Chapter Sixteen
“That was not okay, Mom.”
Whitney stood opposite her parent in her bedroom, where her mother had been searching through her shoes for a lower pair of heels. Apparently, the Louboutins hurt her arches.
“You have about forty pairs of shoes in here, and all of them look exactly the same. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“I’m not talking about you pilfering my shoes.”
Her dad poked his head in the room, most likely beckoned by the sound of Whitney’s teeth grinding together, and took in the situation at a glance. “I told her it was a bad idea, but you know how your mother gets. Tunnel vision. I hope you gave Jared our love.”
“I’m sorry—what with the being blindsided by my parents and best friends and all, being polite must have slipped my mind.” Not since her teenage days had Whitney leveled such a perfect tone of sarcasm at her parents. Wisely, her father ducked his head back out.
“Oh.” Her mom slipped on a pair of silver-spangled sling-back kitten heels and nodded her approval. “I thought he wasn’t coming by until next week. He looks well, doesn’t he? That hard, on-the-go lifestyle suits him.”
Whitney fell to her bed in an exhausted heap. She didn’t have the strength for this. She’d be turning thirty-four in just a few short days, stood within arm’s reach of her professional goals, and her parents still possessed the power to reduce her to a wreckage of overwrought emotions.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled by her pillow. “He looked really good.”
The end of the bed sank with her mother’s weight. “Don’t you think it’s time you forgave him and moved on with your life?”
Whitney turned over, still clutching her pillow to her chest, gazing on her mother with wary eyes. “That’s the exact same thing he said to me today—about me not moving on. Frankly, I don’t get it. In what respect does my life look like I’ve been at a standstill? Why can’t anyone see how far I’ve come?”
Pearl paused thoughtfully, taking the question at face value. That had always been one of her most irritating attributes. No matter how cruelly or peevishly a question was hurled at her, she took her time answering, as if they were having a rational conversation instead of a one-sided sullen fit.
“If you’d have asked me that question one week ago, I would have had an easy answer.” She pulled Whitney into a hug, the pillow wedged between them. “I know you’re a beautiful, single, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to feel complete, and your father and I are proud of you for it.”
“But?” Whitney braced herself. No matter how many degrees lined her walls or how much money she earned, it always came down to this.
Her mother squeezed. “We just want you to be happy. And all those men, those short relationships that meant nothing...I don’t know, Whitney. They never seemed to make you happy. We always thought that maybe you hadn’t yet faced the lingering Jared feelings. Closure is a good thing.”
“So you don’t want me to get back together with him? This isn’t some archaic matchmaking move?”
Her mother’s laughter rang out over Whitney’s head, and she dropped a kiss on her hairline. She could almost feel the lipstick imprint being left behind. It was comforting, that relic of her childhood. “It might have started out that way. But now that I’ve met Matt, well, I can see that I was wrong. He’s fantastic, and I can tell by the way he looks at you that he’s a man deeply in love. What does Jared matter, now that you have him?”
Whitney smiled blandly and proclaimed to have a headache—not her most creative excuse in the world, but the lack of blood in her face probably helped add a hint of authenticity. She needed to be alone with her pillow right now, wallowing and acknowledging that her mother was, as always, right.
Because Jared didn’t matter, as long as she had Matt.
Too bad she didn’t have Matt—not really. He was over at his ex-wife’s house, a place she’d driven him by her continually pushy behavior. A place a small part of him would always reside, that sweet and unyielding part that made her long to rage at the world.
Yes, some might call his forgiveness an admirable trait. And yes, a large portion of the blame for their troubles could be laid at her feet. She’d been the one to set the rules, to constantly hold him at arm’s length, to ensure he didn’t get attached.
Are you sure those rules were laid out so he didn’t get attached?
She punched the pillow a few times before tossing it across the room, watching it smash satisfactorily against a pile of books that cascaded to the floor.
She hated drudging up the past. She hated when her friends were right. She hated this town.
But most of all, right now, alone and with no one else to blame, she hated herself.
* * *
“What are you wearing right now?”
Matt looked down at his lap, the phone nestled in the nook of his neck. “Um...khakis? And that blue button-up shirt you like. Though you will be happy to know I left the elbow patches at home today.”
Whitney made the sound of a buzzer. “That answer is so wrong it doesn’t even land you in the qualifying round. Haven’t you ever done this before? You should either be bare-assed naked and at half-mast or in an erotic state of undress. Do you want to hear what I’m wearing?”
Matt turned abruptly around. Even though he knew the two women in the living room couldn’t hear his phone conversation, he was pretty sure they’d notice the sudden flush of color in his face. “Under normal circumstances I’d give you an enthusiastic yes, but...”
