Knots (33 page)

She closed her eyes, stretched her neck and remembered the last time they’d been here together—Pono and Jeanie—the seemingly happy couple.

As usual, she’d hung back and faded into the wall, while he was being a goofball, heckling his brother while Jay showed them his latest dance moves along with his new stereo system.

The entire family gathered around. They clapped, sang along and danced with him.

It wasn’t until several minutes later Pono gave her that familiar irritated look, like she should just jump right in. As if it was her right.

This wasn’t her blood-related family.

That’s when it hit her. She’d never be blood related, didn’t have an actual claim since she never had children with her husband, but his family cared about her.

This was her adopted family, and that didn’t have to change.

Out of nowhere, Jeanie had her phone out and was calling for a cab.

Time to go home.

“Hey, who’re you calling?” Jay asked when he walked into the room. “Is it Mark? I need to ask him something about my car.”

She shook her head. “Cab.”

Jay grabbed her phone, ended the call, then handed it back. “You’re not callin’ a cab. I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Jeanie began.

He held up his hand. “Shit, Jeanie. We love having you here, but we know it’s boring as hell to be here all day long when nothing in particular’s goin’ on.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up to standing.

“But . . .”

“No way. Mark would take me out with my tire iron if I let you take a cab home when I’m not even doing anything.” Jay smiled.

“I thought you were working on your car today?” She blinked a few times. What was she missing here?

“I say that all the time. It gets me outta stuff I don’t wanna do.” He laughed. “I do need to make some repairs, but I probably won’t get to it until right before school starts up again in a month.”

She nodded. “Oh . . . Okay.”

She followed him out to his old faded blue Chevy Corsica. It was a junker, and he knew it, but he treated it like it was a car worthy of royalty. The paint was peeling all along the hood, top and trunk from sun exposure, and there was a big dent in front of the passenger’s door.

She smiled because she recalled there was no air conditioning either.

His dates probably loved having their hair windblown into their face while he drove them around town.

Jay chatted about his dreams for his car—how he wanted to pimp it out.

She nodded along, kept smiling and enjoyed listening to his prattle.

He was fun-loving like his older brother, and his laid-back attitude made him easy to be around.

Her heart warmed whenever she was around him long enough to talk about what was going on with him.

Before long, she was in front of Mark’s house, standing before his front door with her laptop and realized she’d left her soiled clothes behind at the Finaus’ home. Great.

She didn’t have a house key either.

Jay popped out of his car he left idling on the driveway. “Locked out?”

“Yeah. Forgot I didn’t bring a key.”

“I got ya,” he said, wrangling a key out of his pocket. “Mark gave us a spare key forever ago. I thought you might’ve forgotten one this morning so I grabbed it before we left.”

She smiled and hugged him. “Thank you. You’re a terrific brother, you know that?”

“Yep.” He popped his P, and unlocked the door for her.

Before she’d even stepped through the door, he was waving and running back over to his purring lover in the driveway.

He drove off.

She stripped down the minute the door was closed and headed straight for the shower.

Mark’s shower. Not the one in the guest bedroom.

She never did ask him about that—why there seemed to be two master bedrooms with attached bathrooms.

It was unusual to say the least.

Oh Jesus.

She’d been told the guest room used to be something else entirely, only it seemed to be a topic of discussion left out.

This had been his playroom, hadn’t it?

He’d fucked Tia, and various other women, back there.

Her stomach curdled on the spot, and she vowed she wouldn’t be showering in her bathroom again since in all likelihood that was where these other women had bathed. And maybe Mark with them.

Maybe she could cite her excuse as being embarrassed over using the handle of the back scrubber in there as a dildo like she’d confessed during one of their play sessions. My word, that seemed like forever ago when she’d told him she’d touched herself in that shameful way.

Her thoughts went back to him with other women. Showering with them. Touching them.
Pleasuring
them.

No way would she stay in the guest bedroom anymore or use that attached bathroom.

But then, who was to say they hadn’t done those same things in
his
bedroom, bed and shower?

Her stomach rose and hardened.

Why did she care about these types of things? She never had in the past.

It wasn’t like Pono was a virgin when she married him, and she hadn’t been either.

They’d been with people before, and she certainly didn’t tell him to burn his mattress when they married and they’d adopted his queen-sized bed.

Her chest flamed as she continued to think of other women fawning all over Mark’s gorgeous chest, wrapping their hands around his cock and doing things to him she wasn’t brave enough to attempt unless he demanded it.

She huffed, marched the rest of the way into the shower in his personal bathroom and proceeded to scrub her entire body, growing more rigid by the second.

Her movements were stiff and her teeth were grinding like caught gears. Must’ve been mimicking her mind, caught in this cycle of self-deprecation.

They were all prettier than Jeanie, even if she didn’t know what any of them looked like other than Tia. But then Tia was probably an indicator of what he went for, and Tia was beyond gorgeous with those big brown eyes, her flawless mocha skin, and her wide, infectious smile with high, strong cheekbones. Her little button nose, plump lips and curvy body with the tiniest waist known to man were all enviable.

She also had killer legs with petite feet, always perfectly pedicured. Her skin glowed all the time. Even her long, dark curly hair was glossy and thicker than any models.

