The Ground Rules Page 4

  My smile fades. I’m really starting to think he’s serious, and I’m more than a little peeved. He’s so wrong. It isn’t just about the other guy—it’s about him too. He’s the one I want.

  “I’m going to bed,” he deadpans.

  My stomach is suddenly tied up in knots. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt Gabe. It was just a stupid little crush.

  “Okay…I admit,” I finally manage. “I…I was attracted to him. But you’re the one I want to be with.” My voice is a little shaky. “Please don’t be like this.”

  He turns to look at me, and his scowl slowly fades.

  He starts laughing, and I’m confused. I’m not sure what kind of game he’s playing, but I’m not impressed.

  He grabs my rear. “Ella,” he says to me, pulling me tight against him. “I’m just messing with you. I’ll fuck you any which way you want, babe.”

  Bastard.

  I punch him on the chest as hard as I can, but he laughs even harder. “You should have seen your face,” he says, still laughing at my expense.

  “Why are you always so juvenile?” I sneer at him as I walk to our bedroom where I plop myself on the edge of the bed. “We were having a special moment.”

  The room is dark. I haven’t bothered to turn on the light.

  He kneels in front of me. “Oh…is that what it was,” he says as he slides a hand under my dress. “I thought we were just going to fuck.”

  “Well, you know what I mean,” I try to explain. “But it doesn’t matter now…you’ve ruined it. Now, I’m the one who’s not in the mood.”

  He laughs out loud. “I can change that,” he tells me, standing. He walks over to the bedroom door and locks it. As he makes his way back to me, he eyes me with that playful, intense stare I know so well.

  He kneels in front of me again. “I’ll get you hot…in no time,” he says, his fingers playing with the lace of my panties.

  “No, you can’t. You’re not that powerful.” I am so mad at him—I really don’t want to give in to him. I try to shimmy away, but he grabs my rear.

  He pulls me to him. “I beg to differ.” His hands are rough against my skin as he pulls my panties off.

  And he’s absolutely right.

  I want this…so badly.

  I lie back and completely give in.

  “Now that’s more like it,” he breathes, burying his head between my legs, under the skirt of my dress. I dig my fingers into his dark, silky curls. And I completely surrender. I want him to kiss me like he has so many times before.

  I want him…no one but him.

  He starts off slowly, licking me softly, and it feels amazing. I want to get out of this dress. I want to be naked against him. I want to be touched all over, and I want to touch. But this feels too good, and I don’t want him to stop.

  In no time, my breathing quickens, and I am fully aroused. I rub my hands through his unruly hair as I press my sex against his mouth. He responds and moves his tongue faster.

  He’s so good at this.

  I feel my body warm and reach that state of arousal I’ve been aching for.

  My pulse quickens and my orgasm comes swiftly, long and intense. I stifle my moans on the fleshy part of my arm. And I can’t believe I’ve climaxed already.

  Gabe keeps going until my moans have settled down.

  Finally, he pulls away.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” he teases, always the joker.

  I laugh and cover my face with my hand, a little embarrassed.

  “Don’t be shy. I love it. You made my job real easy.”

  And I find myself laughing again.

  He climbs up on top of me and plants a gentle kiss on my collarbone. I close my eyes and enjoy the state of relaxation I’ve fallen into, my body languid, heavy.

  He studies me—a grin stretches across his face. “But I’m not quite done with you,” he teases, my orgasm barely a thing of the past. Before I have a chance to even react, he grabs me hard and flips me over. My face pressed against the bed, I hear the sound of him undoing his pants. He grabs my hips and pulls me up to him. I feel tender and tight, but I still like the feel of him when he sinks into me. As he presses against me, I close my eyes and enjoy him. His hands dig into my hips as his thrusts intensify.

  He’s gentle tonight.

  Despite the fact that I’ve just climaxed, I still love every second of it. My body responds to him so easily.

