The Leftover Club Page 16

  “Do I? Look at yourself, Roni. You’re fat. You’re frumpy. You’re awkward. You’re every bit that same sophomore from college that stumbled around my office all those years ago. You haven’t grown up at all.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nice language,” he said as he stalked to the kitchen. “Learn that from your faggot friends, did you?”

  I jumped from the table and chased after him. “If I’m so awful, why do you keep me around? Why not divorce me and marry Julia Disalvo, or Charlotte Ferndale, or any number of women you like to point out are better than me?”

  He glared at me from the refrigerator, where he withdrew a bottle of sparkling mineral water. “Because Meghan needs her family, and like it or not you are her mother. There’s no sense in punishing her or ruining her life simply because you’ve temporarily gone off the rails.”

  “I just want to hang out with my friends,” I insisted. “I’m not running off to join a cult.”

  “You might as well be,” he muttered. “These people are not your friends, Roni. If they were, they would push you to be better.”

  “They love me just as I am.”

  “Then their standards are as low as yours,” he declared before he walked from the kitchen. I chased him back out to our formal living room, filled with all the finest furniture money could buy, and only used for social occasions. He retrieved his coat from the hook by the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “You need time to think,” he said as he shrugged into his jacket. “About life and what you really want to get from it.”

  “You can’t just leave! Why should I be the only one to stay and to fight?”

  His eyes were cold as they met mine. “Because you’re the only one who is fucking it up.”

  He slammed out of the house and hadn’t returned since.

  We’d had plenty of fights before, but none where he had simply left. And who knew where he was going, especially now that there was another interested woman in the mix.

  It took a day or so for me to realize that his leaving served two purposes. Not only was he punishing me, but it forced me to stay home away from the friends he resented.

  That was why I decided to employ Grandma’s sitting services and go out anyway, just to prove he couldn’t manipulate or control me. But no matter how much makeup I applied or how much I fussed with my clothes or my hair, I still saw a loser staring back at me from the mirror.

  Had I been wrong to want these things? To maintain friendships from my youth? To hold onto that little sliver of me still left from the perfected image that Wade had worked so hard to develop?

  I sighed as I threw my makeup brush on the table. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe I was a fool to want anything more than I already had, which was so much more than I ever expected.

  I gave up on my appearance and headed downstairs toward the family room, where Meghan packed her backpack happily. Seeing her grandma, my mom, was one of her favorite things in the world. There she got cookies and was able to wear mismatched clothes like a tutu over her pajama bottoms. She was never judged. There was always a hug and a smile from Grandma that said, “You are perfect just the way you are.”

  It was a lesson I somehow missed along the way.

  “Hi, Mommy,” Meghan smiled that wonderful gap-toothed smile of hers. She had started to lose her baby teeth, and she wore those little gaps with pride. It meant she was going to be a big girl, and no longer a baby. “You look pretty.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I sat on the sofa. “So do you. Ready to go to Grandma’s?”

  She nodded, her full hair of dark curls dancing around her face. I spontaneously pulled her into a strong hug. I loved her so much that I knew I was willing to do anything to keep her happy, even if it meant staying with Wade.

  Before we left the house, I called Bryan and told him that I couldn’t go out with him that night. Instead I would use my free night to extend one more olive branch to Wade, to get together, as husband and wife, as man and woman, to see if we could salvage our family.

  There was a strange car in the driveway of my mom’s house when I arrived. It was a vintage Mustang convertible in cherry red. Meghan gasped when she saw it. She had an affinity for boy’s toys from the crib, and much rather played with little toy cars than dolls. Nothing delighted her more than watching a car spin down the track she had created. “Mommy, Mommy, look!” she said, pointing at the car. “It looks just like mine!”

  I laughed. “It sure does,” I agreed.

  We entered the house without knocking and Meghan made a beeline for Grandma’s living room, where she found Grandma, Grandpa Stu and none other than Dylan Fenn, sitting together, visiting.

  Dylan’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Who’s this?”

  “This,” my mom announced, “is my beautiful grandbaby, Meghan. Looks just like her mom, doesn’t she?”

  It dawned on me that I was Meghan’s age when I met Dylan, so he would likely remember exactly how I looked. He just laughed and nodded. “She sure does.”

  Meghan approached shyly, which was uncommon for her. I guessed that Dylan had a way with the ladies, no matter what age. He held out a hand and introduced himself. “Hello, Meghan. I’m Dylan Fenn. An old friend of your mom’s.”

  She glanced back at me to confirm and I nodded. She took his hand and shook it firmly. “Meghan Connor,” she said formally. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Grandma was quick to usher Meghan into the kitchen, where a plate of fresh peanut butter cookies waited. They were her fave. Dylan stood to face me. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he grinned. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I glanced him over. “Ditto on both counts.”

  He laughed. “Thanks. I just came by to drop off Mom’s famous banana bread. She made a thousand loaves, as usual.”

  I chuckled. I remembered well overdosing on Bonnie’s famous recipe over the years.

  “Do you have a minute, or are you on your way back out?” he asked, looking over my attire which was far too fancy for a night at my mom’s.

