My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (26 page)

T
HE REMAINDER OF THE
week goes off without any surprise calls from daycare or unwanted guests. Amber’s been pretty quiet, I assume licking her wounds before she comes back for another round. I mean, who really wants to mess with someone who’s constantly walking around with that I’m-in-love glow beaming all over the damn place. I bet it hurts just getting in close proximity to me. I practically have cartoon birds flying around my head singing. For now, you can refer to me as Snow White. That’s how chirpy I am. But do be advised, I will most definitely
not
accept any perishable gifts coming from the wicked witch, Amber.

The decorations for the dance are the bomb. As in, the theme is James Bond and there are cardboard stand-ups of bombs and gadgets all around the gym. Ian wasn’t too sold at first on the idea, but once I was on board, siding with the kids, he gave in. All the girls fawned over dressing up as the exotic Bond girls, while the boys bragged about how smooth and slick they all would be looking in their tuxes. Amber had about two seconds of airtime bashing the idea. Her argument stood up for about three minutes. None of the kids had the money or the resources to find clothing to fit this theme. Blah blah blah. And then it took me five minutes to jump on my phone and find the local dress shop and pay for a night of costume rentals.

“Holy bananas, Ms. C, this is so amazing!” That’s Hillary.

Hillary is a seventeen-year-old senior at Ashford High School. She comes from a home with an absent father and a drug-using mother. Being at the center for the past two weeks, I noticed that she wears the same three outfits on a regular basis and it’s not often she looks like she’s showered. She comes to the center to bathe and get a good meal. She attends the art program three times a week and wants to become a doctor when she’s older. When I asked her why she chose that profession, she said she wanted to use drugs for good purposes. It broke my heart but also filled it with hope because this child, who struggles on a daily basis because the adults in her world are failing, still has the ambition and will to become something great.

“Are you sure? They aren’t too plain for you fancy chicks?” Trying to play it cool.

“Oh Emm Gee, Ms. C., they are gorge!”

Hillary, along with the flock of teenagers, rummages through the racks of designer gowns that were brought in by Joann’s dress boutique. My smile is impossible to hide as I watch all these girls laugh and parade around trying on dress after dress.

“What do you think of this one, Ms. C?” Hillary holds up a glittery pink gown.

“I think that would look perfect on you, go try it on.”

She smiles and then she’s off. I take this opportunity to excuse myself. I want to go check on the boys. Ian has them all in the gym getting sorted for suits and tuxes.

I make a pit stop at the bathroom.

This feeling inside, it’s strange, but good. It feels homely, content. I pull my phone from my back pocket and search for my missed calls. Easy to spot since there are a bunch from this number. I’m gonna do it. No more doubts. I’m about to press my finger on B&B Sterling when the bathroom door slams open.

Startled, I look up to see Amber walking in to lean against the counter.

“Enjoying yourself?” she starts in on me.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, are you enjoying yourself? Pretending that this is all going to work out for you in the end?”

I take a step forward. “You wanna get to the point here, Amber?”

“This town wasn’t good for you before. And it’s not good for you now. You don’t belong here. Giving these kids false hope that they can all grow up and have fancy things like you.”

My temper is quickly rising. I take another hefty step forward. “I suggest you rethink your intentions here. Because you do not scare me. And if you even think about pushing me, I will
shove
back. So, you wanna finish your rant that means nothing to me so I can get back to what I was doing?”

“You think you can just come back here and act like nothing has happened. You think that Ian will really forgive you? You ruined him when you left. Who do you think was here helping him pick up the pieces?”

I debate on swinging at her.

“Well, it was me,” she spits out. “Go home, Chrissy. Do what’s right for the little girl and leave her with the only other family she knows.”

I want to punch her face in. But her statement sadly stings too bad to lift my arm. I suck in a breath of air, reeling in the hard truth. Ian is her family too. And I haven’t even thought twice about what uprooting Pippa’s life and taking her back to California with me would do to her.

I take one last step forward until I am practically nose-to-nose with Amber. “You know what, Amber? You are and have always been a bitter bitch. I don’t care what you think or how you perceive me. Because at the end of the day, whether I’m here or not, Ian will never be yours. He will always love me. You aren’t nor have you
ever
been on his radar.” I see the sting in her eyes so I continue, “And I may not belong here, but by God, if I leave, it certainly isn’t going to be because you told me to. Now you need to get your nappy ass out of my face before I decide that you would look better with a missing patch of hair on your head.”

She blanches and steps back.

I sidestep her and head toward the door. Before I leave, I turn back. “And for the record, I am not that little girl you were able to pick on back in high school. This time, I will fight back. Trust me.”

I turn to walk out but I’m not done. I swing back around. “And lastly, you mention Pippa ever again to me, or Ian, and I will make sure you are wearing a wig for all eternity by the time I’m done with you.”

She gasps while touching her bleached head.

Then, I finally turn around and walk out.

I’m fuming. At her or myself, I am not sure. She is the walking definition of bitch. She also said some things that I cannot swipe out of my brain. She helped Ian when he was hurting. In the whole time I’ve been home, I still don’t know if Ian has forgiven me for what I did. Does he still hold it against me? And her comment about me taking Pippa. He is her family. But so am I. What was I even thinking? How could I just rip her away from her life and drag her back into my world, a place where she would feel so lost?

