Finally Us (True Love) Read online

  Finn sees them too and waves then looks back at me and says, “That’s Austin Eddington! I saw him close on the Braves last year and get the save! He’s good!” He looks at me, tilting his head to the side. “So it’s a lie that Ellen’s dating Ed? Because I just saw a picture of them on a magazine when I was at the grocery store with Mom yesterday.”

  I’ll fucking kill him.

  I’m sitting at the VIP bar in Stacked. I’m on my third scotch and already feeling pretty good. Yeah, yeah, I turned to alcohol again. But I’m hurting so much right now, I need something to dull the pain, something so I can’t feel myself dying inside, and since I don’t do illegal drugs, alcohol will have to do. Sue me.

  “Jag, think you might wanna slow down some?” Tyler asks.

  “Fuck no. I’m just getting started,” I reply and down what’s left in my glass then signal to the guy behind the counter for a refill.

  After I saw El drive by with her new flame, I told Finn I had to leave, got in my Camaro, called Tyler and Ross and we’d been here about thirty minutes. Well, we’re still waiting on Ross.

  “Fuck,” Tyler says then takes a sip of his whiskey.

  “You know what’s really fucked up?” I ask and before he can say anything, I continue. “I can’t even take my fucking anger out on anything. I can’t bash that asshole’s face in because I’ll tear up my goddamned arm again, which will end my fucking career and then where the fuck would I be? You know, this being a mature, fucking adult is fucking ridiculous.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, man, it does suck a little.”

  “I just met the son of a bitch the other day and he’s going out with my woman,” I say. “Who the fuck goes out with someone else’s woman?”

  “I don’t know,” he answers with a shrug.

  “No way can I be on the same fucking team with him. I just don’t see how it’ll work. I can just see it. I get healthy, I’m throwing my usual ninety-five-mile-an-hour fastball, he steps up to the plate during practice and I bean the shit out of him. Then he’s in a coma for the rest of his life and El’s mad at me for putting him there and then we all die.”

  Tyler laughs again. “That pretty much covers it.”

  Ross finally makes it and joins us at the bar.

  “What took so long?” I ask.

  “Had to go by Mom and Dad’s. Ate at Bec’s then swung by their house for dessert.”

  I remember when I had to do that shit. I run a hand through my hair. God, when did I become such a depressed asshole? Ross orders a bourbon and we move to a table.

  “So, you saw him?” Ross asks carefully.

  “Yeah, I saw him. What was she trying to do? Show off her shiny, new toy to me? Is that what that shit was all about?” I ask.

  Ross shrugs. He and I still haven’t quite gotten past his keeping the douche bag a secret from me. That was huge, and it still pisses me off that he hadn’t said anything.

  “Maybe it’s nothing,” Tyler says. “I mean, how serious can they be if they just started dating. I think you need to get in there, man. Nip this shit in the bud before she starts falling for him.”

  I stand. “Yeah, that’s what I need to do.”

  Tyler stands and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Not right now, Jag. You don’t wanna go to her sloppy drunk, do you?”

  I think for a few seconds. “No, I guess not,” I say and sit down. See? I’m not so drunk that I’m incapable of reasoning.

  “I talked to Bec about it tonight,” Ross says and now he has my full attention. “I asked her about this guy, how serious they are…”

  I stare at him waiting for him to continue. Ah, Jesus. Is he hesitating because they are serious?

  “Has she slept with him?” I ask and rub a hand over my chest waiting for the stab to my heart.

  “No,” he reassures me.

  Well, thank God for that. I open my eyes and look at him then at Tyler and let out a breath.

  “But you need to talk to her soon. Bec says they’ve, uh, they’ve…”

  Fuck.

  “They’ve what?” I ask even though I really don’t want to know.

  “They’ve had some pretty hot make-out sessions.”

  “Twist the fucking knife,” I mumble and down what’s left in my glass. At least he’s sharing with me now and I decide I liked it better when he kept quiet. I’m suddenly so fucking tired and all I want to do is go the fuck home. I stand and say, “Well, this has been a productive evening. I’m out,” then I turn to walk away.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tyler says, standing and grabbing me by the shoulder. “I don’t think so, buddy.”