  He’s usually a little rough with me—sometimes I think he’s too rough, but tonight he’s not rough enough.

  “Harder,” I moan softly, barely audible.

  He feels so good. This is sex—it’s what we do. We don’t make love…we fuck.

  He kicks it up a notch and slams harder into me. The headboard bangs against the wall, again and again.

  He feels incredible.

  He grabs a fist full of my hair tightly at my nape. “You can’t see my face,” he breathes against my ear. “Just imagine him. He’s the one fucking you right now.”

  My breath catches.

  I’m not shocked by Gabe’s words. It’s the way he is…a little kinky.

  But I can’t do it.

  I can see Weston’s gorgeous face, but I can’t imagine him there.

  “Don’t feel guilty about it,” Gabe presses, “just let your imagination go.”

  I can only see Gabe’s face.

  I turn my head toward him.

  It’s dark, and I can’t quite see him perfectly. But a flicker of moonlight streaming through the window is enough for me to make out his body pressed against mine—he still wears his black striped button shirt—the image arouses me.

  I feel myself getting closer and closer to another climax.

  He can sense I’m almost there. “I want to hear you,” he says, his voice soft. “I want to hear you scream.”

  And I let go. I moan louder and louder—louder than I probably should. And I hear the familiar ragged sounds of Gabe’s climax, perfectly timed to mine—he has amazing control.

  And at that moment, I think my husband might very well be the greatest lover on the planet.

  He leans down and kisses me on the shoulder. “I love you, Ella,” he whispers, like he always does.

  I wake up with a smile on my face, and I’m still wearing my dress. Gabe is stretched out next to me. He’s been watching me sleep.

  “Stop doing that,” I tell him, laughing. “You know I hate that.”

  “But you’re very cute when you sleep.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Last night was quite a night.”

  I smile at him. “You know what’s ironic and a little funny?”

  “What?” he asks, one brow perked up.

  “All night long, you were telling me how you were going to rip my dress off,” I remind him, smiling coyly, “…and here I am the next morning, still wearing it.”

  He laughs a little. “But I still showed you a pretty good time, didn’t I?”

  “Definitely,” I say, biting my lip.

  “I can take it off now if you want,” he offers with that look in his eyes—the man is insatiable.

  I’m almost tempted, but giggling and the sweet voices of my girls are in the distance. It won’t be long until we see their faces.

  We take the girls to the park and go for lunch. Chloe asks me about our night.

  “Did you have fun?”

  I smile. “We did. We met some nice people and saw a show.” I almost tell her about Weston and Bridget, but decide not to—they’re already ancient history.

  I love spending quality time with my family on Sundays—it’s one of my favorite things to do. But today, I’m not quite there—my head isn’t anyway. I can’t get Weston out of my mind, and I still can’t believe how affected I was by him. I barely know him—he hardly gave me anything—didn’t talk about himself at all.

  Then a light bulb goes off.

  That’s what it is, I tell myself—he’s still a mystery. If I could just kno
w a little more about him, maybe I could finally get him out of my system.

  I start typing his name in the search box. I get as far as “Weston H,” and his name pops up, and I suddenly feel panicked.

  And a little creepy.

  I am a stalker after all—a cyber-stalker.

  I tell myself I’m being ridiculous and close the browser. As I slam my laptop shut, I vow to stop thinking about the guy—he’s just a good looking man I met at a restaurant, for heaven’s sake.

  That’s all he is.

  A good looking man with the most incredible eyes I have ever seen.

  It’s Monday, and I’m so happy to be back at work. I can’t wait to talk to Gwen. Gwen’s my best friend, and a fellow teacher at my school. She teaches sixth grade. She has to deal with attitude and burgeoning hormones, and she still has a smile on her face every minute of the day—she’s fantastic.

  My kids seem happy to see me. Lilly, a sweetheart of a girl, with golden curls and bright green eyes, hugs my leg when she sees me.

  “Good morning, Lilly. How was your weekend?”