  “I was leaving, yeah,” I said. “But it was good to see you.”

  Those familiar dark eyes were warm as they stared back at me. “You, too. Let’s get together sometime, okay?”

  “Absolutely,” I promised, though I had no intention of doing so. I couldn’t afford yet another liability if I was going to try and save my marriage. I waved goodbye to my stepfather and hugged my mom and Meghan goodbye before I headed back out to my car.

  I waited until I got back into the driver’s seat before I called Wade. My plan was simple. I was going to ask him to dinner, and we’d have a respectable date where I would promise that I would do whatever he wanted if he would just come home. Meghan needed him. And that was all that mattered.

  But when the phone picked up, it was not Wade on the other end. A woman answered, which was odd, considering it was the direct line to his private hotel suite. “Hello?” she answered.

  I didn’t say anything at first, but then, before I could stop myself, I said, “Julia?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “Who is this?”

  There was a slight muffling sound before Wade’s voice filled the line. “This is Wade Connor.”

  “This is Veronica Connor,” I gritted. “You know. Your wife.”

  He sighed. “It’s not what you think, Roni.”

  “Right,” I scoffed. “You won’t let me go to a public place with my friends but you allow a woman in your hotel room?”

  “There are several people in my room. We’re attending a function this evening and we decided to meet early.”

  “And she just randomly answers the phone?”

  “I asked her to,” he answered coolly. I didn’t reply. “What did you want, Roni?”

  “I wanted to invite my husband to dinner so that we could work on our marriage.”

  “Tonight is out of the question,” he dismissed. “I have prior engagements.”
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br />   The streetlight glanced off my two-carat diamond ring. “Yeah. I thought I was one of them.”

  “Roni…,” he started.

  “Goodbye, Wade.” I disconnected the call, threw the phone onto the passenger side of the car and burst into tears. How did it all go so fucking wrong?

  I heard a tap on my window. I turned to see Dylan hunched beside my car. I wiped my tears away and rolled down my window. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied as I smeared more of my makeup by wiping away the tears.

  He wasn’t convinced. I could feel his eyes as they scanned my face. “Want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head. “I really should go back inside.”

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  I couldn’t even face him. Tears cut a path down both cheeks. He said nothing further as he opened my door and pulled me out by the hand. I grabbed my purse, but left my phone, and allowed Dylan to lead me toward his Mustang.

  It was like old times. He was in the driver’s seat and I was along for the ride. He blasted his music, that familiar heavy rock sound that he had always loved. He merged onto Interstate 5 going north toward Los Angeles. “Where are we going?”

  “I know a place,” he said with that grin that still made my knees tingle.

  He took me into Hollywood, to a homey diner known for both its pies and its famous clientele. He told me the stories as we waited for our food, explaining how some of Hollywood’s hippest voices penned their masterpieces right there in that very restaurant.

  “Maybe you should write something,” I teased.

  He laughed. “I’ve thought about it. Write an amazing screenplay but refuse to sell it unless they let me star. That’s how Stallone did it, you know.” I chuckled. “Nah, man, that’s not me. I learned my lesson in New York. I act to get out of myself. Writing would put me right back in.”

  “I thought you were doing well in New York,” I said. “What made you come back to L.A.?”

  “New York was great. I learned a lot. There’s nothing quite like live theater to learn your chops as an actor. But Dad told me it was time to stop playing and get a real job, so. I decided to come back home.”

  “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll go back someday. Next time, it’ll be on my terms.” I nodded before diving into a bowl of soup. It was all I had the stomach to eat. “Are you okay? Really.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me,” he said softly.

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t to my husband,” I admitted. “He moved out a week ago.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t realize things were so serious.”

  “Neither did I.”

  He reached across the table to cover my hand with his. That one gentle gesture was enough to put another crack in the dam. I pulled away to discreetly wipe the tear from the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  Dylan signaled for the waitress, who boxed up our meal and gave us a piece of pie for the road. I followed Dylan out to his car, and he drove me a few blocks to his walkup apartment in Los Feliz. “For privacy,” he said when I sent him a quizzical glance.

  I nodded and followed him upstairs to the modest apartment. It was tidy, but it was definitely a man’s domain. All that were missing from his childhood bedroom were posters of scantily clad females all over the walls. His rock posters had all been framed, and some had even been signed. There were also signed playbills and photos taken from his time on New York theater stages.

  The studio apartment had a bed in one corner, behind a bamboo room divider. He flipped on the light and I sat on the worn but comfortable sofa while he served our food.

  We ate in comfortable silence, much like we did when we were kids. When he turned on the TV, we caught St. Elmo’s Fire, a movie we had enjoyed as teens, before we understood how painful a process growing up could be.

  Now it just felt nostalgic. Like we had stepped through an alternate universe and crossed back to that innocent time in the 80s. It felt warm. Cozy. Familiar. I giggled when he withdrew a joint. I hadn’t smoked pot since college, since before Wade. It felt naughty to indulge, but I didn’t refuse.