“I’m wearing white lace panties and a tank top. Nothing too fancy, but this top is so tiny my breasts are straining at the fabric. You can totally see the outline of my nipples, all dark and firm, just like you said. Now I’m touching one of those nipples. Gently, around and around in a tight, twisty knot. Oh, it’s too much. I’m slipping my hand inside my shirt...”
“Jesus, Whitney!” Matt shot out of his seat. Both Laura and Natalie looked up from their places on the couch, both of them frowning at the sound of Whitney’s name. Cupping one hand over the mouthpiece, he hissed, “I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Mmm. I’m busy too.” She let out a moan. “My other hand is moving lower, just inside the lip of my panties. Do you like that word, Matt? Panties? Paaaannnties. I do—oh, just like that.”
Matt gave up all pretense of trying to get off the phone unaffected. It didn’t take much in the way of imagination to picture Whitney sprawled out on her bed the exact way she described. She’d be rosy, flushed, her fingers exploring without a care for proprieties.
There was no need to lie about his clothes anymore. He’d skipped half-mast and gone straight into hard-on erection mode.
“I’m, ah, just going to take this outside,” he called into the living room, not waiting for a response. Stumbling out the back door, he didn’t stop until he reached the far side of the yard at Laura’s cottage. There, at least, a large elm tree hid him from the view of most of the neighborhood. He pressed the phone back to his ear. “Whitney, are you still there?”
“Mmm, yes. I’m still here. I wish you were too. Want to know why? Do you want to know what I’d be doing to you at this exact second if you were?”
Matt swallowed. He did. He really, really did. “I don’t think—”
“Oh, you’re so right. Thinking would be strictly forbidden. All you’re aware of is how hard your dick feels right now, how much you want me to take it in my mouth. And I’m about to. Oh, how I want to taste the length of your cock, so big, so full, all for me. In fact, I’m on my knees in front of you, and my lips are parted and wet—just like my p-ssy.”
“Whitney, you have to stop.” Normally a man who prided himself on a little control in this arena, Matt was seconds away from becoming the creepy guy who whips it out and masturbates in public. “I’m begging you. This really isn’t a good time.”
“What?” she said innocently. “Aren’t you stroking yourself right now? Isn’t the weight of your big, glorious cock in your hand, pumping for me?”
“Actually, I’m crouched behind a tree, trying my best to keep my hands as far away from my pants as possible. The neighbor over the fence is pointing her hose at me.”
Whitney laughed, and he could hear the shift in her voice. From sexy to matter-of-fact in five seconds flat. “You’re no fun. Point your hose back.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to help your situation any.”
Whitney groaned. “Not you too. I am so tired of hearing about how my dirty, slutty ways are getting in the way of Pleasant Park’s code of ethics.”
“Under normal circumstances, I fully approve of your dirty, slutty ways,” Matt said gently. She wasn’t going to like this next part. “But I’m at Laura’s right now.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was heavy with recriminations.
“The good news is, I’m not alone,” he offered, striving to be cheerful. It was a little bit easier now that he wasn’t fighting a painfully mounting arousal.
“Oh?” she asked flatly. “How comforting.”
“That’s because you haven’t heard who’s over. It’s a friend of yours.”
Whitney’s sharp intake of breath was so strong he almost felt it. “What can he possibly want with Laura?”
“Him? You mean John?” Matt shook his head, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “No, it’s Natalie Horn. Remember her? The dressing room incident? The PTA? She had quite a bit to say on the subject of your new medical spa.”
“I don’t want to talk about Natalie Horn or her stupid moral high ground. The dressing room incident, however...”
“Don’t you dare start. I’m just now able to stand up again.”
“I miss you.”
He paused. Those three words, uttered softly and without pretense, meant more to him than all the dirty talk in the world. “I miss you too, Whitney.”
She sighed into the phone. “So what’s my favorite banker’s wife doing there with you? Does she make it her personal mission to intrude on the lives of everyone who’s down on their luck?”
Matt glanced at the house to see Natalie staring at him through the kitchen window. He lifted a hand and waved, but it didn’t get her to do anything more than purse her lips. “Actually, she’s coming to stay with Laura for a bit. As much as you might hate her, she’s as outraged at Laura’s obstinate refusal to seek medical attention as I am.”
“My hero.”
“This isn’t forever, Whitney. I promise.” He waited for her to say something more, to ask about Laura’s health or discuss anything other than the current state of her nipples. It never came. “Rain check on the phone sex?’
“You know I’m good for it,” she said. But even though there was a smile in her voice, Matt didn’t share it.
Laura wanted him to feel more than he actually did. Whitney wanted him to feel less. But he wasn’t made for either kind of deception.
With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he made his way back into the house.