  “Great. How was your weekend, Mrs. Mirella?”

  “Fantastic,” I say with a smile. And that’s an understatement, I almost want to add.

  “I like your earrings today.”

  “Why, thank you.” The fun thing about kids is they notice everything—a new haircut, a new dress, a new necklace. I could be wearing a whole new outfit, and Gabe probably wouldn’t notice.

  Lilly is so sweet, and she speaks like she’s just leaped off the pages of a Jane Austen novel—I think it has something to do with her British nanny. But anyway, she’s my favorite.

  Today, we’re learning about the four food groups. I’ve brought some grocery store flyers from home, and we’re cutting out various foods and gluing them onto paper plates. The activity teaches them about nutrition and lets them practice their dexterity. Even at this age, kids today don’t get enough manual play—all they seem to do at home is play video games and watch television.

  My hands are on the task in front of me, but my brain is full of Weston.

  This is getting damn annoying.

  I’ll never see you again. Please get out of my head.

  When the bell finally rings for lunch, I let Wanda take over. Wanda is great. She’s one of my kids’ moms who volunteers to help out every day for lunch. There was a rumor a while back about her and the principal being a little too friendly, but who am I to judge?

  I run over to Gwen as soon as I spot her. She looks fabulous, as always, her dark complexion striking against a pale yellow sheath dress. I hug her tightly, my face full of her thick black tresses.

  “How was your weekend, sweetie,” she asks, all smiles.

  “Mind-blowing,” I gush, my face lit up like a fourth of July display. I can’t wait to dish.

  “That good, huh,” she says, a coy smile on her lips.

  “It’s really warm today. You wanna eat on the bench outside?” There is no privacy in the lunch room—twenty or so teachers huddled together at small round tables—conversations usually start to mix.

  “Sure,” she says as I grab her by the arm—she really has no choice.

  I’m thankful it’s a wonderful sunny day…I love the month of May.

  As we eat our very bland sandwiches, I tell her all about Saturday night—the restaurant, the fabulous couple we met, and the even more amazing sex. Gwen and I are very close. We share almost everything.

  “So was it love at first sight with this man?” she teases, her eyes curious.

  “Well, I don’t know about that, Gwen. Let’s just call it lust at first sight. And besides, we are all married, you know…”

  She throws a playful, little jab at my shoulder. “Yep. You might want to be careful.”

  I smile. “You don’t have to worry. It was a one-time encounter. We’ll never see them again.”

  “That’s probably a good thing. Temptation can be tricky, and you wouldn’t want to mess things up with Gabe.”

  We sit in silence for a beat, both biting into our sandwiches.

  “But…you can’t help how your mind and body react to someone,” she adds knowingly. “Don’t feel guilty about it. It’s cupid’s fault.”

  “Cupid really messed up this time. I think he sleeps on the job.”

  She laughs, her big toothy smile almost brightens my mood.

  “But it’s all good,” I reassure her…and myself. “Like I said, I’ll never see him again.” And sadness washes over me…a sadness I hadn’t expected.

  My students cheer me up—they always do. No matter what’s bugging me, their energy is almost contagious—everything is new, something to be discovered and studied.

  I feel pretty good, and I’ve almost all but forgotten about Weston, when Sylvia, our receptionist, walks into my classroom.

  I stand, suddenly curious and concerned. When I see Sylvia in my classroom, it usually means something’s wrong—issues with one of my kids, disciplinary problems, absence, illness, injury, or worse than all that…lice!

  But today, Sylvia has a huge smile on her face—it must be something good.

  “Someone’s got a secret admirer,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Flowers were delivered for you at the front desk. They’re gorgeous.”

  I’m shocked. Gabe and I did have a great date night, but it wasn’t quite worthy of celebratory flowers. Then again, Gabe has sent me flowers before—he’s sweet that way. Although it has been a while. I’m quite excited to see them.

