we were doing this now. I pulled it out of my pocket and tossed it at him. “You left it here and I saw the texts, Bradley. About having sex with someone in the restroom at a bar.” A sob rose but I choked it back. I wanted to be dignified, unlike at my drunken party the night before. Not let him see how hurt I truly was. Never let anyone see you cry. I had lived by that mantra.

  Bradley’s jaw dropped. “Bel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out about that. It didn’t mean anything, you know that. It was just a totally meaningless fuck.”

  I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say. There really couldn’t be any good reason for it and his response was textbook. An apology and a dismissal.

  “That doesn’t make it okay.” Why was that always the justification? Well, as long as I swear it is just about blowing my wad, I can stick my dick anywhere? Technically, that logic could apply to prostitutes then as well. It was a ridiculous rationalization. “There was more than one woman. How long has this been going on?”

  It was a question he clearly didn’t want to answer because he instantly shifted tactics. “Like you’re one to talk? I know you and Sophie are tag teaming that guy. Your dad told me he was on the home security video with you and you were both in your fucking underwear.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and sat up straighter. More aggressive.

  I gasped, totally shocked. “I wasn’t tag teaming anyone with my sister. That’s so not me and you know it! And I was in pajamas and ran into him in the kitchen. That’s all.”

  He acted like I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t care what you do in private. But don’t you dare embarrass me in public. If I ever hear that you were doing what you were doing today out where people can see, we’re through, do you understand?”

  Now my hurt turned into full-blown panic. His tactic to turn it around on me had worked, and even though I knew that was what he had done, I couldn’t help myself. I fell for it because his words were terrifying. The idea of losing him, and it not being my choice, dropped on me like a bucket of ice water. “I would never do that! Bradley, please, don’t say things like that.”

  I heard the pleading in my voice and felt a hot stab of shame. I was begging him. Him. The man who had cheated on me.

  And he knew. And he smiled.

  It was the worst kind of smirk. One of satisfaction. He was a man who had sailed through life untouched, arrogant. Getting exactly what he wanted.

  He wanted me.

  But he also wanted a tight ass and a bathroom blow job too.

  My stomach roiled. My face felt hot. My vision blurred, and for a split second I thought I might faint.

  Right then, something inside me changed. Forever. The trusting, nice girl got knocked flat on her ass and she couldn’t recover.

  Bradley stood up. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, Bel, you know that. I forgive you. Just promise me you won’t see that guy again.”

  I didn’t say anything because I was just flat-out astonished. He was trying to confuse me, manipulate me, play me like a puppet. Part of me wanted to allow it. Because that would make things go back to normal. Because I was someone who didn’t like confrontation. Or anything that didn’t meet my idea of a happily ever after. But I couldn’t make this go away and it sat on my chest, heavy and ominous and overwhelming.

  He closed the distance between us and cupped my cheeks. I stared into his eyes, studying his expression, seeking an answer. Where was the man I had fallen in love with? Who was this selfish asshole? Or had he been this asshole all along
and I had chosen to see only the facade? I felt like I was going to throw up again.

  “Having a trust fund is hard,” he said.

  “What?” The change of subject baffled me. My heart was racing and I wanted to pull away from him, but I was frozen in place.

  “Women throw themselves at me because I’m rich. I’m only human. Sometimes I haven’t been able to resist when I should have. I need to be stronger for you, but it’s really hard. Please be patient with me.”

  Oh. My. God.

  He wanted me to feel sorry for him? To feel sympathy that he had so much money that there was a constant parade of pussy in front of him vying for his attention? I haven’t had a doughnut since I was fifteen and it’s hard, but I’m not asking for sympathy. If I ate my way to four hundred pounds he would not be forgiving of me.

  That thought had me rearing back in shock.

  If I was trying so hard to perfect, and he still couldn’t stop his wandering eye and grabby hands, what would happen when I wasn’t perfect? Because at some point I would need support. That was life.

  “Just block their numbers,” I whispered, my voice strained.

  He seemed pleased with that response. Like he had won and was off the hook. “Done.”

  His lips brushed mine and I struggled not to recoil.

  “I love you, Bella. I can’t wait until you’re Mrs. Alexander. I’m going to be so proud to call you my wife.”

  I blinked at him.

  For my twenty-fifth birthday I went skydiving. Tandem style with the instructor. The free-falling had been my fear, but once I was actually doing it, it seemed oddly natural. A beautiful experience. But the snap of the parachute, and the sharp tug of the straps on my chest, along with what felt like a vertical lift, stealing my air, had been shocking and unpleasant. It was too drastic, too sudden. I had never gone back for a second dive because of it.

  Bradley’s words were like that chute opening. I felt jerked into an air-robbing realization. Yanked up and out of myself.

  I was going to be the wife. The showpiece. The breeder and the party planner.