Rebound: Chapter 34

I had no clue how much I needed a girls’ night until I was in the middle of one. It was all Amelia’s idea. She told me it was time I had a housewarming and that she and a few friends would be over on Saturday. I couldn’t exactly object—she owns the place. Besides, I told myself, this is my time of firsts, and this is the first time I’ve lived alone. Hosting friends sounded lovely.

I spoke to Granny Lucille earlier in the day, and she talked me through making Planter’s Punch for everyone. I laid out chips and dips, and Amelia assured me that they would bring everything else.

It’s a far cry from the society events I’m used to organizing, but as I watch Amelia tie tinsel around her head and down her third glass of punch, I decide that it’s a lot more fun.

She arrived first, bearing an armful of cannoli from Wanda’s, and soon after, her pal Kimmy showed up with a stack of pizzas. Emily supplied enough booze to get the whole of Brooklyn drunk, and Melanie turned up with the most unexpected item—a Christmas tree.

I was nervous when Amelia told me Nathan’s wife was coming. He and I range somewhere between indifferent and archnemesis, depending on the mood we’re in. The tree definitely broke the ice. It’s massive, and her driver had to help her inside with it. Teddy gave me a respectful nod on his way out, after looking around the small house with interest.

“I wonder,” I said to Melanie as she stared up at the monster fir, “if the James family drivers have a Christmas party. Can you imagine the secrets they know? The things they’ve heard and seen?”

She winced slightly. Hah. I’m guessing Nathan’s limo has seen its share of drama too. “My god. I never thought of that. I hope not—they must think we’re a bunch of complete lunatics.”

“They’d be right. Can I get you a punch?”

She happily accepted, and I felt my tension flee. That was almost three hours ago, and the tree is now decorated—on one side. Amelia brought out every single item she and her mom owned, but it still wasn’t enough. Nobody seems to care though, and Kimmy has started hanging silverware from it. Everyone is slightly tipsy, Christmas music is playing, and Emily is asking me about my new role at LOJ. It’s odd seeing her in this relaxed setting, but it’s nice to see a whole different side to her.

“Well, I’ve only been there a week, but so far so good,” I answer. “The kids are fantastic, and so is Sissie, the woman who runs the place. I’ve been doing the dance classes and helping out in the kitchens and generally being … useful. It’s nice. I haven’t felt useful for a very long time. Possibly ever, to be honest. My Granny Lucille once accused me of being a poor little rich girl, and I suspect she was right—but now, instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’m doing something about it.”

“That’s fantastic,” Melanie says, raising her glass to me. “I’d go crazy without my work. How does Elijah feel about it?”

I quirk an eyebrow at her, and she laughs. “I know, I know—you’re splitting up, and it has nothing to do with him. But if, heaven forbid, Nathan and I ever got a divorce—and I think Elijah might be the same—there’s no way he’d just stop being, um, how do I put this …”

“A controlling asshole?” Kimmy suggests helpfully.

“No,” both Mel and I say at the same time.

“Well, sometimes,” she admits. “But mainly just protective.”

“They all are,” Amelia adds. “I can’t speak to Maddox and Mason, but Drake, Nathan, Elijah are all a little possessive. Gotta be honest—sorry, Kimmy, don’t shoot me—I find it kind of hot. When Drake gets that dark and intense look in his eyes … Yeah.” Her lips curve with a dreamy smile. “Like I said, kind of hot.” She blushes, and we all laugh with her. “Tell us about the bikers, Amber,” she adds, obviously trying to deflect attention.

“Oooh, bikers,” announces Kimmy, rubbing her hands together. “Now we’re talking. Are they the sexy kind?”

I sip my punch and grin. “Oh yes, they are. If you’re into tattoos and muscles and leather.”

“Fuck yes,” Kimmy cheers. “Can I get an invite to their Christmas party?”

“Not sure they have one, but I’ll check for you. They’ve been really nice, actually. I’m even getting self-defense lessons from them.”

Kimmy makes a raucous remark about that, and the hilarity continues, and I make the most of it to escape briefly to the kitchen. This evening has been incredible, but I’m slightly overwhelmed. I’m unaccustomed to this level of intimacy, of being so vulnerable with people. I feel a little like a turtle out of its shell, wondering when a giant bird of prey is going to swoop down and peck me to death.

I check my phone and smile when I see a message from Elijah, but I also feel the urge to hide back in my shell. While it’s true that I love him, I also recognize that he’s dangerous. I still haven’t forgotten how I felt sitting alone in Greenwich Village, and the pain of that is forever lurking beneath the surface. Other than him taking care of me when I was sick, I haven’t seen him in a week.

