The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,123
want. Just go.”
“Have you forgotten who owns this apartment?” he asks, sniffing as he scratches his red nose. “I can come and go as I please.”
“No, you can’t. This is my place. We agreed on that because you fucked another woman. Remember?”
“Oh, come on with that shit already.” He wipes his hairline with his sleeve and fills the second glass. “I’ve taken my punishment like a good boy. How long are you going to throw that in my face?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, crossing my arms. “Stop coming around, and I’ll stop bringing it up. Win-win.”
“That’s not a win for me. I want you back.” He passes me the drink. I put it on the counter. “I want you on my arm and in my bed. What’ll it take? What do you want to hear?” he asks. “I regret all of it.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “And that should surprise me?”
“No. You told me I’d regret it, and I do, and you said I’d come crawling back, and I have. Just tell me what you need me to do to make things right.”
I glance at the glass of bourbon he poured me. I haven’t so much as looked at Maker’s Mark since he left because it reminds me of him. What do I need? To move forward for good. To close this chapter. To take back my life. I pick up the drink, study it, and take a sip as I look him in the eye. Bourbon’s fucking good. Why shouldn’t I drink it if I want? “Nothing,” I say. “I don’t need anything.”
“Everyone needs something. I need you. I need my life back in order.”
“And what do I need?” I ask.
“Love. Money. Your business, your home. I can give you all of that.”
“I’m better off than you think.”
“I don’t believe that. You needed me once; it’s still in there. You might pretend not to love me anymore, but love doesn’t vanish just because you walked in on me with another woman.”
“Actually,” I say, “you might be surprised to hear that’s exactly what happened. It’s as if I was wearing a blindfold and it fell off in that moment, and . . . I’ve been seeing clearly ever since.”
The muscles of his stubbled jaw tighten. “You’re just saying that because you’re still angry. To get back at me.”
“I’m really not.” I peer at him. “You know things were starting to change between us before you met her.”
“Because of that fucking sinkhole you call a business.”
I take a step back at the rage in his voice. If we were together, I’d be disappointed he’s this drunk after his obvious effort to do better. “Why do you care so much?” I ask. “You’re with Virginia now.”
“I lied about that. We’re not together.”
Andrew was right. Reggie claimed to be with her to get under my skin, and he succeeded. “You can’t expect me to believe anything you say—especially when it comes to her.”
“It was over before it began,” he says. “I swear. I haven’t even seen her in months.”
“Really?” I lean a hip against the counter. “So if I called her up right now, she’d back that up?”
“I’m not sure,” he says. “She might lie. We didn’t exactly end on good terms.”
“I see.” I can’t help my shit-eating grin when I ask, “Did you cheat on her too?”
His cheeks are pallid, as if he might be sick. “No. She assumed when you and I split that I’d be with her, but I never wanted anything—”
“Except sex. You wanted that badly enough to jeopardize your marriage.”
“You’re deliberately trying to piss me off.”
It is satisfying to see him squirm. When I think I’m starting to get over the pain, I remember how it felt to see them together, tangled in my sheets, the ones I picked out from Restoration Hardware, paid for, carried home, washed, and made the bed with. I remember learning the affair had been going on almost a year—like I’d been walking down the sidewalk and had had an anvil dropped on my head. It was a one-two punch, getting it from both sides. “You’re the one who came into my home,” I point out. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Our home,” he says.
“Not anymore.” I take a fortifying breath. Though Andrew’s no longer around to help me through this, I know I still need to give up the apartment. While I’m here, I’m holding onto Reggie, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Reggie won’t like losing even