Honey, When It Ends: The Fairfields | Book Two Page 2

  “Oh.” I feel weirdly proud of her compliment, even though I didn’t do anything. “Good.”

  She takes a hit and looks around, soaking in the view, before speaking through her exhale: “Levi, right?”

  It’s hard to see her face. She’s still sitting in the shadow of the vent, while I’m staring down the glint of the buildings around us, twice as tall as the Acre. Something about her feels familiar, though. Not so much her voice as just...her. This weird tightness in my limbs and a tongue-tied feeling, just being near her.

  “Have we met?”

  She tilts her head into the light. “Mara Fulbright,” she prompts. “Juliet’s old roommate. We met when she was having the baby.”

  The memory rushes back to me all at once, like the next hit she takes and blows straight into my face. “Right, right. How, uh...how are you?”

  “Can’t complain.” She scoots closer. The shadows slink back like yanking a cloth off a table. It’s been well over a year since we met, but I’m not sure I’d recognize her anyway, the way she’s dressed now. First: the fact she’s wearing any color but black. Second: the distraction of her breasts when she crosses her arm over her ribs, shivering and offering me the bowl.

  “I haven’t....” I’m about to tell her I haven’t gotten high in years. When my business started to gain traction, I curated my life to nothing but essential habits: showering, eating, and sleeping. Everything else felt like a waste of time. I gave up weed, rarely drank after work, and almost never took a real day off in four years.

  I became a robot. My sole directive: work. Forget everything else. And everyone.

  It’s almost a wonder Lindsay didn’t cheat on me sooner.

  “Thanks,” I say instead. The motions come back easily. Like riding a bike—then promptly falling right off. She laughs when my first attempt comes sputtering out in a cough.

  “New?”

  “No,” I wheeze, “just been a while.” I try again. My lungs adjust faster this time. Her eyes trail the smoke I let out, snatched up by the wind as soon as it rises high enough.

  “You can stop sneaking glances.” She raises her eyebrows. “If you want to stare at my tits, just do it.”

  My neck gets hot. I pass the bowl back to her. “I wasn’t staring.”

  “Don’t lie. That’s why I picked this dress—it shows them off.” Her wink knots my stomach. “They look good, right?”

  “Wow.” I cough again and force a laugh. “This feels like a trick question.”

  “No tricks.” Her eyes look a little heavier now. I wonder if mine do, too.

  “They, uh.... Yeah. They look really good. I mean, you do.” I shrug off my jacket and hand it to her when she shivers. “You should cover up, though. It’s cold out here.”

  Mara looks impressed. “Chivalrous of you. Thanks.” I’m suddenly aware of her legs getting closer to mine, and the scent of her perfume on the wind. My jacket will smell like her all night.

  “Got the details on you from Juliet’s sisters,” she adds, suddenly. This is what I found familiar: the way I can’t tell if she’s teasing because she likes me, or because she’s judging me. The night my niece was born, I spent at least an hour of our fragmented conversation in the waiting room trying to figure it out.

  “Details?”

  “They said you got back together with your ex. Maybe I’m imagining it, but you’ve had that ‘fuck weddings’ look on your face ever since the ceremony, so I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that’s been over for a while.” I look out at the lights again. “You, uh...you were right about her.”

  Mara smiles, but it’s wrought with pity. “Wish I hadn’t been.”

  2

  It’s rare when I can say something is a first for me. Not in a bragging way: there’s lots of shit I wish was still on my Never Have I Ever list. I just say it as a fact. I’ve done a lot.

  But this is a first, and a good one: being high on a rooftop with a guy, watching stars through the haze of the city. His suit jacket keeps me warmer than it should. I wrap my fingers around the lapel and press it to my nose, smelling his cologne.

  Between us, my purse chimes. It’s the sound of my phone dying. In this warm-bathwater feeling, Levi’s shoulder touching mine while wind rushes past, I’m actually glad. No interruptions from the real world.

  “Must be hard, watching your little brother get married.”

