Truth: A Sinful Series, Book One Page 2

Gretchen wipes her mouth, looking at her phone. “Get laid, love you. I gotta jet, I have a meeting in ten. Lunch tomorrow? Your office?” She motions to her stuff, letting me know she’s leaving it where it lies as she gets up and heads to the door.

  “Yes, I’ll be here…you know, since I’m a fucking loser.”

  Heading out, she throws a kiss my way. “Great.”

  I smile because she’s a madwoman. She’s right. I do need a life outside of my job. Looking down at my cell on my desk, I spin it around, narrowing my eyes. Should I? The butterflies flip in my stomach as I turn the phone over and swipe to open. Pulling up the contacts, I hover my finger over Nick’s name. Oh man, when did I become such a wuss. Get it together, Drew. I type quickly before I can reconsider.

  Me: Hey Nick, plans tonight?

  I immediately turn the screen over because I will not agonize over the bubbles. It’s torture. He will text back when he has the time. It’s a good text, casual, flirty…yeah, I’m good. I can just go about my day and check in an hour or so. Tapping my fingers on my desk, I start to gnaw on my bottom lip. Who am I kidding—I need to see if he sees it. Flipping it back over, the message materializes at the same time.

  Nick: Sorry, yeah. I’m having dinner with this smoking hot girl at Lazos tonight. Have you heard of it?

  Wait. What? He has to be kidding. No way would he tell me about another girl. Right? This is his charm. Going out on a limb, I play along.

  Me: What a coincidence, I was just going to see if you could get me reservations. Since you work for some fancy law firm, I figured you had pull. I have a date too.

  Nick: Really? I bet he’s devastatingly handsome.

  Me: Nah, average. Super dull.

  Nick: Interesting…

  Silence. What does this mean? Is he mad? He has to know I was kidding. Then again, what if he really was telling me about some random girl. He can go to hell. I would never put up—

  My thoughts are interrupted by the vibration of my phone.

  Nick: Sorry- work. What time were you hoping for? You know for you and mister dull?

  The smile on my face is threatening to cause permanent damage to my face muscles.

  Me: Seven

  Nick: That’s crazy, that’s when I’m going. Why don’t you join me?

  Me: Thought you had a date.

  Nick: She just canceled

  Me: Lucky me

  Nick: Yep

  Rolling my eyes at his arrogance, I type back quickly.

  Me: Great, see you at 7 Mr. Dull.

  Nick: Wear a red dress, smoking hot girl.

  Grinning down at the phone, I can feel the blush creep up my chest to my cheeks. This guy…man, oh man. Looks like I’m getting back into the swing of things. Pushing my phone out of the way, I pull my hair over my shoulder and refocus on my computer in the hopes I can get some work done. It only takes me ten minutes before I’m shopping clothing store sites for red dresses in stock.

  One Year Later

  TWIRLING THE CARD AROUND AND around between my fingers, I’m deep in thought, debating how I’m going to sell the idea of skipping out of this party. Nick texted me hours ago about it, and I’ve been putting him off. Part of being a good girlfriend is understanding that I am required to take one for the team and be friendly with his friends’ girlfriends, even if they are assholes, but that can’t mean weekend bachelorette parties. The thought actually makes me cringe.

  My shoulders tense because I know he’ll tell me I’m being a snob, but these girls are not my people. For the love of God, I was given a dick bouquet. Little plastic dicks arranged in a vase with a note to invite me to a “weekend of debauchery.” Sounds like a promising first start to a marriage. It’s clever and appropriate, just not for me. I don’t want debauchery unless it’s in my bedroom—not that I get it there either.

  Sighing against the realization we may end this call in a fight, I pick up my cell and dial Nick’s number. I’m really hoping this goes smoother than I’m anticipating. Our relationship has been especially rocky as of late. We’re never on the same page. Fuck page—it feels like we aren’t even in the same book, and it seems that no matter how hard I try to be the person he wants, I’m always found lacking, and I’ve grown tired of it.