  “I was going to bring them over, but Michael doesn’t want them in the classroom…something about kids’ allergies.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll fetch them on my way out.”

  Michael is our principal, and he’s a little bit of a stickler for rules. Gwen always jokes about him—she says he has a thing for me. I tell her he’s married, and she says, “What does that have to do with anything?” Who knows? Perhaps she’s right. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of my husband sending me flowers.

  When I finally make it to the front office at the end of the day, my mind is blown away. Sylvia wasn’t exaggerating—the flowers are gorgeous. Gabe has outdone himself—a dozen of the most beautiful roses I have ever laid eyes on—lavender. I didn’t even know lavender roses existed. But as wonderful as the roses are, the gorgeous vase is what my eyes are drawn too—hand blown glass, a rainbow of colors. I just know I will cherish it for years to come.

  “Does Gabe have a brother by chance?” Sylvia jokes. It’s a well-known fact that all the ladies at work think my husband is delicious. And Sylvia is probably the one with the biggest crush.

  I laugh as I rip the tiny envelope open.

  And as my gaze settles on the small card, my stomach drops.

  Chapter Five

  Love…at…first…sight.

  Dear Gabe and Mirella,

  We had a wonderful time on Saturday night. We would love to hear from you again.

  Weston & Bridget

  MY EYES GLANCE AT THE TELEPHONE NUMBER on the bottom of the card, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I was not expecting this at all—it’s all so absurd.

  “What’s wrong Mirella? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “It’s just…it’s…” I’m at a loss for words.

  “Oooh,” Sylvia perks up. “Are the flowers from someone else? Do you have a secret admirer?” she asks, curious. Yes, I’m sure she’d love that. Then, she could tell Gabe all about my torrid secret affair and snatch him right out from under me.

  With an uneasy laugh, I explain, “It’s just a wonderful couple Gabe and I met on Saturday night.” I really don’t need her starting some unfounded rumors.

  She reads the card and her smile fades. “You must have really made quite the impression.”

  Yes…it appears so.

  I’ve set the flowers carefully on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and I try not to drive too fast or make sudden turns. Th
e girls are quiet in the back and seem a little tired—Mondays are always hard on them.

  The card tucked in my pocket consumes me. Who wrote it? The handwriting could be female or male, but the words almost sound like Bridget…But how would she know where to reach me? Well, of course, I did tell Weston where I worked.

  I don’t know what to think.

  I don’t need this. I don’t need this man in my life.

  I realize I’m at a crossroads—this is one of those “big moments.” There’s a fork in the road. If I go one way, my life stays as it is, wonderful and simple. If I choose the other path, my life could possibly get really complicated.

  I just know it.

  But I really want to go down that other road…even though I shouldn’t.

  I’m sitting at a red light, and I have the sudden urge to rip up the card and throw it out the window. That’s what I should do. It would be so easy—it’s sitting in my jacket pocket.

  But I don’t.

  “I told you,” Gabe says, all smugness. “The guy wants to fuck you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  The girls are sleeping. We’re sitting on our bed. I’m painting my toenails a bright red—I’ve finally decided to pay a little more attention to my feet. “Maybe it was Bridget’s idea. She did seem to have a pretty good time. You guys were chatting away like the best of friends,” I point out, realizing that I’m making a lot of sense. “Weston and I barely spoke, or Bridget and I, for that matter. I would hardly call that ‘a wonderful time.’ It was all about you and Bridget.”

  As I say the words, I realize I should probably have thrown the card out the car window. I need a flirty, gorgeous supermodel lawyer after my husband like I need a hole in my head.

  Fuck.

  How could I have been so stupid—this isn’t about Weston and I—this is about Gabe and Bridget.

  She wrote the card.

  Panic washes over me. Like I’ve stumbled on a merry-go-round and am spinning out of control. I can’t jump off and can’t stop the damn ride. Suddenly, I don’t want to ever see Weston or Bridget again.