Amber’s words have intensified my insecurities. My quick decision to stay was based on love, but not forgiveness. Does Ian truly forgive me?

I stand just outside the gym doors as I watch Ian assist Jeremiah into a suit jacket. There’s pure happiness on Ian’s face as he watches the boys act all tough but gush over getting dressed up. He notices me in the doorway and turns. His smile is filled with appreciation as he mouths
thank you.

I offer him a kind smile in return. I let the love pouring through his eyes push down my now overflowing amount of doubts.

“Hey Ms. C., what do you think?” Hillary breaks into my internal debate. I turn toward her and she is there in front of me, twirling in the pink gown.

“Do you think I look pretty in it? Like I would possibly get noticed in it?”

I force the confrontation with Amber to the back of my mind. I focus on Hillary and offer her a genuine smile. “Hillary, are you asking me if you look perfect in it? Or if someone in particular will notice
just
how perfect you look?” I throw the line out there. I know she has been crushing on Greg for some time now. I watch them in art class and it reminds me of when I was that young, flirting and blushing at all the little things Ian would say to me.

Totally hooking her, I watch as Hillary blushes. “Well, it’s just that—”

“No need to explain, honey. I think if anyone doesn’t notice how bright and beautiful you are, then they are simply blind.”

I have no time to prepare before Hillary jumps forward and wraps her arms around my waist.

“Thank you,” she whispers while holding on tight.

I feel my chest tighten. “You’re welcome, sweetie. You deserve it.”

Slowly, I put my arms around her and return the affection.

Eventually, we separate, our eyes a bit glassy.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ms. C. I think Mr. W. is too. He seems a lot happier since you’ve been here. I can tell.”

I don’t reply to that. I can’t. I am on the verge of crying at her kindness, finding Amber and kicking her ass, and then tackling Ian. I smile and nod. I watch her turn and frolic again with the other girls.

I notice that I’m still holding my phone. Opportunity missed. I place my phone back in my pocket. I can’t dismiss my uncertainties, but I shouldn’t doubt Ian.

With the weekend nearing, I make a mental note to call on Monday.

I will definitely call Monday.

B
ACK IN CALIFORNIA, LEXI
and I have a Sunday Ritual. It is something important for us as friends to take part in every week, no matter the circumstances. It’s a special day where we spend quality girl time, even though we spend Saturday nights together and well, all week since we technically
do
work together. A long, long time ago, we defined this ritual and it’s bloomed into a worldwide phenom. We call it Sunday Funday. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I’m still fighting on the copyrights from Wikipedia on that one.

So every Sunday, hungover or not, we get together. And we SF it up. I wouldn’t ping myself to be a puker, but I’ll admit to spending a few nights here and there with the porcelain ring around my head. Those are the most important Sundays. Those are days when your bestie picks you up and takes you on a Bloody Mary bar crawl until you have color back in your cheeks and you’re back to talking obscenities about the preference for male body hair or how size does matter.

It’s a beautiful moment shared between two best friends.

So with that said, you can imagine how grumpy poor Lexi is, going on three weeks with no SF buddy. It’s currently naptime and Ian and I are crashed on the couch while he watches some sort of sports game and I read a book on my iPad.

Ian’s lying behind me shirtless, and while I play little spoon, I’m actually getting jealous of my back, which gets to brush up against his yummy bare chest. If you wonder why he’s shirtless, well, it’s for a reason.

When you starve a man for so long of the only meal he craves, and he finally gets a taste of that delicacy, it seems only to intensify the want and need for that temptation. And I’m his temptation. I do him no favors during breakfast with my roaming hand under the table nor during morning cartoons when I brush my finger seductively across my collarbone. My claim that it was a bit hot in the house, then taking off my sweater to sit in my tight tank top was probably the last straw for a very tense and frustrated-looking Ian.

I wasn’t shocked either when he finally snapped and proposed an insane amount of sugar to Pippa to take a nap. When she began to argue, he gave me the look of ‘help or pay,’ so I assisted in swaying her into a book rally before nap, and she was off into her room.
A girl and her fairy tales. Works every time.

It took over thirty minutes to comatose her, so the second I stepped foot out of her room, Ian grabbed me, threw me into the laundry room and slammed the door with his foot. His mouth consumed mine instantly and it was like sparks going off on the Fourth of July. Get a man all heated and be prepared for him to eventually go off. And to make it even more enticing, when you have a man who can’t even make it to a bedroom to ravish you, you know you’re in for some hot and crazy sex.

Meow.

With both hands around my cheeks, he lifted me up, my legs eagerly wrapping around his waist as he placed me onto the washer. “I don’t know whether to fuck you or eat your pussy. I’m so fucking hungry for you right now.”

“Are you dirty talking me right now, Mr. Whitman?” I bantered as he sucked on my neck.

“Oh, I’m going to do more than just dirty talk you, Ms. Daniels. I’m probably going to have to cover that sweet mouth of yours so your little screams of pleasure don’t wake the beast and ruin playtime.”

I had nothing more to say, because who would. He ate and fucked, while I screamed into his hand, then more into his shirt that he ended up taking off because it can get pretty sweaty in a narrow laundry room. The poor shirt had to be discarded because it was drenched with sweat, my saliva, and possibly had bite holes.