Rebound: Chapter 22

I glance at my watch and realize I need to get going. My nephew has very different ideas, though, and is repeatedly hitting me on the head with a Jenga block. Every single time he makes contact, Luke laughs hysterically. He sits up on his mat like a sturdy Buddha statue, shrieking with delight, his arms waving in the air. It’s one of the best sounds in the entire world.

Few things could tempt me away from this spot, but Amber is one of them. I let Luke take one final slug, and he lands a whopper right on my nose, then laughs so hard he actually falls over. On his back now, he rolls around, kicking and gurgling, and tries to get his foot into his mouth. I tickle his tummy, and by the time I sit him up again, he has tears of laughter streaming down his round, ruddy cheeks.

“Little dude, you are the coolest person I know,” I say, climbing to my feet.

Nathan and Melanie are in the kitchen, and they’ve been missing for a suspiciously long time. I make sure I knock first and find them looking way too disheveled for “getting the baby a snack.” I raise an eyebrow, and Nathan gives me a smirk. Smug bastard.

“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” Mel asks me, smoothing down her hair. “Please?” My whole family has been inviting me to dinner, brunch, and breakfast pretty much every day since I told them about the divorce.

They seem to think I would starve without them, but it’s their way of showing their support and making sure I don’t have too much time alone to feel sorry for myself. It’s sweet and a hell of a lot better than none of them giving a damn or having no family around me. Which, it suddenly occurs to me, is exactly the position Amber is in. Fuck, why am I just now realizing this?

“You okay, brother?” Nathan asks, his hand on my shoulder. I nod and force a smile. “I’m good, thanks. I can’t stay for dinner though, sorry.”

All three of us walk back into the living room to keep an eye on Luke. He can get into all kinds of mischief now that he’s more mobile.

“Why not?” He scoops up his son and blows a raspberry on his neck, and Luke lets out a full belly laugh. “Is it because your nephew is better at Jenga than you?”

“He cheats. Must get it from his dad. No, I’m, uh, busy. I’ve got a thing.”

Nathan and Mel exchange looks, and my brother raises his eyebrows. Melanie gives me a sweet smile and says, “Oh. A thing? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral.

“She means we know you’ve got a date, jerkwad,” Nathan answers. “And we’ve noticed an extra spring in your step recently. The kind that gets put there by a woman. There’s no need to be so defensive about it. You’re a single man now. You’re allowed to go on dates.”

I shrug and grab my jacket.

“So, is it serious?” He pries Luke’s fingers out of his hair and continues. “Or is it just a, you know, rebound from Amber?”

I fight to keep a neutral expression. “I don’t know if it’s serious or not at this stage. It’s definitely not trivial.”

“What’s she like?” Melanie asks. “Is she nice?”

“Yeah. She really is.” Despite how much she tries to convince people she’s not. But I don’t say that. “She’s also funny and kind and intelligent.”

“Is she also smoking hot?” Nathan says, winking.

“Fuck yeah.” I can’t keep the smile off my face. “The hottest woman I’ve ever known.”

Mel shoots us both a look. “Can I remind you two that Luke’s brain is currently soaking up language like a sponge. I do not want his first word to begin with f and end with k. Understood?”

“Yes, Mom,” says Nathan. “Though I don’t see what’s wrong with our kid’s first word being flapjack.”

Melanie rolls her eyes, and the two of them walk me to the door. Nathan shakes my hand and holds it for an extra second, looking me in the eyes. “I am really pleased you’ve met someone, brother. I know the Amber situation is tough, but believe me, you’re better off without her. We all are.”

His words come from a place of genuine love, but they piss me off. “Don’t talk about her like that, okay? You can think what you like about her, but at least show me the respect of keeping your mouth shut on the subject.”

He looks surprised, then annoyed. Mel lays a calming hand on his arm before he can say anything else. It has an immediate effect, and he takes a breath. “Message received and understood. But she’s your ex—you don’t have to defend her anymore.”

