but I can’t make any promises. Do what you need to do and I’ll be here for you.” Roughly, Dax grabs my shoulders and pulls me to him. Without stopping to let me respond, he kisses me—his hands in my hair and his heart pounding against my chest. He’s here for me. He’s always been here for me. His tongue tastes sweet and his face smells like his soap and I’m immediately turned on. It doesn’t take long for my mind to fix things, though. My eyes flutter closed and Dax’s hands turn into Cody’s and the smell of soap is Cody’s cologne, and the way Dax kisses isn’t the way Cody kisses. Dax doesn’t bite my lip or tilt my head just so.
I pull away, breathless. “I’m messed up. I’m so messed up over this.”
He doesn’t make any moves to continue the kiss. He merely says, “I know.”
“I love you, Dax. I’m so sorry.”
“Why does that sound more like goodbye? I’ve taken every ounce of my testosterone and manhood and placed it into your hands. Don’t make this more difficult. I love you, too. You need to get your head on straight and unfortunately I think there’s only one way to do it. Spend time with him; whatever that means to you.” With that, he stands up and heads to the closet and begins riffling around and tossing things onto the bed. After years of being around Dax, I know exactly how upset he is right now just by the manner in which he tosses a T-shirt.
Why can’t I tell him to stop? That I want him to stay? That it’s him? Why can’t I tell him that he’s my everything?
Because he’s not. Not anymore. “I don’t deserve you,” I say, wiping tears from my face. “Please don’t hate me. You mean so much to me.”
“If I could ever hate you I wouldn’t be standing here right now, handing you my balls on a silver platter. I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m going to stay with Griff. You know the number. Call me when you need me.” Need, not want.
Panic wells in my chest. “What about the wedding…all the planning.” I’ll have to tell my mother. Dread doesn’t begin to describe the prospect of that conversation.
He shrugs. “Do nothing or cancel everything. It’s up to you. People will understand. This is probably the only circumstance that could possibly happen in which no one can judge your decisions, Lainey,” he says matter-of-factly. Dax packs his leather duffel bag and leaves the house, his hair still wet. Standing in my foyer with a T-shirt on and bare feet, I feel like a dirty whore mated with a stubborn teenager instead of an engaged woman watching her fiancé drive away.
My heart hurts. My stomach is in knots, but that doesn’t stop me from dialing Cody’s number before Dax’s taillights even disappear.
This will surely be the most uncomfortable phone call I’ll ever have. His cell rings once and then again. Padding over to the kitchen, I look out at the neighbors’ empty house. It used to belong to my friend Morganna, a real bitch of an attorney. After she moved to the country for her own happily ever after, it sits empty. No one can afford the mansion in this current market. I draw the shades that peer into her living room.
It rings a fourth time. “You,” Cody answers the phone call, his voice traveling from my ear all the way down to my core. He has an immediate effect on my body and mind.
I smile through the sadness. “You,” I say back.
“A little late for phone calls, isn’t it?”
“You’re awake deciphering code or working on something ingenious, I’m sure. I’ll let you go if you want.”
Cody clears his throat. “Of course you’re right, and no, you won’t let me go.” I take a deep breath. This is why I’m in this situation.
“I’m fucked up over you, Cody. An utter mess. Dax just left me, but not before issuing the world’s most noble and insane proposition.” Sitting down at the dining table, I put my head down on my arm and click on the speaker phone.
“I’m listening,” Cody replies. How do I tell him? “And don’t be a mess. You’re just getting used to the new normal. You’ll straighten it out eventually. You always do.”
I scoff. “He wants to share me with you.”
His reply is swift. “What?”
Might as well spill it all Lainey verbal diarrhea style. “I told him I can’t just