Ex Games

As Sofie cooed something about me being “darling,” I eyed Sloane – the only other person who knew that I wound up having sex with Jackson in the back of his car that night. It had been dirty, carnal, like nothing I’d ever done in my life. Fear had pulsed in my stomach the entire time he’d grasped fistfuls of my dress, piercing me with a hot, hard pleasure I’d never felt before. I was twenty-two at the time and until then, had only experienced unremarkable sex. I’d never so much as spoken to a man who looked like Jackson, nor had I slept with someone I’d only just met. I’d never experienced a real orgasm let alone two in one go. But in that first night with Jackson, I crossed all of those things off my list.

Even the nicest girls have a nasty side, Sloane had told me. It just takes the right man to bring her out.

I had a feeling that was true. My first time with Jackson had been unab

ashed and wild, but only because it felt right with him. It wasn’t in my nature to do such a thing with anyone else. I wasn’t that open. But with Jackson, I had felt an instant pull. A connection in the way he spoke and moved. He had lost his father in the same way I’d lost mine. He resented yet missed his brother in the same way I did my sister. By the time we touched for the first time – his hand on the curve of my waist – it had felt as if I’d known him for ages. It felt as if his hand belonged there.

With a happy sigh, I leaned back, letting Sloane take my bejeweled hand in hers. “Look at where we are, Lara,” she murmured, resting her head on my shoulder. “We couldn’t even dream this life in middle school. We didn’t know it could be this beautiful.”

It was true. In middle school, we had fantasized about moving to New York and finding rich boyfriends. We invented stories of where they would work and what kind of parties they went to. But we were from a small, dead town named Margaret, population three thousand twenty-four. Our imagination only went so far. We couldn’t imagine the true luxury of being with our boys – the shining penthouses in Chelsea, the glittering galas under eighty-foot ceilings. The connections to anything we could possibly want – courtside seats, private shopping trips, flights to Mallorca on a gleaming G6. We had a million times more than we ever thought we would.

Giggling, Sloane planted a kiss on my cheek. “I love you. And I love us. You, me, Caleb and Jackson. One big happy family.”

Champagne bubbling through me, I sighed with content, clinking my crystal flute against Sloane’s. Surrounded by friends, celebrating my engagement to the love of my life, I was absolutely certain that I’d never ever been happier.

Chapter Eight

I was walking out of my first bridal appointment on Monday when I bumped into Dane McNulty and his leering grin. Or rather, he had come up from behind me to say hello in his way.

“Miss Future Kinsley,” he said, putting his hand on my lower back. I instinctively stiffened. “Just me, sweetheart,” he grinned when we locked eyes.

Oh great. Even worse than a random stranger trying to touch me, I stretched my lips into a convincing smile. I loved my life with Jackson but one of the few downsides was the fact that I spent at least twenty percent of my time being pleasant for people I disliked. Dane topped that list of people, mostly because he gave me, as my mother would call it, the heebie-jeebies. He was handsome in a over-polished, cologne model kind of way. But his eyes were a predatory grey and every time he flashed that I’m-mentally-undressing-you smile, I wondered if the line on his cheek was an odd dimple or a terrible scar. He was all kinds of disconcerting.

“How are you, Dane,” I asked, barely able to manage an upward inflection to my question. I didn’t care how Dane was and I wished that kissing wasn’t a customary hello in the world of Jackson’s friends. I winced as I felt Dane’s mouth linger too long on the hollow of my cheek. I flashed an overly sweet smile as I manually removed him from my body. He smelled like scotch. Barely noon and he had already been drinking.

Running a hand over his slicked back hair, Dane took me in from head to toe. “Better now,” he said, his eyes sliding down the front of my saffron maxi-dress. “How are you, beautiful? Heard you all had a great time in Ibiza without me.”

I didn’t say anything. He hadn’t been invited for a reason. Jackson generally tolerated Dane because many of his friends still liked him, and Dane did in fact have very envious connections. But since the invasion in our home, it seemed Jackson had lost all patience for appeasing others. All he wanted was to please himself. After all, life was too short.

But since I didn’t want to explain that Jackson’s near-death experience had spurred him to trim Dane from his life, I kept my mouth shut. I knew Dane would force our conversation to continue anyhow.

“In case you’re unaware I did Jackson a big solid recently. You should tell him it’s a bad look to accept my favors and then leave me out of plans with our friends. But eh, I’m sure he’ll make it up to me by the time we do the Hamptons for Labor Day.”

“Sure. Maybe,” I said flatly, certain that that was probably not the right response. I was used to feeling awkward around Dane, but usually because of his lewd comments, not his feelings of rejected friendship. Smirking, he pressed on.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in wretched Midtown East?”

I barely wanted to answer. “Bridal appointment.”

“Mm, of course.” Dane slid his hands into his pockets, slightly swaying as he eyed my neckline. “I’m sure Jackson’s having you pick something obscenely tight.” His grin spread slowly as I pursed my lips into a line. I had no response because he wasn’t wrong about Jackson’s preference for skintight dresses. Silent and annoyed, I watched him break into a laugh. “Christ. You let him get away with everything, don’t you?”

That rubbed me the wrong way. “What are you talking about?”

“You know. The man can do whatever he wants.”

“Again, what are you talking about.”

He smirked casually. “Oh fuck me, I’ve said too much.”

I glared, knowing well that he expected me to grovel for an explanation. But since I refused, I flashed Dane that deliberately fake smile again. “Right. Well, always a pleasure.” I started past him but he stepped in front of me.

“You know, I always meant to tell you this little something but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.”

I stopped, jaw tightening as I anticipated some deeply vulgar compliment. “What, Dane?” I asked, allowing my tone to for once convey my impatience. Dane delighted in it, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Do you want to hear it, sweetheart?” he wet his lips.

“Honestly, no. Not really.”