Ex Games

“Uh-oh.” The “same juvenile shit” meant making everything into a competition. Dane McNulty had been with Kinsley Weiss for three years before leaving them to found McNulty Partners, which wound up ranking just above Kinsley Weiss in a list of top New York hedge funds the following year. Since then, Dane and his ballooned ego tried relentlessly to one up Jackson, buying the bigger country house and writing the bigger check at the galas. Still, the men of their shared social circle came to a verdict: Dane’s net worth was higher but Jackson had better real estate and the most important trick up his sleeve: me.

I was no more beautiful than the other wives and girlfriends, but the boys in Jackson’s circle forever adored me because of a silly little trick I always employed with them – one my mom had taught me back in middle school, when I ached to fit in. “Always make sure to have a full conversation with every guest at the party, and make sure to talk to them about the one thing they love most. If you don’t know anything about it, ask them to teach you.” That simple charm was what landed me more connections and acquaintances than the other girls, which then led to Jackson and my profiles in society columns and magazines. Those little portraits in our sitting room or before our Christmas tree gave us the attention Jackson didn’t want to admit that he loved, even craved. Simply because it put us above his friends.

Jaw tipped upward, he knotted his tie deftly, no mirror needed. “He thinks I actually care about his game of one-upping.”

I fastened my earrings distractedly. “You do entertain him every time.”

Jackson laughed. “And I put him in his place every time. Because he’s a smug asshole. A smug asshole who’s gonna shit a brick when he sees the black dress you’re wearing tonight.”

“What black dress?” I frowned, having picked my pearl earrings based on a peach-colored gown I’d known for days that I’d be wearing. Jackson tightened the knot on his tie and grinned, looking so adorably mischievous that I had to crack a half-smile.

“The one in the Bergdorf’s box in my closet. Go put it on now.”

~

The only thing brighter than the lights outside Buccieri was Jackson’s beaming grin as he paraded me up the red-carpeted steps and through the towering front doors. Heart pounding, my eyes scanned the party for a server with a tray of champagne. I took shallow breaths, both nervous and excited in a wildly sexy number that was one shift away from becoming a full-body wardrobe malfunction.

With a racer back, the gown was sheer, black and floor-length, the bodice boasting an opaque and very well placed X shape that just covered my breasts, belly button and bikini area. Beneath the sheer parts, my heeled legs, braless cleavage and naked hipbone were exposed. It forced me to go without underwear, which in turn forced Jackson to gnash his teeth every couple of seconds and groan with true torment.

“I don’t know if I’ll survive tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I was thinking putting you in that dress. Kind of forgot that I’d be as tortured as every other guy in the room.” Swiping two flutes of champagne off a passing tray, Jackson handed me one and tossed back the other. “Unless,” he murmured, his lips touching mine, “you let me take you home and fuck you tonight.”

“Jackson.” I smirked, relieved to feel a spark lighting my body. Perhaps it would be the night – the first night in ages that I could feel Jackson’s touch without seeing Gabrielle.

“I swear to God, Lara, I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now. And that’s saying a lot.” Jackson kept his hungry eyes glued to me as he ushered me into the dining room, his hand on the small of my back.

I laughed. I believed what he said. I’d never worn a dress like this bef

ore in my life. On top of that, Jackson had the highest sex drive I’d ever encountered and at this point, he’d gone nearly thirty days without having sex. It was easily the longest time he’d gone without sex since losing his virginity at fifteen.

“Dear fucking Christ, Kinsley.” The resonating voice that came out of nowhere belonged to Sawyer Davies, the group’s wavy-haired prankster who’d, since grad school, gone from Ralph Lauren model to real estate tycoon. “Let me guess, you son of a bitch – you heard about McNulty bringing a VS model and had Lara put on this… this…” Running a hand through his coiffed, brown locks, he took me in, happily ruining his hair in the process. “Lara. Christ. You look beautiful as always.”

“And you’re looking very handsome yourself, Sawyer.” I could feel Jackson’s eyes on my ass as I leaned in to kiss Sawyer’s cheek. The smirk on Sawyer’s lips confirmed it when I stood up straight again.