Jeanie couldn’t compete with all that perfection.

What was she thinking—she could somehow satisfy this man, way too good for her?

She washed in a way reminiscent of a hurricane, sucking in her lips, keeping the torrential tears from coming and lathering quickly.

When she was done, her diaphragm kept spasming in twisted pain like it was rejecting her, too.

Jeanie dried off, threw on one of his shirts and some baggy shorts, then sat in the living room, propped up on his lounger.

She managed to get some work done between checking her phone.

Still no response from him.

She sent a text, realizing she’d forgotten to tell him he didn’t need to pick her up from the Finaus.

Hey, got a ride home. Don’t need to get me.

That was it. Should she have said she loved him?

She did love him. It was undeniable she was completely obsessed and in love with this man.

How the hell had she fallen so fast and so easily?

Before long, she was half asleep on the couch without a clue of how to proceed from here.

She hadn’t even thought about making dinner.

What did that say about her?

Careless slob, probably, but she could change that tomorrow when she had some better direction.

Mark would have some idea of which way to head.

* * *

Mark ate right after work. “Grabbed something on the way home,” he told her in passing as he handed her the grocery bag of her soiled clothes she’d accidentally left behind at the Finaus’ home.

She ate a sandwich while he was away, but still, her chest ached . . .

Something was clearly wrong.

“Are you staying for the entire weekend?” he asked her as she followed him into his room.

He undressed in front of her with casual ease.

Why was that so hot?

Her eyes roamed over him in anticipation of more skin, toned muscles and hopefully hard-wired male reactions to her ogling his naked body.

“I’d like to,” she said, her voice soft and weak.

She gripped the side of her thighs. He was making her knees weak with the looks he kept casting her way—heated, slightly pissed off and edgy, like he was dying for some confirmation from her that she still wanted him.

“Good. I’ve invited some friends over to dinner tomorrow night. You’ll cook. Make enough for a dozen people. I expect you to join us and take credit for the meal.” He nodded and stepped out of his pants. No underwear underneath?

Oh God . . . He had something around his dick at the base. Was it a cock ring?

She’d never seen one before.

He was flaccid, though, and he took off the stretchy black band, then put it on top of his dresser.

Shit. She was turning him off completely.

She turned her head. It seemed rude to watch him when he wasn’t turned on by her looking at him.

“Sure,” she replied. “What do you want me to make?” Her spine deflated when she realized he was done with her wimpy attitude. He’d told her before no cooking since she didn’t trust herself in that area, and now he was downright demanding it. She’d never had the chance to tell him she wanted to start cooking, but still . . . The fact that he was acting this way meant even though she’d been against it, he didn’t give a shit anymore.

“Cook your favorite meal or whatever you think they might like,” he said as he put away his shoes in the closet.

The distance was small, but it seemed forever away.

He was in the closet—she was in the doorway. Why wasn’t she begging him to forgive her? Throwing herself at his feet?

She wanted to, but for some reason, her feet were nailed to the floor and her mouth barricaded shut with certain words.

He said what they might like—not what
he
might like. Did he no longer care about her pleasing him?

She was a burden.

Her shoulders caved in on her chest like she was folding in on herself.

“Okay, sounds good.” Her voice barely traveled past her lips.

When he came out of the closet, he was still naked. He hadn’t put on any underwear or anything at all. What did this mean?

“I’m sleeping now. If you want to talk about your day, that’s fine, but I’m wiped out.” He went over to the bed, yanked down the covers and climbed inside.

Without asking, she approached him. “I’d like to tell you all about it if you’re not too tired to listen, Sir.”

He patted her side of the bed but didn’t turn the covers down for her.

She sat down and drowned out her strong reaction to the bit of rejection she was feeling.

“I was disillusioned, Sir.”

“By?” His piercing, electric blue, all-knowing eyes blasted right inside her to her soul.

Her lips went numb as she spouted off all sorts of gibberish. “I thought their family was the opposite of mine. I thought they were always helping each other out—involved with every little thing. I was expecting us all to be together and laughing and carrying on, but it wasn’t like that.”

His eyes softened a little, but the muscles surrounding his jaw remained etched in stone—they weren’t budging and were tighter than she’d ever seen them.

She sighed and nausea crept up on her. “Everyone was kinda doing their own thing, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“I think you’re under the impression each family has to be better than the one you lived with. And while that might be true in some instances, you’re expectations are skewed. They’re people like you and me. They have things they enjoy doing on their own.”

“I know . . .” She dropped her head and picked at her cuticles, riveted by them suddenly.

“Jeanie—it’s not wrong to want a better home life than the one you were given, but you’ve gotta be realistic. Families aren’t always peaceful and full of life. They have down times and moments they can’t stand each other. If you ever moved in”—she gulped down the bile threatening to erupt into her mouth as he kept going—“I wouldn’t expect you to always be ecstatic to be around me. I’m a pain in the ass, and I know it. But I would hope you could love me enough to let the small things slide. You know living with someone can be frustrating and even exhausting sometimes, but I would also hope I’d be able to make it worth your while by loving you with every fiber of my being.”

Her eyes rippled into a wave of tears. “I believe you, and I . . .”