Page 18 of Spinning Out Of Control

“I really didn’t know. When we were together, that is. I wanted you that night because I’d been enamored by you. I wanted you that night because I couldn’t spend another second not having you. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth.”

Heat pools in my belly, and for a moment I’m transported back to that bridal suite. I taste the scotch on his lips. I feel his tongue lapping at me, his fingers bruising my thighs as I ground myself on his face. I smell the fresh scent of soap on his skin as I took him to the back of my throat.

But I don’t want to remember those things anymore.

“Fuck you, Warren,” I spit, and he crosses his arms on his chest.

“Ren,” he corrects me. “You call me Ren, not Warren.”

I feel my eye twitch, and I hope he doesn’t see the slip in my armor. I don’t want to call him Ren. Ren is the man who held me gingerly while we danced. Ren is the man who caressed my skin while coaxing orgasms out of me with his tongue. Ren is the manwho pocketed my favorite pair of panties and kissed me gently before we parted ways. Ren is not the man who helped Jonathan stab me in the back for a second time.

“Like I said. Fuck you, Warren.”

He closes his eyes, wincing like I just punched him straight in the gut.

Good. That’s how I’ve felt all day.

“You can be angry with me all you want, love. If it makes you feel better, go ahead. Kick, scream, punch. Do your worst. I’m not afraid of you.”

“Oh yeah?” I say with a humorless chuckle in my throat. “Well, maybe you should be.”

I turn on my heels and walk away from him once again.

This time, he lets me go.

I tuck my chin to my chest and look at the ground as I walk away, not wanting anyone on the street to see the tears I’m struggling to hold back. Once I’m a few blocks away and am sure that Warren is no longer following me, I find a bench and sit. Crossing my legs underneath me, I lean my chin into one hand and hold my phone in the other. It rings twice before lighting up, my dads’ faces popping up on the screen.

“Hey, baby girl. You’re just in time for happy hour!” Pops says, holding up a bright pink Cosmopolitan to the camera. Next to him, IronDad already has an identical cocktail tipped up to his lips. It’s only three-thirty back home in Tennessee, but I’m not going to fault themfor getting their drink on a little early. They’re both semi-retired, after all.

Pops still teaches the occasional yoga class for the people of Fox Hole, and IronDad will poke his head out to commentate on games a few times every football season. Their charities run themselves at this point, so mostly, Pops and IronDad are living the good life.

“Tía Camila is on her way over. Where are you at, honey? Get home, make yourself a cocktail and join us,” IronDad says, topping his martini glass off with pink liquid from a nearby shaker.

Normally, I’d be all about that. My dads and Camila call it ‘Cocktails and Conversation’, and it’s exactly what it sounds like. They sip cosmopolitans and spill the tea all night long. Dean and I join over FaceTime when we can.

“I’m in the park. Today was the most supremely awful day, and I couldn’t make it all the way home without whining to you guys about it first.”

“Oh Kira, tell Pops and I all about it. Who do we have to kill?”

I give my dads the rundown of the day, minus the part where I’ve sort of already slept with my new boss. They already know all about the Jonathan drama and my aspirations to buy Spin Sync from him, but I didn’t tell anyone that I’d thought I’d be getting my opportunity today.

I’m glad I didn’t. I can barely take the pitying eyes my dads are giving me through the phone as it is. Ididn’t need the added embarrassment of having other people get excited for me and then being shot down.

“Honey, I know you’re upset, but maybe if you’d told this Warren man the complete story…he might have understood. You two might work something out,” Pops says when I finish catching them up.

I snort. Not likely. I don’t believe for a second that Warren didn’t know the score when we hooked up at the wedding. Men like that don’t understand. They don’t work things out. They take what they want and they don’t give a shit who they hurt. But I don’t want my dads to know that Warren and I know each other biblically, so I focus on the money.

“There is no way we’ll be working anything out. Jonathan squeezed way more money out of this guy for the sale than I could ever pay. Maybe I was stupid to think he’d ever accept my measly offer when he was already fighting off billionaires for years.”

“Fucking Jonathan,” IronDad sneers. “I hate that sniveling fuck.”

“We know you do, baby.” Pops gives IronDad a peck on the cheek, and my chest aches. I miss my dads. I miss the way they love Dean and me and each other so fiercely. Part of me wonders if I should just cut my losses and move back home with them. But I’d miss my friends too much.

And I’d certainly miss my opportunity to make Warren’s life hell.

“Kira, you know we’d give you the money. Or loanit, if that would make you feel better. If you think this Warren would be willing to–”

“IronDad, I love you, but no. I’m not taking your money. And even if I did…no. Just no. Warren doesn’t get to take your money, either. It’s bad enough that Jonathan took Spin Sync from me before I had a chance to grow up. I’m not going to continue to reward bad behavior.”

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