I don’t reply because nothing that comes out of my mouth right now will do any good. Instead, I pass baby Luke the Jenga block I found in my pocket. Delighted, he lets out a demonic giggle and whacks it solidly into his dad’s eye socket.

As I close the door behind me, I smile at my brother’s exclamation of “Fuck!”

I’ve given Gretchen the night off, as I always do when I’m meeting Amber. I trust our driver completely, but it’s not fair to put her in such a difficult position of having to keep Amber’s and my secret. I hail a cab and check my phone on the drive into New Jersey. Tonight, we’re making this a federal crime and crossing state lines. It was Amber’s idea—since she moved into the Brooklyn house a week ago, she’s fallen in love with the idea of trying new places. Being a gentleman, I certainly don’t want to discourage her spirit of adventure. Especially as it seems to translate into every aspect of her life, including the bedroom.

I was initially resistant to the idea of her living in Brooklyn. And by resistant, I mean absolutely fucking horrified. Drake bore the brunt of it, and he was typically Drake throughout. He listened, his face completely unreadable as I ranted and raved, and he let me get it out of my system. Then put me in my place. “You’re being a dick,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with Brooklyn, and there’s nothing wrong with the house my girlfriend grew up in. Get your head out of your ass and admit that you just don’t want her out of your sight and out of your influence.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that without proving him right, but I took a halfhearted stab at justifying my concern on security grounds. He was having none of it. “She’ll be fine. Mrs. Katzberg lives across the way, and that woman would scare the shit out of Chuck Norris. Plus, Amber’s going to learn Krav Maga and buy a semiautomatic.”

I gaped at him, and he finally cracked a smile. “Joking.” He cleared his throat, obviously fighting the urge to laugh when he added, “She’s more of a pearl-handled pistol kind of gal, wouldn’t you say?”

Ultimately, I had to face the fact that I couldn’t control Amber or her decisions—and the fact that she is so much happier now that she is making decisions with only her own wants and needs in mind. She’s lighter now, like a snake who shed her skin along with all the expectations and glitzy trappings of her previous lifestyle.

When she made the move to Brooklyn, I moved back into the townhouse and I immediately understood where her desire to get out of there came from. The place is far too big for one person. Hell, it was too big for two, and all that extra space really does seem to taunt me with the life we planned for when we bought the house.

Maddox has stayed over a few nights, which has been great. I’ve enjoyed spending quality time with my baby brother and getting to know this version of him better. He spent years traveling and dealing with his own demons, and he’s different from the rest of us because of it. Healthier than the rest of us, no doubt. I’m hoping he stays put for a while now for all our sakes, but especially Dad’s.

It’s nice having him around, but nothing compares to this—to the thrill of a secret night with Amber. My wife and my mistress, all wrapped up in one intoxicating package.

We’re traveling out of the city to meet in public for dinner, like any other cheating couple I imagine, and I can’t wait. She suggested a little town on the river that’s known for its quaint community feel and historic buildings. It’s highly unlikely we’ll see anybody we know in New Jersey, and the media interest predictably died down after we released a short video that we filmed on neutral territory in Drake’s office. As Mason predicted, we bored them to death by being so damn civilized. Ha, if they only knew.

I chose the specific place we’re meeting, and I have an extra surprise waiting nearby. I find myself grinning in the back of the cab, excited to see her reaction. We draw up outside the restaurant, and I’m amazed at how different this little town is from Manhattan. Only a forty-minute drive, but a whole world away. Amber arrives at the same time, and I see her chatting to Sanjay through the window of his cab. She waves him off with a laugh, and when she turns and sees me, a huge, surprised smile transforms her whole face, making her radiant.

I warned her to dress casually. It’s part of my surprise for her, and she’s taken me at my word. Her endless legs are encased in pale gray skin-tight leggings, and she’s wearing a baggy pale-blue sweater that comes down to her thighs. It’s casual, but it’s also Amber—she’s matched it with heels and yet another long-chained necklace that takes my mind to dark and dangerous places.