The morning following my digestive system failure, he didn’t leave until after he made sure I was okay and told me what happened with Freddie. I’m pleased with the direction Elijah chose to go. Freddie deserves jail time, no doubt, but in the real world, it wouldn’t be that simple.

Martha has been in touch, and we’re due to meet soon as well. I have no idea how I feel about her now, and this evening has shown me what healthy female friendships can actually look like. Still, I will at least hear her out.

I type out a quick reply and attach a photo of the giant Christmas tree. I’ve relented a little on the space issue, allowing us to reconnect from a distance. He’s become my best friend again, just like the old days, and we talk on the phone and text more now than we have since college.

I gulp. A massage? Where is he, and who’s he getting a massage from? And how naked is he? God, I bet he looks good, lying spread out and all oiled up, his muscles gleaming … I decide not to reply. I’ve had too much to drink, and no good will come of it. I’m interrupted anyway when Mel walks into the kitchen, and I guiltily shove my phone in my pocket. I can tell she noticed, but she simply gives me a small smile and gets herself a glass of water.

“Are you okay?” she asks, leaning against the counter and taking a sip. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together, and I hope it’s not going to be awkward.

“Sure. I’m actually a little tired. Truthfully, I’m usually in bed by ten.”

“It’s only just past that now,” she says, glancing at her watch. “But I probably need to be heading home soon. Nathan is great with Luke, but I don’t like being away from them for too long.”

I nod. I don’t want to talk about her husband—things could go south quickly. “Well, thanks for coming, Mel, it was nice to see you.”

“It was nice, wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure at first, when Amelia asked me to come along. Things are … complicated.”

I let out a little laugh. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“Look, just to clear the air, Amber—I am not my husband. I love and trust my husband, and he is usually one of the best judges of character I know. Very few people can read a person as well as Nathan. But I don’t make the mistake of thinking that he’s God, and I do have my own mind.”

“That must annoy him.”

“Yes, but he loves it really—gives us something to fight about. And that gives us a reason to have fantastic make-up sex. Anyway. I had a great time, and I hope we see each other again.”

On impulse, I lean forward and give her a quick hug. She looks surprised but pleased.

“You should bring Luke to the center,” I say, again without really thinking it through. “If you want to, that is.”

“He might be a little young for dancing,” she says, laughing.

“We actually have quite a few babies and toddlers who come with their older siblings. They seem to really enjoy the music and the motion.”

She thinks about it, then nods, smiling. “Maybe I will. Right, I’m going to make a move. I’ll see what the mood is like out there.”

The mood, it turns out, is mixed. Amelia announces that she’s heading back to Tribeca and shares a ride with Melanie. Emily and Kimmy, much to everyone’s amusement, decide that they’re going barhopping, both wearing tinsel garland as necklaces. They tried to persuade me to join them, but I genuinely am tired. I wave everyone off and then do a quick clean-up, filling a trash bag and putting the glasses in the dishwasher. I snap a picture of the empty punch bowl and send it to Granny Lucille to show her what a success it was.

She replies quick as a flash.

I grin and tell her I will. After making sure pizza doesn’t breed bacteria like leftover chicken, I wrap up what’s left and put it in the fridge. I’m still not the world’s greatest cook, and that will take care of tomorrow. It’s a small thing, but one that shows how much my life has changed. I no longer have a housekeeper or a huge kitchen stocked with food that arrived there as if by magic. No more daily lunch meetings either. I no longer have a lot of things I took for granted, and I miss none of them—apart from him.

I sit down on the couch and pour myself another glass of wine. I still miss Elijah, and no matter how much I’m trying to rebuild without him, that tug in his direction doesn’t seem to fade. I’m not sure it ever will. Maybe it’s something I’ll simply have to learn to live with.

To offset the feeling of melancholy that’s starting to creep over me, I do what I usually do—turn on the TV. I get lucky with an episode of Bones, which has always been a guilty pleasure of mine. Except no, I remind myself, not a guilty pleasure at all—if a single woman in her forties can’t enjoy watching a hunky FBI agent team up with a beautiful-but-nerdy forensics specialist, then what is the world coming to?

The will-they-won’t-they vibe of their romance while they solve a gruesome murder helps to distract me from thinking about Elijah. If I think about him, I will eventually call him, and that is a terrible idea tonight.

