Scared of Forever (Scared #2) Read online

  “I know, I have the day off,” I say flinging my bag behind the counter and sitting down in a pedicure chair.

  “Then why, pray tell, are you here?” Janie asks. “And don’t think you’re getting paid.” She continues with a scowl, pointing a red manicured finger at me.

  I throw my head back, laughing. “I just wanted some normal company.”

  “And you came here? Lunch went that well?” she asks, expertly filing the nail of the customer in front of her, without even looking down.

  “Better,” I say, rolling my eyes, just wanting to forget that our meeting ever happened.

  “That’s because your future monster-in-law really and truly hates you,” says Mac, walking back in from the storage room.

  Mac is my very best friend in this crazy town. I met him about four months ago, when I served him and his then-boyfriend at the overpriced restaurant where I used to work. That same night, the boyfriend, who we now refer to as the Play Gay Love Rat, was busted kissing Mac by his female fiancée. Apparently, she had missed the memo that he was also dating men. I found him moping on the back step by the restaurant’s cellar entrance. We drowned our sorrows in cheap tequila that night, and have been inseparable ever since.

  Blake takes issue with my and Mac’s friendship, though he has no valid reason to. By mutual dislike, Mac is not a member of the Blake fan club, either.

  “I’m starting to get that feeling myself,” I say, running my hand across the soft leather of the chair.

  “Starting? Oh baby girl, I’ve always thought you were so bright, but now—” he teases.

  I fling a towel across the room, pegging him in the leg.

  “Play nice girls. We have customers,” Janie reprimands. Correction, we have one customer, a regular, who always just smiles slightly at our comical behavior.

  “Anyhow,” Mac continues, “I thought we could go out later.”

  “Can’t,” I reply. “Blake’s gonna be home early today.”

  “Pffft, please,” Mac says, waving his hand dismissively as he restocks the equipment trays. “Blake will call you at five thirty as he always does to tell you that he’s working late, or doing a double shift, or covering for someone. Tonight is no different.”

  “He doesn’t work late every night,” I defend.

  “Yeah, so sorry, every second night,” Mac scoffs sarcastically, discarding a wad of plastic packaging in the trashcan.

  “Fine,” I retort. “If Blake calls and says he’ll be late tonight, I will do all of your Brazilians for a month!”

  “You are so on,” Mac squeals. Then shudders, likely thinking of how torturous his job is, being exposed to all of those vaginas on a daily basis.

  My heart sinks, suddenly remembering Eliza’s words. The truth is, Blake is almost certain to call and tell me he’ll be late. He usually does. I think of losing Blake, and this time, I’m the one who shudders.

  Chapter 3:

  Blake

  I walk out of the supply closet, arms overloaded with gauze, tourniquets, and syringes. It’s been a very busy day. Trying to keep abreast of everything today has been difficult. But all the tension I feel will ease tonight, when I see Aria. Just being close to her makes me feel so alive.

  “Where have you been?” a shrill voice yells from behind me.

  “Restocking,” I say, gesturing with my eyes to my loaded hands. Thank fuck she didn’t walk up a few minutes ago.

  “What for, are you a nurse or a doctor?”

  My chief resident is a brutal bitch. She watches our every move. Reprimands our every mistake. Demeans us for every bad judgment call. Her perfectly straightened blonde bob, plus her impossibly sharp cheekbones, give her an artificial human sort of vibe. She’s so overconfident it makes me sick. I can’t stand women who behave like that.

  “I was trying to be useful, Jules.” I say smoothly, unaffected.

  “Useful would be helping with rounds, or cannulation, or assisting in the OR, not spending hours in the supply closet,” Jules says scornfully, shooting me an equally knowing and disapproving look.