“God, you fucking two,” he shook his head. “Can you stop being so fucking cute and sweet together? Mila was just on my ass for never looking at her the way you look at Lara. You’re fucking up my shit, brother,” Sawyer joked, giving me another look from head-to-toe before shaking his head and going.

When he left, I peered at Jackson, who was already peering at me with smug satisfaction. “As if your head needed to get any bigger,” I snorted.

He grinned, his broad shoulders struggling to shrug in his fitted, black suit. “I can’t help that people envy our happiness,” he said.

Our happiness? I blinked at Jackson as he continued ushering me into the party toward Caleb’s main table. He didn’t say the words with any hint of irony or sarcasm. Our happiness. He truly meant it. Jesus. I wondered if he was drunk already or if he simply loved me that much – so much that our relationship with awful, glaring issues was still better than what he could have with somebody else.

“Whoa, there! Happy birthday, me!” Caleb’s eyes went wide when he saw me. Sloane’s mouth dropped as she ran to me, arms outstretched. But when she got to me, she stopped short and gave me an air hug.

“I’m afraid to twist this dress around and expose your whole body!” she squealed. “Oh my God, Lara, where did you buy this?”

“This little pervert bought it for me,” I smirked, nodding at Jackson. I looked up at him to find him looking elsewhere though – across the table at slick-haired Dane McNulty, who shook his head at the big, shit-eating grin on Jackson’s face. He wiggled his eyebrows at Dane, as if asking, “Yeah, you like that?” Guessing the context, everyone at the table burst out laughing. With Sloane wrapped around me in a hug, I joined in. It felt good. Familiar. I was starting to feel like myself again. I should’ve known that all it’d take was one of these parties with champagne, friends and Jackson’s silly antics with his boys. Those things had always been a surefire way to put me in a good mood.

“It’s so weird,” Sloane murmured to me as the entrees were being brought out. She’d been nursing the same flute of Veuve all night but was already drunk – a downfall of being five-foot-six and a hundred and twelve pounds. Her jet-black hair spilled over my shoulder as she leaned her head on me, watching Caleb and Jackson give a hard time to some new guy at the company. “We’re all just laughing and celebrating tonight like Lyle and Sofie aren’t at home worrying like crazy about Gabrielle. What kind of friends are we to be out here drinking instead of trying to help them find her?” she asked.

I gave some generic answer that Sloane agreed to before I even finished. Clearly, it was the same thing everyone else had been saying. “No, we have to keep living our lives or they’ll feel worse,” “Gabrielle’s out there. We just have to put out positive energy for her to come home.” And within a couple minutes, Sloane was shrieking with laughter again, swatting Caleb’s hand as he went from holding an ice-cold beer to slipping his palm into the cutout at the waist of her dress. “That’s freezing!” she yelped, trying to wriggle away as Caleb lay his hand flat against her skin. Sawyer watched Sloane’s body writhe against him before turning his gaze to Jackson.

“You gonna do that to Lara now or are we really gonna end this night with no wardrobe malfunction?” he asked.

His arm around my shoulder, Jackson shook his head at Sawyer. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that right?” he smirked as I thought, you love it.

When I excused myself to the bathroom later, Jackson followed. I bit my lip, feeling a flutter in my stomach as I heard his neat footsteps on the marble floor behind me. But I decided not to look, not to let him know that I knew. I wanted to build up the excitement, the anticipation that I hadn’t felt for Jackson in a month.

And it worked. The second I opened the bathroom door, he was on me. His chest pressed against my backside, he pushed me in, shutting the door behind us and pushing me up against it. Gripping my jaw, he opened my mouth for his tongue, sweeping it against mine and then sucking hard on my lower lip. “I need you now,” he grunted, his voice low, gravelly as his hand grabbed the X shape on my dress. Eyes gleaming, Jackson twisted till my breasts and pussy were exposed beneath the sheer fabric. Breathing hard, he took a few seconds to stare at me, his lecherous gaze feasting upon my naked body as if it had been starving for ages.