  “No, I’m happy for him. Juliet’s awesome. And her family, too. They’ve basically accepted me right along with Cohen.”

  This makes me smile. I’ve only met the Brooks family a few times, but I can totally see them welcoming Levi as one of their own. They tried to do it with me, too.

  “The only hard part,” he goes on, drawing a breath, “is that it’s here.”

  I sit up on my elbows. “You guys got married in the same hotel? Why would he do that to you?”

  “It’s not like that. Our uncle insisted, and I told Co it was okay. I mean, what was I going to say: ‘No, don’t have it in this incredible, free venue, because I’ve got bad memories’?”

  He’s got a point. It would feel petty to bar someone from using the same advantage you got, just because yours didn’t work out.

  “Probably wanted to prove something to yourself,” I add, lying back. “Showing yourself you’re moving on, or whatever.”

  He looks at me. I stare back and trace the bow of his mouth with my eyes.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not sure if I have or not, though, after today. It’s been harder than I expected.”

  “Weddings are always harder than you expect.” I look back at the stars. We can’t see many, but a few peek out whenever the smog tumbles out of the way.

  “And besides,” I say, a moment later, “it’s okay to just be ‘moving on’ instead of ‘moved on.’ Progress is better than nothing.”

  “It’s not like I still want her.” He brings his arm up and puts it behind his head. The other stays where it is, hand so close to mine, I keep imagining contact. “After she cheated on me the second time...that was it. I couldn’t even look at her the same. The first time finally felt real, when she did it again.” Levi shakes his head and swallows. “Fool me twice, right?”

  I try not to wince as I smile. He’s not wrong. That was a lesson I learned much, much sooner than most: if someone screws you over once, they’re an asshole. If they do it twice, you’re an idiot.

  “This is a huge downer,” he sighs, and sits up, rubbing his face with both hands. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

  I stay where I am and shut my eyes. “Like?”

  “I don’t know.” His whiskey glass clunks nearby. “Like us somehow getting alcohol without having to go all the way back downstairs.”

  My smile immediately puts him on his guard.

  “What? What’s that look for?”

  I don’t say a word. I simply grab my dress and pull the fabric up past my knee, all the way to my thigh.

  Levi bursts out laughing.

  “A garter flask?” He leans in, inspecting it. “I have no idea why I’m surprised.”

  “Always prepared.” I lift my leg straight up in the air and point my foot. “Care to do the honors?”

  The wind drowns out his laughter as it quiets. But the smile, I notice, doesn’t totally fade, even when he scratches his head and glances out across the skyline.

  “Come on.” I prop my leg on his shoulder. He shrugs me off. “It’ll be good for you to remove a different garter, from a different woman’s leg, in the same building you removed your ex-wife’s.”

  “We’re on top of the building, technically.”

  “The easiest way to forget a bad memory,” I say, ignoring him, “is to make a new one.”

  He looks back at me. I noticed that the minute we met: he rarely looks at you dead-on. Usually with his head tilted, or over his shoulder, or in side glances. Sometimes just beyond your head. Or maybe that’s just how he looks at me. />
  “Fine. But I call first drink.” His fingers hover near my skin, until I nudge my leg closer and press the outside of my thigh into his palm.

  For a second, he holds it there.

  “You don’t pull off garters with your hands.”

  Another look, this one chiding. “I actually did, with my wi—” He catches himself and swallows, then lets out his breath instead of correcting himself.

  I watch him carefully during this, trying to figure out where on the rebound spectrum Levi falls. Ex-girlfriends are worlds apart from ex-wives, and there’s a lot of baggage with divorced guys. You can’t know from a glance where they are, because their recovery isn’t linear. You have to look at the overall trend. And I don’t know him well enough to do that.

  Yet.

  “All the more reason to use your teeth.” I lift my leg higher. He can definitely see my underwear.

  Then again, that’s kind of the whole point. That’s why I came up here in the first place, when I saw him duck out of the reception: Levi Fairfield is sexy, all the way down to his family tree. I want him. And I don’t always get what I want, but damn do I try.