  I frown at him. “Why?”

  “You’re drunk, man. I’ll give you a ride home. Ross’ll follow in your car.”

  “You’re good friends,” I tell them and I mean it.

  The room is spinning as I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. The thought of El kissing another man sobered me up pretty quickly. I mean, why didn’t I even think about that happening? When I found out she’d gone on a date with another guy, I didn’t even consider that she’d kiss him. I guess it’s because I’d never do that to her. I may not be perfect, I know I’m a dick most of the time, but if I were to kiss another woman (passionately, not the bullshit that happened on the commercial with Alessandra), it’d mean El and I were over, that I was moving on. And I don’t want to move on. I want her back.

  I get up and go in the living room and stand in front of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the city. Since I’m naked, I’m hoping there’s not some skeezy photographer waiting to get a picture of me to put in some tabloid, but since I’m on the eightieth floor, I’m not too worried about it, but I still wouldn’t put it past them. God. I’ve been burned so much with all that shit. It didn’t take long to figure out that the paparazzi will do anything for a buck.

  I think about El with Eddington. She’s kissed him. Okay. I can deal with that. Then my head goes to places I don’t want it to and I let out a groan as I rub my hands over my face. Is he with her right now? Is he fucking her this very moment?

  I pull at my hair as I picture it all.

  “Goddamn it!” I yell.

  I realize now the only thing that’s been keeping me going is knowing that she and I will be together again. But now, well, now I’m not so certain. And if I lose my hope, I’ll have nothing left and I know my life will become a vast cavern of shit.

  But then I look out on the city, at how beautiful it is all lit up and think maybe there’s goodness out there after all. And I know I can’t give up on us.

  Why have I been so passive in this, I stand there and wonder, but I think I know the answer, although as a man, I hate admitting it. She hurt me badly when she didn’t believe that I didn’t do anything with Alessandra; that shit cut me deep. She didn’t trust me and we all know you can’t be with someone when you lose their trust.

  And now I’ve just been content, for lack of a better word, to let things ride. Well, not anymore. I’ve been waiting around for some fucking miracle to happen or something, like the hands of fate were going to mystically push me to El where I’d ask her to take me back, she would without hesitation and then we’d live happily ever after. What the hell have I been thinking?

  I decide I’m going to have to talk to her, but I don’t even know where she works. Never thought to ask. That shit’s changing now.

  Turning to go back to bed, I decide that tomorrow I’m going to make a move in the right direction in getting her back.

  No way am I giving up on us.

  Chapter 9

  El

  I can’t stop crying.

  When will this stop. I can’t take it anymore.

  I lie in bed Thanksgiving night sobbing. I’d just seen Jag earlier out in his parents’ front yard talking to his nephew. His niece was building a snowman and it all looked so normal. So traditional. So ordinary. And I wasn’t a part of it. Not anymore.

  I’m also crying because even when we aren’t together,
he still manages to hurt me. This time it’s the Chicago Tribune that ran an article and pictures (of course) in the Entertainment section this morning that showed Jag and supermodel Eva (pronounced E-vay which makes me roll my eyes) Coutu coming out of Trump Tower where they both live. An unknown but very reliable source said they’d seen the two out on the town the night before laughing and holding hands, looking very cozy.

  Ugh.

  I think about earlier when Austin had come with me to Thanksgiving dinner. Since he’s originally from South Carolina and his parents were on vacation in Europe, he hadn’t planned on going home so I went ahead and invited him along. And something new I’d learned about him today is that he’s rich. As in mega-rich. As in, he plays professional baseball just for the hell of it. As in his salary from being a pro athlete doesn’t even make a dent in what his family makes. Or what he makes from it. His father owns a digital marketing firm that’s worth millions, and Austin and his two sisters are shareholders, so each of them is worth gobs. Finding that out today blew me away because he’s never acted like he was wealthy.