A knock on the door makes me jump so hard I spill my wine. In my defense, it comes at a particularly tense moment when two lead characters are buried alive by a deranged serial killer. Getting up, I remember my self-defense lessons—number one of which is avoid getting into a situation where you need to use them at all. I peek through the drapes and do a double take. Either I drank a lot more alcohol than I remember, or Santa Claus is on my doorstep. I close the drapes, pause for a moment, then look again. He’s still there. I stare some more, and as he turns his face toward me, I realize that Mr. Claus is in fact Elijah. Amused, I rush to open the door.

“Ho ho ho,” he says, completely deadpan.

“Who are you calling a ho?” I reply, hands on hips. I look him up and down and burst out laughing. He looks ridiculous in his red suit and floppy hat, the fake bushy beard hanging from his face like a comatose sheep.

“Can I come in?” he asks. “This thing is not as warm as it looks. But I shouldn’t complain—I got it from a late-night store in Times Square for only twenty bucks. Hopefully the real Father Christmas has better insulation.”

I gesture for him to come in, and he stands in the entry, blowing on his hands for a few seconds. “Um, not that this isn’t very festive, but why are you here? And why are you wearing a cheap Santa suit?”

“Well, because I didn’t have time to buy an expensive one, obviously. You told me your Christmas tree needed help, so I come bearing baubles. Can I interest you in the contents of my sack, young lady?” He waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I roll my eyes. He shouldn’t be here. But it’s late, and I’ve had wine, and I was missing him. Plus, he looks hotter than he has any right to dressed up as Santa.

“Have at it,” I say, showing him the tree. “And what’s that smell?”

“That depends. Do you like it?”

“I do, but I can’t quite identify it.”

He tugs off the fake beard, which is much better. His own beard is cuter. “Well, I had an appointment with Melanie’s cousin, Tyler. He’s a physical therapist.”

“I see. And he made you smell like that, how?”

“He massaged my back. Gave me some oil to take too. Almond, I think.”

I nod knowingly. “Right. The sore back you got from the dance warm-up?”

“I thought I hid that from you pretty well. Now my macho facade is ruined.”

Laughing, I poke him in the stomach. “I think this plastic belt ruins any illusion of machismo, pal. Did he help? Tyler?”

“He did. He’s very good at his job. Never thought I’d feel comfortable getting my body rubbed down by a man with hands the size of my face, but he talked about football while he worked to make me feel better. He was like a straight-man whisperer, keeping me calm. How was your girls’ night?”

“It was great,” I say, helping him drape the extra baubles on the tree. None of them are the same color as the ones on the other side, but what the hell. I like the chaos. “Mel brought the tree.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How did that go?”

“Really well.” I pass him an ornament and gesture at the top branches. “She’s nice. If I sound surprised, it’s because I am. It’s almost enough to make me think Nathan might not be totally evil.”

“Whoa, don’t get carried away with the Christmas spirit there.”

We joke and laugh as we work, and I provide him with beer—I don’t have any Scotch in the house, but he seems happy enough. By the time we stand back and survey our handiwork, a few of the stubby bottles have disappeared, as has the rest of my wine.

“It looks like shit, but I like it,” he says, head tilted to one side. He’s unbuttoned his Santa suit, revealing a tight white T-shirt underneath. Our eyes meet, and I feel that tug yet again. The need to touch him, the need to feel his body against mine. This is a perfect example of why he’s dangerous. Of why I should stay away from him.

The moment builds, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me when he reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. On the surface, it’s a harmless gesture, but any contact at all is enough to unravel me.

“Elijah, don’t,” I murmur, trying to back away, but I come up against the bristling boughs of the Christmas tree. He freezes, but he’s still only inches away.

“You want me to leave?” he asks, his voice deep and husky as his gaze runs over me. “Just say the word, Amber, and I’ll leave.”

I want to tell him to go. I know I should.

I stay silent. His hand goes to my waist, and he pulls me toward him. “Or do you want me to stay and make you scream my name?”

Our hips touch, and my pussy contracts when I feel how hard he is. Hot. As. Hell. “That’s … You’re … Oh god, I … Don’t leave.”

He grins down at me and puts one big hand on my ass, pressing me even closer. I grind against him, already throbbing with need. He tips my chin up, and his grin widens. “Look at you. Your pupils are blown. I know your panties are wet. You’re rubbing up on me like a horny she-devil. You are most definitely on the naughty list.”

“You’re right. This is naughty. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Naughty is perfect for this time of year. Now be a good girl and take off all your clothes for Santa.”