  Levi’s eyes dodge mine. When he finally looks back, I raise my eyebrow. This is a challenge. Not to prove anything to me, because frankly, I don’t care if he’s over his ex-wife.

  But if he can have fun with someone else for a night, he can start to forget her. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. In a way, my little rebound career performs a crucial public service.

  The fact I get some fun out of it too, without any strings? Let’s call it a perk.

  “I get the first two drinks, then,” he says, that soft, sideways smile telling me, loud and clear, Challenge Accepted.

  His heartbeat’s visible in his neck. I notice his Adam’s apple bobbing the closer his mouth gets to my leg.

  Lips first. Pressing, motionless, like a photograph of a kiss.

  They part, and I feel the damp heat of his breath leaching through the lace.

  His teeth graze the skin. He shuts his eyes, bites down into the fabric, and slowly pulls it down to my knee.

  I could embarrass him if I wanted to, making him pull the garter all the way down to my ankle. And I kind of want to.

  It’s cute, though, the way his eyes are shut and his hand clenches on the gritty rooftop. He’s dying to get lost in this, and it’s freaking him out.

  “Nicely done,” I tell him, and pull my leg away so the garter and flask clatter at his feet.

  Levi picks it up and unscrews the top. “I, uh...I get why so many guys prefer to use their mouths for that.”

  I smile and sit up, taking the flask when he passes it over. It’s small, maybe four ounces total, so I take a moderate sip before ordering him to kill the rest. He needs it more than I do.

  “We should get downstairs before the big send-off.” Levi wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes glazed like he can see straight through the buildings in front of us.

  I wait for him to stand so he can offer to help me. It’s a subtle trick, but one that always works. Almost as good as pretending to shiver.

  3

  “We have a problem.”

  Mara sticks a cigarette in her mouth and huddles into me to light it. The flash between our bodies illuminates her face.

  I notice a scar on her cheek. It’s faded, probably hidden well by makeup before liquor and wind came into play, but over three inches long and nearly half an inch wide, wrapping down to her jaw. For some reason, I get the urge to press my thumb against it.

  Thankfully, I don’t.

  “Problem?” she repeats, after she’s taken a drag.

  “The door’s locked.”

  Her eyes narrow, like she thinks I’m joking. Her hand closes over mine on the door handle, pulls, and freezes.

  “Shit.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say quickly. “There’s a fire escape, we can just take that down to the first balcony.”

  Mara stares after me, wide-eyed, as I walk to the ledge and shake the metal ladder mounted there. The fire escape is sturdy, and winds down to the elaborate balcony of the suite below.

  “Whoa!” she shouts, when I swing my leg over. “You aren’t serious, are you?”

  I shrug. “You have a better idea?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s called ‘use a fucking cell phone instead of climbing down some rickety fire escape from a hundred miles in the air.’”

  She stalks closer and leans just far enough over the edge to see what I’m seeing. As soon as she does, her face blanches. She snaps back and shuts her eyes.

  “My cell phone,” I answer, taking the next rung down, “is with my mom. She wanted to take photos and hers had died. Use yours if you want, but I can get inside faster this way, and that’s assuming you get a signal immediately. Which you won’t—the Acre is a definite dead zone.” When I’m greeted with silence, I add, “I’m telling you, it won’t take long. And look: this entire ladder is caged in, then it’s just stairs and landings the rest of the way. We can’t fall.”

  “My cell died, too.” This is directed more to herself, in an “I’m an idiot” way, than to me. She looks over the edge again.

  “Scared?” I tease. It’s fun to have the upper hand in this duo, probably because it’s so hard to get.

  “So I have a thing about heights. Sue me.” She takes another puff off the cigarette and shrugs, like she can play off the obvious grip of terror on her face.

  “I’ll come back up and let you in,” I promise. It’s impossible not to chuckle when I drop from the ladder to the first landing, the metal rattling and making her gasp.