  We didn’t start out this way. I thought he was charming and sweet, always trying to show me, teach me new things, and I let him. Even though I knew it was unnecessary, I kept quiet because he seemed to enjoy the role. But what I thought was cute at first just makes me feel inferior now, and I’m starting to freeze my ass off in his shadow. His cajoling morphed into judgment. And his guidance became control. The thing that makes me sick is that it all happened with my permission. I willingly gave over control of my voice. I stopped allowing myself to be critical of his decisions and stripped away all my rights to be heard.

  Last night I tested it out to make sure I knew how to use it, but it only led to a screaming match on my end. I screamed and screamed some more as he ignored me and then turned all my words against me. In my frustration, I threw a pillow at him, and he responded by pinching my butt. This time I didn’t swallow my words and muffle my hurt. I yelled it to the rooftops. He dismissed it as me being overly sensitive and him being caught up in the moment trying to flirt with me. But it was mean, and the bruise left on my body serves as the reminder. It’s not the first time he’s perverted love and sex with his cruelty, but somehow in the moment his excuses become the lie I’m willing to tell myself. They always taste better than the sourness of the truth.

  Nine Months Ago

  “Are you wearing that tonight?” Nick’s forehead is scrunched together with disapproval.

  “Yes, I am. Would you like to share your opinion or just make faces at me?” I shake my head, rolling my eyes, and continue to apply my mascara in the bathroom of my apartment. Sometimes his “opinions” seem controlling.

  “Hey now, isn’t a guy allowed to have an opinion about his girlfriend? I mean, this body is mine after all.” He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls my back against the front of his body, dipping down to grind himself into my backside.

  Dropping my mascara wand into the sink, I reach out to hold the sink as he brings his mouth to my neck to complement the grasp he has on my breast. My breathing becomes labored with the intensity of the writhing, “Nick.” His name leaves my lips as a moan rather than disapproval. “Nick, we can’t…we have to be there in thirty minutes.”

  “We’ll be fashionably late,” he mumbles into my neck.

  Smiling toward the ceiling as my head lies back on his shoulder, I push my rear into him to find a syncopated rhythm.

  “See, baby, this is why you can’t wear this dress. I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” Who knew a shift dress would bring out all his sexy thoughts. I do like it when he’s controlling in bed, but this trait seems to be making an appearance outside of our bedroom as well.

  “Sweet talker,” I giggle as he pulls away, locking eyes with me in the mirror. Nick raises his eyebrows as he scans my dress, his expression asking the question. I shake my head no in answer.

  “Ouch! Nick.” My eyes grow wide with surprise from the hard squeeze my right ass cheek is given. My hand shoots down to rub the sting away. “That hurt.”

  “That’s your punishment.” He winks and leans down to kiss my lips. Walking out of the bathroom, he doesn’t look over his shoulder. “Go change, babe. We’re going to be late.”

  I stand for a moment wondering what just happened. I don’t really know how to process. Did he just try to manipulate me with sex? Did he try to punish me? What the fuck just happened? He knows I like it rough, but I can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t about sex. It felt mean.

  I turn and look in the mirror at myself. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are wild. I rub my bottom again before finishing my makeup and try to figure out how to say something to Nick. I walk out of the bathroom and square my shoulders. I’m not looking for some master; he is crazy if he thinks that kind
of behavior will fly with me. The ass grab can stay but only in bed. Yeah, maybe we can keep that. My pussy agrees. I walk out to the living room ready to ask him what that was about when I catch his attention from the couch.

  “Why haven’t you changed?”

  “Because this is what I’m wearing.”

  He sighs and looks down at his hands, shaking his head side to side. “Drew, I’m trying to help. This crew is just more…fashionable. You look like you’re going to a work meeting.”

  I can’t help the look on my face. I don’t even try and mask it. “Are you kidding?” is written all over it. “I thought I was so sexy you couldn’t keep your hands off me? Sooo, let me make sure I understand—I’m sexy, just unfashionable? You know what’s unfashionable? Your fucking misogyny.” I pace across the room mumbling to myself and prepping for this fight. I’m spurred on by my anger at his nonchalance and start switching out my purse to the clutch I have in hand, shoving the items from purse to purse with more force than necessary.

