Bad Cruz

Cruz kissed each and every one of them, sliding in and out of me, not because of his own pleasure, I suspected, but because he knew if we stopped, I’d feel like a complete failure and couldn’t face him or myself anymore.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed my nose, and I believed him.

“So sorry.” He kissed the side of my jaw.

“Terribly sorry.”

But then after the first few minutes, it became pretty good. Not insanely good. I was still much more comfortable with Cruz Costello eating me out than coming dangerously close to putting a baby in me.

But still, A for effort and B+ for the way it made me feel. Full and fuzzy and sated.

I didn’t come, but I came close.

He did, and just as he promised, as soon as he knew his boys were swimming north, he pulled out, gave himself a few yanks with the condom still on, and found his release inside it.

Afterwards, we just stared at his ceiling silently. His arm was flung under my shoulders. Annie Hall was playing on mute on the TV in front of us. I was torn between crying and picking a fight with him.

I did neither.

Instead, I tugged at the curly blond hairs on his chest and murmured into his armpit, “Will it be okay if I spend the night here?”

He kissed my hair, but he didn’t answer.

I took that as a yes.

The next six days were unexpected bliss, full of quality time with Bear during the days and scorching hot nights with Cruz.

Our families did a lot of things together, but I managed to bail out of most of them, citing the fact that I wasn’t the one the Costellos truly needed to get to know and I had a teenage son who didn’t find bridge and golf too entertaining.

(That part was a lie. I mean, it wasn’t, Bear didn’t find bridge and golf entertaining. But he was with Landon most days, leaving me to work on my tan and read whatever books Trinity had brought along with her.)

Since Bear was still rooming with Mamaw and Papaw, I had the stateroom all to myself. I still made sure to always visit Cruz for our sexcapades.

Our families blindly trusted Cruz’s virtue (and sanity) to not want to touch me, so no one could have guessed how much time we were spending together. Especially when they still all thought he was with the perfect Gabby. Not even when it became apparent neither of us ever went to any of the meetups for after-dinner drinks.

I did suspect Catherine had an inkling.

She tried to corner me one time after dinner and casually asked me if I knew Gabriella, whom she referred to as her future daughter-in-law, even though any sane person could tell you the name Gabriella Costello simply had too many L’s in it.

“She’s my sister’s maid of honor,” I’d replied dryly, taking a sip of my iced tea.

“How interesting. One would think Trinity would have chosen you.”

I’d shrugged. “Trinity’s entitled to her decisions. Either way, I’m pretty sure Gabriella and Cruz broke up.”

I’d said that to remind her I wasn’t threatened, even though I really was. Not because I had any ideas about dating Cruz.

“I’m sure they’ll get back together. He cares about her so very deeply.”

“He sure does, ma’am.”

I wanted to tell her that it was not true. That it was me he cared about. That in another world, another time, we could’ve been a couple.

If I hadn’t throat-punched him.

If I hadn’t gone out with his best friend when really, it was him I was pining for, like the rest of the town.

I was such a cliché. Loving Cruz Costello was like having a Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise poster on your wall in the nineties.