  Anyway, when we’d driven by Jag’s parents’ house I hadn’t thought anything about it until I’d seen Jag in the yard.

  “Hey, that’s Jag Jensen,” Austin had said and did one of those guy head nods at him. “He’s our new pitcher. I think he’s gonna bring a lot to our club. Well, if he gets healthy. Bedoya’s getting old and just isn’t the same. Jag came in at just the right time.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “He’s my ex.”

  He’d looked over at me and said, “Really?” When I nodded, he’d just made a “Huh” face then gone on to talk about stats and all kinds of crap that I had no interest in. We’d finally arrived at my apartment, I told him I had a headache and he’d left.

  And now here I am.

  I think about calling Jag, but change my mind. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d call. Then I think about all we’ve been through with Alessandra (God, how I loathe that name) and Dirk (that name’s a close second on my Hate Scale), and how Jag never did anything to rectify the situation with either of them. He continuously allowed the she-bitch into his life all the while knowing it hurt me, and he kept his agent Dirk when he’d been a total dick to me.

  I sit up suddenly, sick and tired of feeling sorry for myself and decide to do something about it as I keep thinking about our past.

  If he really loved me, he’d have done something about those two. But he kept them around knowing how they’d done things that hurt me. Someone who loved me wouldn’t have kept hurting me in that way.

  I knew he’d been young and a rookie at all that stuff, but as time passed, he’d known how much I’d been hurt by the things they’d done yet, not to sound like a broken record, he’d done nothing to change it. It wasn’t like if he’d fired Dirk and lost some endorsements he’d be broke. He was a flippin’ millionaire from the minute he’d signed with the Dodgers, so if he walked away from one of the companies he represented, it wouldn’t have broken him. Also, he was hot at the time too. Everyone wanted him, so it’s not like Nike would’ve dropped him, and if they had, Adidas or another company probably would’ve picked him up in a heartbeat.

  As I think about all this for the eighty kabillionth time, it’s like a light bulb turns on inside my head. I start thinking about what Mom said to me the other day and realize that, by God, I am a strong, intelligent, independent woman and I do deserve better. And Austin’s been giving me better from day one.

  I fall asleep thinking things are going to change starting tomorrow.

  “Your client’s already in your room,” Courtney says when I make it to work the next morning. I notice Trina standing with her arms across her chest glaring at me. There are two Starbuck coffee cups on the desktop in front of her and I wonder what that’s all about. I actually didn’t put her on DatingPsychos.com, although it was tempting, so I don’t know why she’s acting mad at me.

  I nod at Courtney as I hang my jacket up then it hits me and I turn to her. “Wait, I don’t have a client until nine. It’s seven-thirty,” I say.

  She shrugs. “You got switched with Trina.”

  I look at Trina who’s still glaring at me, and now I know she’s angry because I’ve taken her client by no fault of my own, I might add. Then she glances at the coffee cups then back up at me and I have no idea what that means. Alrighty then. I shrug and turn to go to my room, and as I’m walking down the hallway I stick my head in Gary’s office.

  “Hey, Gary. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “If you consider teaching two fifteen-year-old boys how to drive nice, then I guess it was.”

  “The twins are that old now?” Dang. I’ve known Gary for quite some time as he teaches some classes at Feinberg on managing the business side of PT.

  He sighs. “Yep. Good thing is Garrett’s got it. He’s surprisingly pretty decent at driving. On the other hand, Tristan, well, he’s got a ways to go. He seems to think that curb jumping is the thing to do. Extreme driving at its finest.” He shakes his head.

  “Oh, boy.” I laugh. “Glad you survived.”

  “I’ll pass along the sentiments to Blair,” he replies.

  This makes me laugh even more. “She went with you guys?” His wife Blair is the nicest woman ever but she’s a little tightly strung. I can only imagine her in the backseat freaking out with the boys driving.

  “Oh, yeah. She thought it’d be ‘fun’ to ride along. Needless to say, she’s turned it all over to me from here on out.”