  “Okay, okay, no, fuck no. Come back up. We’ll break down the door or—or go through the vents or something. I’m not letting you do this.”

  “I get it, you’re scared.” I undo my cufflinks and roll up my sleeves. I only pause once, to look up at her with the same expression she gave me a little while ago, daring me to take off that garter. “But I’m not.”

  Mara draws her lips between her teeth and stares. If I didn’t know better—which, technically, I guess I don’t—I’d swear she knows I’m using reverse psychology on her.

  “I’m not scared.” Her arms disappear into the sleeves of my jacket, one at a time. She slips it off and tosses it behind her. I hear two thuds; she’s kicked off her heels.

  The ladder’s the worst of the descent. You’re fully aware you’re clinging to the side of a building, with no choice but to commit and trust the structure to hold, so I decide to encourage her. “You’re doing great. Just open your eyes. You need to watch what you’re doing.”

  “I thought the rule is to not look down.”

  “It is. You don’t look at the ground. Look at the very next step, then the next. One thing at a time.”

  “Okay,” she says, but her voice is wispy and shaken. Now I feel bad for goading her into this.

  “One more. That’s it.” My hands grab her waist as soon as she’s within reach. I hold my breath until her feet touch the landing in front of mine.

  She turns, agonizingly slow, and stifles a scream when she looks down.

  “Hey.” I lift her face until she’s looking at me. “We’re okay. This thing is sturdy, I promise.”

  I think I see tears in her eyes. They make me feel even worse, and I deserve every bit of it. “How do you know?”

  “I’m good at climbing.” It’s weird: I didn’t even think to use past tense. As long as it’s been since I smoked cigarettes or weed, it’s been even longer since I’ve found my way up—or down—a building.

  “I can tell when something’s not attached well enough to hold weight,” I go on, making sure my tone stays in exactly the soothing range she needs. “This is strong. It’s bolted right into the brick.”

  In the distance, sirens howl. She shuts her eyes again.

  The upper hand isn’t nearly as fun as I expected.

  “Go back up.” I realize one of my hands is still on her waist. The dress is thin,
hugging her figure like paint. My heart doesn’t settle down until I let go.

  “No.” She wets her lips. They’re chapping in the breeze. “I’ve already gone this far.”

  We stand there a little longer. Mara’s most likely paralyzed with fear. I’m enjoying that forgotten rush of being so high off the ground.

  “Two sets of stairs,” I tell her calmly. “Then it’s one more ladder, right over a balcony. You can come with me or you can go back up—I won’t judge you, I promise—but it’s really not as bad as you think.”

  Her chest moves like she’s having an anxiety attack, but she nods. Her hand slips into mine, the other white-knuckling the railing as we take the steps to the next landing.

  “Good, good. See, another landing.” I look back at her, expecting her eyes to be closed again, but she’s staring right at me.

  “More stairs,” I warn. Her bare feet whisper behind my dress shoes. “Okay, last landing. See? You did great.”

  The tears I noticed before have fallen, but I don’t see any new ones. In fact, she looks kind of numb. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

  “Okay.” Her voice is stronger. “What now?”

  “The ladder. It’s going to be loud when I let it down, so...I don’t know, brace yourself.”

  Mara scrunches up her face like I’m about to set off dynamite. Which isn’t too far off, considering the unholy thunder that unleashes when I slide the ladder down and let it extend. The vibration rattles the entire fire escape around us.

  “I’ll go down first.” As I turn and brace my feet on the rungs, she starts to reach for me, like she’ll stop me and pull me back up. Like she’s not just scared of this whole situation, but worried for me.

  Then she hesitates, pulls her hand back, and breathes. We’ve gone this far.

  I could actually slide down this thing in two seconds flat. This isn’t my first time getting stuck on this roof, or a few others.

  It’ll terrify her, though, so I take my time. When I drop to the stone balcony and look up, she’s already starting down the ladder.

  “There you go,” I call. “It’s not bad, right?”