  Ignoring my comment, he continues. “Why don’t you wear that gold number I bought you the other day? Tina, Pat’s girlfriend, actually picked it out. I’m sure she would appreciate your nod to her choice.”

  He walks into my bedroom as I stare at him in disbelief. This is why I don’t date.

  “You have to be kidding. I’m hoping you walked in there to use the bathroom…” I’m proven wrong when he reappears holding the dress from the hanger. “Nick, you cannot be serious. I can’t wear that. I thought it was lingerie.” Throwing my hands up in frustration, I look at him, letting out a deep breath.

  Nick starts walking in my direction, still holding the gold piece of shit. “Drew, baby. Listen to me. I love you in whatever you wear. I do. But I also know that you’ve been nervous to meet my friends, and selfishly I just need to ensure I have the hottest girl in the room. I just want to show you off.” He places the dress on the table next to me, then rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Stop looking for a fight where there isn’t one. I’m just looking out for your best interest.”

  I want to yell at him, but I seem to be the only one worked up, and my mind froze the minute I heard “love” pop out of his mouth.

  He said he loved me.

  I know I’ve been feeling like I want to say it to him, but I didn’t expect it in our first fight.

  He loves me.

  Why am I fighting about something so ridiculous? How could I have ever thought he would hurt me?

  He loves me.

  This feels like one of those moments I’m going to look back on as a pivotal moment in our relationship, and I’ll be damned if our demise is my fault. I need to compromise.

  “Nick, I’m not a trophy.” My voice is softer.

  “Baby, that’s where you’re wrong. I feel like I’ve won the gold medal.” I put both my hands on his face, bringing his eyes to mine.

  “Why can’t I say no to you?” I’m met with a grin, one that looks suspiciously victorious.

  “Because you know I’m right.” Kissing my forehead, he reaches next to me and grabs the dress, holding it within my reach.

  Taking a nervous breath, I take the dress. “You are really lucky I love you too.” My smile is tentative. I can’t believe I said it out loud. Nick pulls back from me, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. Tilting his head sideways, he purses his lips together, looking at me like he’s deciding what to say. I feel like I’m being examined.

  “Drew.” The way he says my name immediately makes me regret what I said. I feel embarrassed as if he feels sorry for me. I’m sure it’s my imagination, but I want to run out of this room.

  Taking a hand out of his pocket, he reaches for me. “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. I meant that I loved your body, in your clothes. Wow, I don’t know what to say, but I’m flattered.”

  I try to keep smiling, but I feel humiliated. How did I read that all wrong? I try to pull my hand away, but he holds it tighter.

  “But Drew, I definitely feel more than ‘like’ for you. I’m crazy about you, and I want that in our future, but honestly, it’s stuff like this tonight that holds me back. I need you to be willing to follow my lead. I want you to accept my help. I don’t want to make you feel bad, but you’re constantly devaluing my opinion, and that kind of pushback could be a deal breaker for me. I want a wife one day, and there are different expectations in my world. Expectations you don’t know how to navigate.”

  My eyes start to tear. I just said I loved him, and now he’s breaking up with me because I can’t stop being the boss. Why am I pushing him away? I wanted this and I’m sucking at it. Goddammit. How am I so successful and a such a failure simultaneously?

  “I’ll make more of an effort. I want to make this work. I want you to feel appreciated and trusted. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel the opposite.”

  His smile is approving as he leans down and kisses me long and tenderly, running the back of his fingers along my jawline. My eyes open slowly, and for a moment I feel like I’m waking up.

  “God, I can’t wait to show you off to my friends. Change quick—I don’t want to be any later.” He pats my hip, moving to give me room to walk past him.

  Without pause, I walk into my bedroom and change. This is right. He’ll love me back; I just need to show him how much I care.

  Just reliving that memory leaves a film of regret on my body. I’ve bent and molded myself until I am unrecognizable. I hate the person I’ve so easily become. I’ve let this relationship chip away parts of me. No, I’ve chipped them away, trying to turn myself into the version Nick wants. Fuck Nick.