“You look like you’re going to a yoga class at Buckingham Palace,” I say, sweeping her into my arms. She lands against me with a little squeal and wraps her arms around my waist.

“Excellent. That’s exactly what I was aiming for. How are you, Mr. Smith?”

My heart rate spikes as I seal my lips over hers. Our tongues slide hungrily against each other, and she groans and melts into me like hot wax. “I’m better now, Mrs. Smith,” I say once I come up for air.

She rubs herself against me and smiles. “Yes. I can tell. You’d better start thinking about Dr. Braithwaite or we might get arrested for public indecency.”

“Well, that would count as one of your firsts, wouldn’t it?” I take her hand and lead her inside. “Getting arrested?”

“As far as you know,” she quips, grinning up at me. Fuck, she’s so beautiful. It seems like every guy in the room turns to look at her, and I feel like the luckiest man alive. Because I get to touch as well as look.

We’re shown to a table by the window with a view across the river. It’s December now and dark already. Yellow light from the town and headlights from the cars on the bridge reflect on the glassy surface of the water.

“I think this is another first,” I say after we place our order. “You actually showing up for something on time.”

“Oh, I know. I was almost early—that would have been a disaster.” She pauses, then says, “It was never on purpose, you know.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she blinks them away, offering me a sly smile. “Well, maybe sometimes.”

She’s obviously trying to keep the conversation light, so I play along. “I suspected as much. You really were a frightfully spoiled brat.”

“Hey, less of the ‘were’ if you don’t mind. I still have my moments.” Her huge eyes shine as bright as the lights on the river, caramel-blond hair lying in loose waves on her shoulders. She’s wearing a little makeup, but it’s less of a suit of armor and more of a playful mask. This new life she’s building for herself suits her. I feel the sting of that, because her new life is one she’s building without me, but I also admire her. It takes guts to do what she’s doing. It took guts to end the toxic crazy train we were stuck on together.

“You look amazing,” I say quietly, pouring her wine. “You are amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so stunning.” My voice comes out especially deep, and color infuses her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she says on a light laugh. “But I’m not sure you’re right. This whole low-maintenance look isn’t always good for the ego. I see a lot more lines than I used to. I guess I’m at the age where most women we know have work done.”

“No, you’re not,” I say firmly. “You’ll never be at that age. You’ll always be perfect the way you are.”

“Really? Even when I’m old and gray and crinkled up like a raisin?”

“Even then. You’ll still be beautiful. You’ll just have a little more … patina.”

Her smile is breathtaking, and I am completely helpless before it. “Patina,” she says, turning the concept over. “Like the Statue of Liberty. Works for me. Speaking of precious things that show their age … Did I tell you that Granny Lucille is a lesbian?”

I spit out my wine, and she laughs as I dab at my beard with my napkin. “Did you deliberately tell me that after I took a sip?”

“Of course. It wouldn’t have been funny otherwise. But it is true. She has a girlfriend named Vivienne.”

“Wow. I’m not sure I want to run with that image.” I’m fond of Granny Lucille, but as a general rule, I try to avoid thinking about the sex life of octogenarians. “What does she think, about … everything?”

The waiter arrives with our food, and she gives him the big eyes and the hint-of-the-South honey as she thanks him. Unsurprisingly, he trips over his own feet when he turns to leave.

“Well, she doesn’t know about Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I didn’t think she needed to know how hot you look in a fireman’s outfit.” Her pupils dilate at the memory of our last little session in our Greenwich hotel.

“I’m surprised you know how hot I look in a fireman’s outfit. I only had it on for thirty seconds.”

“What can I say? Sometimes a girl needs a hero. A naked one. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

The time we’ve spent together since she got back from Charleston has been so far beyond fun—it has been some of the best, happiest moments of my life. Which makes me seriously question why we spent so many years living in hell.

I almost jump out of my skin when her toes skim my inner thigh and gently land on my groin. Her smiles turns wicked as she lightly rubs my dick. “Do you walk around like this all the time, or am I special?”