  “On it,” I say before turning on my heel. At Rhode Island Hospital, I was treated like a God, owing to the fact that my father was the Chief of Surgery there. Here, I’m just another resident. The feeling is refreshing, but at the same time, pisses me the fuck off. Especially that Jules bitch. As soon as I can get my hands on her fucking job…

  As I round the corner, I see Chayse. He’s leaning leisurely against a corridor wall, completely entranced by a nursing student. That guy really will fuck anything that moves. The girl’s face is ordinary, and I’m betting, so is her pussy.

  “Dr. Carson,” the student nurse grins with a small nod of her head.

  I nod back with a smile. “Get your lazy ass back to work,” I say as I turn to Chayse.

  “I am working,” Chayse grins. “The safety of all our employees is very important to me. And I will be available to walk you to your car tonight, as promised.” Chayse turns back to the girl, grinning even wider.

  She nods at Chayse’s offer, but her eyes remain transfixed in my direction. I offer her a small smile. I wholly and without apology acknowledge the fact that I’m a flirt. It’s my vice. She, however, is not on my level. Only one woman truly has my heart. I yank my cell from my pocket and send a quick text as I walk towards the Emergency doors.

  Will be a little late, but will be there as promised. Can’t wait to see you.

  I hit send, and then finger the keyboard again, typing out a second message. A second apology. I sigh as I hit send. If only my life were different. But it isn’t. That said, I have a beautiful fiancée, more money than I could ever need, and then there’s my wit and charm. All those things do just fine at keeping me warm at night.

  The rest of the day meanders along at a snail’s pace. I deal with countless minor ailments, and draw blood from what feels like a thousand arms. This is not the fun part of my job. I run into Chayse once or twice more over the course of the day. Every time I see him, he’s sliding a number into his pocket. Fucking lucky bastard for the freedom he has.

  The clock hits five pm, and I fling off my scrubs, don my suit minus the jacket and tie, and practically bolt towards the parking lot. Seeing her after such a busy day is like seeing water in a fucking desert. I’m addicted, quite simply, to her touch. To her just don’t give a fuck attitude. To the thrill of knowing that I now have my very own little dirty secret.

  I navigate towards where she is waiting, the pull completely magnetic. This woman is my soul mate, and none that have come before or after her have ever mattered as much. Not to me. On countless occasions, I’ve wondered what keeps me coming back here, and have come to the conclusion that I’m simply addicted to the sexual dominance she exudes. When I’m with Emily, my satisfaction is always the first priority. But with Aria, I’m forced to commit myself one hundred and ten percent to fulfilling her desires. It’s not optional. That, and I can close my mind off from all the constraints of my actual life. Just exist. Dick deep, judgment-free, in her painfully demanding pussy. She may be my mistress, but this is no game. That, and I can actually honestly speak to the woman, and she doesn’t hold things against me. Or expect anything from me.

  I pull up outside the familiar storefront, lock the BMW, and walk around to the side door. The key is where it always is, under the Chinese frog statue at the door. I walk into the hallway, and the familiar smell of ink and surgical alcohol greets me.

  It’s always quiet in here. She never greets me at the door. I walk down the thin hallway, and gently push open the bedroom door. Surprisingly, she’s not there. I frown slightly and walk over to the door that leads to the tattoo parlor. Light filters through the crack of a slightly ajar door. Pushing it open, I find her seated in the saddleback chair, tattoo gun in hand, wearing nothing but a black leather G-string and a black lace bra.

  I walk over and run my hand down her arm. She wears her tattoos like clothing, covering almost every inch of her back and arms,
snaking in intricate designs down her left leg. Looking up at me, she grabs my hand and pulls me gently onto the chair in front of her.

  “No,” I say in a low voice.

  “Just a small one,” she replies, handing me a tequila shot, which I knock back quickly.

  I strip off my shirt, exposing my bare chest, and turn slowly away from her. We’ve been playing this game for almost two years now, and it never gets old. I wince as the gun begins its work, shivering as her warm hand caresses my back. Minutes roll by and I just lean forward, dwelling in the moment. Her free hand moves round my waist, expertly undoing my belt buckle and unzipping my pants. Holding my rock solid cock in her hands, I hear the whirring of the tattoo gun slow and then stop.