  Somewhere during the year we’ve dated, I decided he was the prize and I was just the consolation. Unfortunately, I also decided self-respect was something I would trade for his approval. But I’m done—he doesn’t want me; he wants a trophy. Something that complements him. I’ve come to realize that I’m just an extension of his ego.

  I’m yanked from my spiral by Nick’s voice. “What can I do you for this afternoon? I’m busy, Drew.”

  “Well, someone’s in a good mood. Listen, I’m calling you to talk about this invitation I just received for Tink’s bachelorette.” I scrunch my face, realizing that I used the nickname Gretchen and I gave Tina. It’s fitting because she’s twenty-two, petite, blonde, and acts like a toddler, and toddlers love all things Disney, so Tinkerbell was born. She’s also the “girlfriend” who picked out the gold hooker dress.

  “Really, Drew? I wish you would be nicer. You don’t always have to be the bitch.” Here we go.

  “Don’t call me that! It’s just a nickname, but in all fairness, she’s about the same age as Tinkerbell…sooo…” I’m not apologizing. I’ll die on this mountain if need be.

  “It’s meant to make fun of her—so what if she’s younger than the rest of us? It’s only by ten years, and they love each other. That’s all that matters. You should support that. I’m disappointed you would be so immature.”

  Now he’s altruistic?

  “I’m not going to argue about maturity level when she sent me a vase of dicks as an invitation to the bachelorette party. I’m not going. I’m not trying to be a difficult; it just isn’t for me, Nick. Plus I have a ton of things to research for a new potential client. I know Patrick is your friend and you want me to be her friend but no, just no.” Sighing, I give away my frustration.

  “Loosen up! Why wouldn’t you go? Like you said, you know this is an important friend for me. Jesus, does it always have to be about you? I am making huge strides at this company, and if I want to get myself seen as a leader, I need to know the right people. Tina likes you, so get over yourself and go. I would think that you’d want another opportunity to prove you aren’t what she thinks you are.” God, he always knows where to twist the knife.

  My voice raises. “Are you kidding right now? I am not a selfish person—I care about your career, but I care about mine too. I can still be supportive without spending my weekend with a bunch of girls I don�
�t know doing shots and dancing on tables. If that’s what I have to do to be accepted, then I’ll be friendless. Why are you being so unreasonable?” Pushing away from my desk, I stand to pace.

  “Me, unreasonable? That’s rich. You’re just being small-minded. You’ve been like this since we met, and I understand that you worked for everything you’ve gotten, and you didn’t grow up around people like this, but I did. You don’t understand how you need to negotiate these relationships. Must you always fight against me when I’m trying to help you?”

  “Help me? Help me do what, Nick? Because last I checked I’m running a company and coming home at a reasonable hour and I don’t smell like dick. I won’t pander to your inability to move past where you are in your career. I’m not playing myself down or doing you any favors. You want Tina to say nice things to Patrick, then why don’t you go to the damn party.”

  Holy shit, that felt good! I’m not sure where it came from, but I know I need more of it. My heart is beating so fast I can barely concentrate on what’s being said because I just drew a big-ass line in the sand, and it very well may be the spot I bury him in.

  Feeling confident, I return my focus back to the conversation.

  “Wow, I’m glad that all this time I was worried that you felt like I was unsuccessful, but I always told myself that you would never judge me. You love me, you’re supposed to be proud of me. I’m glad to know how you really feel.”

  The familiar feeling of guilt wells in the pit of my stomach. In my bravado I hadn’t considered the weight of my words. “Nick, I’m sorry. But you know I am proud of you, and you know that I love you. Sometimes I feel like you ask things of me that are unreasonable. It makes me feel small.”

  “Drew, give me one example of when I have asked you to do something that hurt our relationship…”

  “Well, that’s tricky because you ask things of me that when done make you happy, but I’m not sure where my happiness fits into that equation.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You’re solely talking about your happiness. A relationship is about two people. I just don’t understand why can’t you do this for us? Do you love me?”