  “Aw. I’ll have to send her a card of encouragement,” I say with a giggle then leave his office heading to my room. I’m curious to see who I’ve picked up, but there’s no paperwork clipped to the outside of the door. Hm. I open the door and go in, a big smile on my face, but upon seeing who’s in my room, my face falls.

  Jag sits on the treatment table smirking at me. I look at him and feel my heart jump to my throat. Oh, God, how am I going to deal with this? He’s at my work. He’s at my work! And I have to be professional. This isn’t like Starbucks where if I throw my coffee mug at him and get fired it’s not a big deal. This is my career! Besides, if I threw any of the instruments that are in here, I’d probably do some major damage to him.

  My first instinct is to get the hell out of there, so I turn and open the door, but suddenly it’s pushed shut and he’s right behind me, his hands pressed against it to either side of me. Shit. I stand there frozen staring at the door and I can’t catch my breath.

  “El,” he whispers in my ear, and I close my eyes as my heart clenches in my chest. Oh, God, why is he here? “Baby,” he says which makes my eyes come open and I have to get away from him.

  I somehow maneuver under his arm and move to the wall, turning to look at him. He takes a step toward me and I step back, putting my hand up and pointing at him. “S-stay right there.”

  He puts both hands up in surrender as he raises his eyebrows and goes to the treatment table and sits on it, just another patient ready for his physical therapy session, and all I can do is just stand and stare at him. Until I notice the look on his face, and my level of pissed off hits DEFCON 4. Why’s he smirking at me? What’s that all about? Is he trying to rub it in my face that he’s doing fine without me? Or that he’s dating yet another supermodel?

  As I keep staring at him, I see his lips twitch as if he’s trying not to laugh at me, and DEFCON 3 of pissed off hits and my hands go to my hips as I grit my teeth trying to keep myself in check. Then he scratches his chin like he’s trying to figure out what to do next and that distracts me.

  Okay, this is pretty shallow, but, jeez, has he always been this hot? He’s got on a blue beanie that makes his eyes even more shockingly blue, he’s taken his hoodie off and he’s wearing a white Nike t-shirt that says, “Skilled in Every Position,” and my stomach does a flip flop as I remember how skilled he was… and in every position.

  Damn it, El! Get a grip!

  I’m trying to regulate
my breathing but it’s like all the air in the room is gone. I may as well be done with breathing when I notice he’s also wearing dark gray sweatpants, the same ones that he used to wear when we’d lounge around his condo on Sundays. The same ones that hang low on his hips when he’s not wearing shorts under them and show that perfectly sexy V line that disappears down inside them. The same sweatpants that when he stood in the kitchen one morning cooking breakfast, to show my appreciation for his culinary skills, I got down on my knees in front of him and untied the string with my teeth before giving him a blow job.

  I close my eyes again as I try to push that thought out of my head.

  Have I ever mentioned my abundant abhorrence at how well my brain retains memories? No? Well, I fucking hate it. I remember everything about him, the way he smells, the way he tastes, the way he laughs, how he sounds when he comes. Oh, God.

  I wonder if it’s against the law to voluntarily be lobotomized?

  I open my eyes and keep staring at him and think maybe he’s not really here. I’ve not been sleeping well lately, so maybe I’m dreaming. Or, even more fun, maybe I’ve finally snapped. My brain has had all it can take, I’ve gone off the deep end and I’m hallucinating that he’s here. That’s got to be it. Yep. I’m completely demented and I’ll probably spend the rest of my days institutionalized sharing my feelings in group sessions, munching on Abilify like it’s going out of style and honing my backgammon skills. Can’t wait.

  So back to Jag, who may or may not really be here but who’s dazzling me with his good looks and that flippin’ scruff. Good lord. I won’t even go into what that does to me.

  Then he grins and I narrow my eyes at him, which makes him smile. Yeah, he’s here all right. Which just pisses me off all the more. DEFCON 2 of pissed off established. Just one more level to go and I’ll be in full-out crazy psycho-bitch mode.