Page 79 of Love & Other Drunken Mistakes
Shit. I forgot about them inventing an explanation for my absence. They both think I’m taking the afternoon off to prepare to propose marriage when I’m really trying to undo one. I don’t really have the time or desire to explainwhyI’m taking the afternoon off, so I pretend not to hear them and close the door firmly behind me.
Euan is waiting for me at the front of my apartment complex. It might be weird for us to drive to our annulment together, but I don’t see the point in taking two cars.
“How’s your day going?” I ask as he settles into the passenger seat.
On the drive over, he tells me about one of his current projects and the trouble he ran into. Even though he’s complaining, the atmosphere in the car is light, comfortable. All the pressure slowly closing in on me today has shifted away now that we’re together again.
We keep chatting all the way into the office. As we walk, I gravitate closer to Euan until our shoulders brush against each other. It feels so natural to be with him like this that I almost forget the reason we’re here.
The receptionist is all too happy to remind us. “Both of your attorneys have already arrived,” she says. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room down the hall.” Then shepoints toward the same hallway we hid in last time we were here.
We thank her and head that way. A few feet away from the desk, Euan leans down and whispers in my ear, “At least they won’t catch us in another compromising position.”
A blush heats my cheeks and I scowl at him. “We weren’t actually doing anything wrong.”
He gives a noncommittal hum.
“It justlookedlike we were,” I insist as I grab the handle and tug the conference room door open. “It’s not like we were—”
The sounds hit me first—a cut off moan; the wetness of mouths colliding; the clattering of a chair falling to the floor; clothes sliding against a smooth surface. It takes another second for my brain to register the rest of the scene.
One of Theresa’s hands is threaded through Richard’s hair, tufts of it poking through her fingers. The other is wrapped up in his tie, dragging him closer. Not that he needs any encouragement. His right hand is splayed across her thigh, fingertips pushing up the edges of her skirt. His other hand is out of view, but I hope to god he’s keeping things PG-13.
The passion in the kiss is almost as shocking as the scene itself. Although I’d never call Theresa a ‘cold fish’, we never kissed like that. Our kisses were usually sweet and careful. Restrained. Like we were both afraid of letting go.
Or maybe we just didn’t want to.
Theresa and Richard kiss with aggression, holding nothing back. This is an argument they’re both desperate to win, even if it consumes them.
Euan clears his throat.
Theresa rips her mouth away from Richard’s with a harsh gasp. Her lips are puffy and shiny with saliva, lipstick smeared toward her cheek. Her eyes are wide and dark, a mix of confusion and desire.
I’ve never seen her so small and vulnerable. Like her whole world has just been ripped away.
It takes a few seconds for her to focus on me, but once she does, a sharp knife of calculation cuts through the fog. “Alexander.” Any traces of vulnerability have been neatly sliced away.
“Are we interrupting something?” Euan asks. His tone is cold, but the hand he places on my lower back is warm and comforting. I want to lean into it—lean into him, let him hold me up.
Theresa catches the gesture, her whole face twitching with displeasure. “Richard, I need to speak with my client privately.”
“Theresa,” he begins, but she glares at him sharply. The effect is slightly diminished with her lips still swollen from his kiss.
A long moment passes where they just glare at each, their earlier passion taking on a harder edge as their wills collide.
Finally, her shoulders slump and she says, “Please.”
He sighs and untangles himself from her. When he yanks his tie out of her hand, she looks at her own closed fist, startled, as if she didn’t realize how tightly she was holding on to him.
“Mr. Blair,” Richard says, fixing his tie as he steps forward. “Why don’t we move to my office?”
Euan’s fingers flex on my back, and I look up in time to see a muscle flick in his jaw. His voice remains steady as he says, “I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr. Beiler, when I say that Alex and I will both be seeking other representation.”
“Which is something we all need to discussseparatelyandin private,” Richard replies.
Euan looks down at me, and though he doesn’t say anything, I can read the concern in his eyes:do you want me to stay?
Part of me is screaming:stay with me, don’t leave me, I need you, I need you, I need you.