I reach under the table and firmly remove her foot. I can’t return the favor from this angle, but I will get my revenge at some point. And she’ll enjoy every second of it.

“You are most definitely special. My cock is always ready for you, baby. We’re sitting here in this pretty little place, pretending to be civilized, but all I can think about is being balls-deep in your tight, wet cunt.”

I’m keeping my voice low, but the dirty talk has the desired effect. She flushes bright red and bites her pillowy lip. I know she’s wet right now, and I wish I could crawl under this table and taste her. Bury my tongue in her pussy and lick her until she comes all over my face.

We stare at each other, and then we both laugh at the same time. “This whole being out in public thing is a challenge,” she says. “Maybe we’re more of a behind-closed-doors couple.”

“Maybe we are.” I wonder if she noticed that she called us a couple. Her hand trembles slightly as she forks up a bite of salad, so I assume she did. I take pity on her. “How’s Brooklyn? And when do you have your interview at the community center?”

She grabs hold of the offered way out and fills me in on life in Amelia’s old neighborhood. She talks with real enthusiasm about the food, the bars, the sense of being somewhere real. As she chats, her hands fly and her eyes sparkle. Brooklyn has ignited something inside her, and I am gripped by unreasonable jealousy. She knows my world, every inch of it, but she’s moved into a whole new one that doesn’t involve me. I don’t know if she picks up on my irrational jealousy, but she pauses. “You could, I don’t know, come and visit? I mean, if you want to.”

We’re on uneven ground here. This whole situation is already completely cracked—having an affair with the partner you’re currently divorcing is strange enough. But at least we both know what it is. It’s fantasy. It’s our way of finding closure on a relationship that has held us both in its thrall for over two decades. But visiting her in Brooklyn? Seeing her new world? I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.

“Maybe I will,” I say simply, making no commitment but also not rejecting her. She nods, and the moment passes. She probably regretted the invitation the second it passed her lips anyway.

“The community center interview is the day after tomorrow.” She quickly moves on. “It’s taken forever because they had to run all kinds of checks, make sure I’m not a hardened criminal or anything. In the meantime, I’ve been watching dance class videos on YouTube, and I think I might be able to do it. It doesn’t need to be ballet or anything that structured. It’s more about having fun and inspiring them. It’ll be different from anything I’ve ever done before, but … that’s a good thing. That’s what I want.” Her voice gets quieter, and her intoxicating gaze locks on my face. “Am I crazy?”

“Definitely. But of course you can do it. I don’t doubt it for a second.”

After doing my own research and talking with Vicky about it, I still have my concerns, but it’s clearly a well-respected organization, run by a former nun. If she ends up volunteering there, I’ll definitely be paying it a visit myself.

Changing the subject, she asks me about work, and I fill her in on the South Korean deal. She asks all the right questions and even makes a few suggestions. Amber has a shrewd mind for business, and she played the role of corporate wife exceptionally well. Whenever we had to entertain guests or take visiting dignitaries out on the town, she knocked it out of the park. Together, we put on a fantastic show. It was only when we were alone the barbs started to fly and the claws came out.

We move on to Luke, and I show her the pictures I took this evening. He’s holding on to the couch and standing on wobbly legs, a slobbery grin on his face. “Oh my, look at those thighs,” she enthuses, scrolling through. “I love those rolls of fat. He’s scrumptious, isn’t he?” Her tone is pure joy, no hint of sarcasm, sadness, or underlying snark.

Once we’re finished with our drinks and our food, we emerge into the chilly night air. She brought a big faux-fur coat with her, and it looks sensational, even with her casual outfit. Her hand slips into mine as we stroll along the riverside, and I grasp her cold fingers. We walk, talking about everything and nothing, and it is simple and joyous. I can’t remember a time we were so at peace with each other.

“You ready for your surprise?” I ask her. She gazes up at me contentedly, and it’s clear that she feels the same.

“Always,” she replies, leaning up to kiss me. “As long as it’s a pony.”

Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?