One day you're happy, and the next, a freak accident exposes your boyfriend's dirty little secrets in the worst possible way.
I lost the man I loved, my trust in people, and my home in less than one afternoon.
At least I know that I've pushed past...
When I used to picture my fabulous post-graduate life with Elijah, it didn't involve so many colorful euphemisms for male genitalia.
"C'mon, man!" Bart towered over us, yanking at his shirt like he was about to fight the tiny officials on TV. "Pull your head outta your ass so I can punch that shit-eating grin off your ugly mug!"
The rest of the packed bar echoed Bart's belligerent rage. Their sloppy merriment pooled in my ears, working itself into the thundering strength of a riptide.
"Dude!" Elijah's authoritative tone cut through the noise. "Sit down! It's only seven yards. We'll recover it."
I zeroed in on the only eyes at our tiny booth that offered a port in the storm, Elijah's vivid blue peepers.
Downright dreamy, that's how I would describe my boyfriend's captivating eyes and chiseled features.
Even dressed up in an Armani suit to match his latest promotion, he couldn't escape his boyish charm. He snaked a muscled arm around my waist to pull me against the silky blend of his shirt.
His mouth spread into the crooked grin that dimpled his left cheek, the same smile that stole my breath the night we met. I'm not exaggerating when I say that Elijah had the lustrous dark blonde curls and athletic build of a damn Disney prince.
Like I said, downright dreamy.
"And pull down your shirt, you barbarian!" Grady complained, waving a greasy half-eaten chicken wing at him. "Your crazy Hulk muscles are making people uncomfortable!"
Bart grumbled, folding himself onto the wooden bench to pout. I was too busy admiring the wicked glint in Elijah's playful smirk to listen to the rest of the argument.
The expression shining in my boyfriend's eyes bordered on scandalous. As if he was picturing me in the thong I had to wear to pull off my figure-hugging dress (and nothing else). It sent a shiver of excitement all the way down to the sliver of lace floss between my butt cheeks.
"Things look bad, I'm not going to lie," Elijah kept his corporeal gaze on me. "But Isla's here, so maybe we could cool it with that kind of language tonight?"
"What do you want me to do?" Bart argued, downing a gulp of beer and looking every bit the brawny college athlete, he used to be. "It's the season kick-off, Eli! Yelling at the TV is a brotherly tradition."
"He's got you there, Eli," Gray leered from the corner of our tabernacle. "UW football is sacred. God forbid we mess with a pledge ritual."
Ah, the unbreakable bond of a fraternity pledge class. Try as I might, I would never understand it.
"Don't worry, babe," I laughed a little too enthusiastically to cover my discomfort. Tonight, was special to Elijah. To all of them, really. "I can take it. Tonight, I'm just one of the guys. Besides, this referee's calls are crazier than Elon Musk's tenure at Twitter, right?"
"Mmm, nah," Gray pulled his mouth into a disapproving line and shook his head at my awkward effort. "You're trying too hard. It's a little sad."
"Would you get a load of this Tom-fuckery?" Grady mumbled dismally.
"See? Grady's comment suits the situation. Yours? Was a little desperate," the silver ring piercing Gray's brow arched to catch the light. "Aren't you supposed to be a copywriter, Isla?"
I nuzzled the stubble decorating Elijah's chin to ignore his best friend's jabs. Gray was his childhood BFF, in fact.
They met playing in the Peewee Leagues as kids. Elijah was a talented shortstop and Gray was a pitcher with an arm that was making all the local papers. Then they got recruited to play baseball for the University of Washington, which is where they pledged the fraternity Delta Chi along with Bart and Grady.
Gray was possibly the only person who knew Elijah better than I did (something that he rarely let me forget).
Elijah usually did a better job of shielding me from Gray's obnoxious jabs, but he was distracted by the light gyratory strokes of my fingernails on my boyfriend's inner thigh. The rowdy game of college football on every TV in the bar may have also played a factor.
My boyfriend leaned in to snare me into a suggestive kiss. I welcomed his cute embrace with a happy hum as I savored the heady scent of his vanilla and sandalwood cologne.
I bought it for Elijah last Christmas. It reminded me of warm baked gingerbread mulling with fresh pine needles and bubbling champagne as firewood crackled over the sound of our naked bodies. 'Twas a merry holiday, indeed.
Elijah pulled back to fix his deep blue eyes on me with a naughty grin before we were interrupted, yet again.
"Are you listening to the shit coming out of this ref's mouth?" Bart yowled, tossing his beefy arms in the air like an angry fishwife. "I've watched horses take smaller dumps!"
Believe it or not, Bart was a well-respected small business owner in Seattle and a loveable hunk with a heart of gold (when he wasn't watching college sports). He would do just about anything for the people he cared about, which made him A-okay in my book.
"Dude!" Elijah shook his head. "There's a lady present."
"Oh, really?" Gray snorted, his acerbic tone just quiet enough to be lost in the noisy bar. "When did we start calling Isla a lady?"
His disdainful eyes were burning a hole right through me, but I wasn't going to dignify his childish behavior with a response. That would be like dumping water on an active grease fire.
I've been dealing with Gray's cocky attitude and aggravating remarks longer than I've known Elijah.
In fact, I probably wouldn't have even met Elijah had it not been for my college roommate's desperate crush on Gray.
He was one of those brilliant, but tortured, artists who enjoyed his infamous reputation as a cavalier womanizer just a little too much for my liking. We were both Fine Arts majors and I watched as Gray shamelessly slept with most of the women in the classes we shared (not the mention, the department).
I carefully arranged my features into a trite smile for my unintentional nemesis.
Suddenly, the entire room erupted in rowdy howls, obviously aimed at one of the referees on the television screens.
It was too hard to see what had happened, but it didn't matter. The cacophonous din faded as soon as Gray fixed his glacial eyes on me.
His face contorted in what looked like physical pain, or quite possibly revulsion (I never could tell).
I was trapped like a bunny staring down a car's high beams, and about to be roadkill.
The shards of ochre sewn through Gray's jade eyes burned so intensely that they ignited a blush that scorched my cheeks and spread to my neck.
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