  I wanted to feel good again. And I was tired of apologizing for it. I coughed and sputtered at the strong, clean taste. “Where’d you get this?”

  He smiled. “This boy’s legit,” he said. “God bless California.”

  I didn’t refuse when he poured us some wine. We sat together on the sofa, watching the movie, nursing our glasses, and letting quiet companionship (and various intoxicants) heal our many wounds. When Wendy and Billy finally made love on screen, it felt painfully familiar. The only difference was she got her idol.

  I was still waiting for mine.

  It was like he could read my mind. “I guess nobody gets it right,” he said softly. “We were all given these super suits without any instructions.” I chuckled but he was serious. “Do you ever wish it could have been different? Like you could go back and change something, anything?”

  Our eyes met. “Every damned day,” I said softly.

  He brushed a strand of my hair from my face. “It’s never too late, you know.”

  “It isn’t?” I repeated as I stared at that full, sensual mouth.

  He shook his head as he pulled me closer. I snuggled into the crook of his arm. Oddly I felt safe there, safer than I’d been in a long, long time. I could feel his gaze on my face, so I lifted my head to look at him. Our eyes met and held. Questions were asked without a word being said. His arm tightened. I softened. And when his lips found mine, I didn’t resist.

  I didn’t think about Wade in that moment, or the wedding ring on my finger. For the first time in a long time I felt wanted. And not by just anyone… but by Dylan Fenn. He had always been my holy grail. I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss, which made him groan in his throat as he reached toward me.

  “Roni,” he breathed against my lips.

  The last time we had been together I had been a girl. I was shy and awkward and felt entirely outclassed. Ten years later I was a woman. I knew what to do, where to touch, how to kiss. I slid off of the low couch onto the hardwood floor and positioned myself between his knees. His stare darkened as I ran my palms up his denim-clad thighs. I pressed my full breasts into him as I let my fingers dance over the hardening bulge. Boldly I grasped the zipper and eased it down until my hot breath rushed over his hard cock, which was still covered with the thin, soft cotton of his underwear. His head fell back on the edge of the sofa while I pleasured him only with my mouth and my fingers. He grabbed a handful of my hair as I teased the angry purple head of his cock, which felt like silk against my tongue. I bathed it liberally and he gasped out loud. “God, yes,” he murmured. I held the shaft in my hand as I eased my mouth over him. His breath hitched as he watched himself disappear inside my mouth. My eyes were locked with his as I slathered his dick with my tongue. I tormented him until I took him to the brink, and he stopped me before he came.

  “Not yet,” he said in a gruff, low voice. “I want to be inside you. At last,” he added, and I was a goner.

  He stood and pulled me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace as he kissed me so deep and so hard it felt like there were fireworks going off in my brain. We stumbled together those five feet to the bed, where we fell onto the mattress, fumbling with our clothes as our mouths devoured each other.

  He tore off my top, revealing my sexy underwire bra that lifted the girls up for him like care packages gift-wrapped in black lace. He sucked me hard through the fabric until I was arching toward him, a cry on my lips I didn’t even bother to withhold.

  I ripped his shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions. His chest was firm and strong against my fingers.

  Likewise he released my bra and soon we were bare chest to bare chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off of me. “You’re so beaut
iful,” he whispered. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  I kissed him to shut him up. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I didn’t need all the declarations of love or the sweet talk. I didn’t need a fairy tale. I needed a man. This man. I just wanted him to touch my body, to kiss me, to possess me fully.

  I needed him to fill the ache in my soul. Nothing had ever fixed it. Not getting married, not losing weight, not ‘having it all.’ There was still something missing. “I just need you inside me, Dylan,” I begged in a whisper.

  He shuddered against me. He kicked his jeans free and I wiggled from my remaining clothes as quickly as possible. Then he was between my legs, his arms around me, and his tongue inside of my mouth. His hard shaft rubbed against me, so slick and wet, until I was whimpering for him. He paused only briefly to snag a condom from the bedside table. He tore the wrapper with his teeth before he gave me the package. “Put it on me,” he instructed in a low, firm voice.

  My hands trembled as I did as instructed. He gasped the minute my fingers closed around him, sliding the prophylactic down his raging hard-on until it fit snugly at the base.

  He rubbed himself against me, toying with my clit to lubricate himself with my juices. My eyes closed, but he wasn’t having it.

  “Open your eyes, Roni,” he commanded softly. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

  I shivered as I obeyed his command. My eyes widened as his body penetrated mine strong and sure with one swift stroke. I cried out as my fists gathered the sheets in a white knuckled grip. A self-satisfied smirk crossed his face before he bent for another passionate kiss. “That’s my girl,” he whispered against my lips. “You know what you want, don’t you? You know what you need.”

  I nodded. “You,” I finally admitted.

  “Oh, Roni,” he muttered as he buried his face in my neck. Each thrust was deep and sure. There was nothing gentle about our union. Pure need drove us with every nip of the skin, every clutch of hair and every wild thrust. He practically bent me in half until I was incoherent with the pleasure of how he felt deep inside me. He was solid and strong and filled me with each thrust. I clutched him tighter and he cried out himself.