  Spinning in the chair, I pull her onto my lap, up to my waiting hard on. She cups my face gently and kisses me slowly, grinding her hips into me. Purposefully. Knowing exactly what I like. And suddenly I’m home. Here I’m not Blake Carson, doctor, polite socialite. Here I’m emancipated. Her breathing is ragged in my ear, her thighs squeezing against mine. I grab her by the ass with such a force that I think the chair may break. As the thrusts grow faster, harder, she unceremoniously pulls herself off of me, shooting me a warning glance that says, not yet. She slides back on gently, eyes fixed on mine. Minutes later, she throws her head back with a loud, satisfied moan. Then she lets me come.

  We don’t move. She straddles me, still inside of her, and looks straight into me. No one else in the world understands me like this.

  “Evening,” she says politely.

  “Hi,” I say in reply, still catching my breath.

  “It’s been too long,” she says, lowering her head to my shoulder.

  “Two days,” I laugh. “I saw you two days ago.”

  “And that was too long,” she says, running a finger across my new ink. The skin is raw and tender, but her touch is soothing.

  “You know I can’t be here as much as I want to,” I say, feeling a slight pang of guilt as I think of Emily eating dinner alone.

  “I know, the fiancée,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “You know I wish nothing more than for that person to be you,” I say sincerely. “But we both know the pressure I’m under. I have to get married. So here we are.”

  “Why do you have to get married?” she asks.

  I sigh, stroking her cheek. “Because it’s what my family expects. Emily is a good girl. She doesn’t ask questions. That’s why she is the perfect option for me. I can keep them happy, and be in love with you. And you have the best part of me,” I say reassuringly. I kiss her softly. It’s not a lie. I tell a lot of lies, but never to her. “I’m so lucky to have you. You get me. No one else does. Say the word, and I’ll marry you instead.”

  “Do you love her?”

  She’s never asked me this before. “In a way,” I reply honestly. “I’m committed to her. If this hurts you, I need you to tell me.”

  “Of course it fucking hurts,” she says softly, climbing off of me and standing against the wall. “But it is what it is,” she replies before grabbing her robe and walking to the bedroom. I follow her, and we talk a little and fuck some more before I reluctantly say goodbye and leave. Since Emily came into my life, staying the night has been difficult.

  I drive home in the dark, cold night, wondering how I let this all get so fucked up. When I met Emily, I had planned on being with her and her alone. Little did I know that I would never be satisfied in her arms exclusively. Emily would never accept that there was another woman in my life. My ex-girlfriend, Charlotte, had though. Then again, Charlotte had been bred into a long line of snobbish undercover adulterers. It was almost expected in her family. So very fucked up. More and more each day, I find myself falling in love with Emily. She’s so sweet and innocent, and she loves me so much. I can see it in her eyes. I raise the Polaroid photo of my latest tattoo up to the light. A small snake, woven carefully into the existing tattoos on my shoulder blade. Clever girl, she branded me. The thought makes me smile.

  But after what happened two years ago, where I nearly lost it all, I have to see things through with Emily. She has to love me, and I have to love her. But above all else, my mother, Eliza Carson, has to love her. I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. What a fucking ridiculous mess this is.

  Chapter 4:

  Emily

  I hate that Mac was right. I hate that I got a text from Blake saying that he would be home late. Again. I had accepted the fact that doctors worked long hours, and as a doctor’s wife, I would have to live with that. But I wasn’t prepared to feel this way. I wile away the time, chatting at the beauty salon for a few more hours. The sun has started to set over the concrete jungle that is this city as I walk home. I open my phone and peruse the text message from Blake for the fiftieth time.

  Sorry baby, working late again, but will try to be home as soon as I can.

  It’s one that I’ve seen a hundred times before. This time, though, this time it unnerves me. Stop letting Eliza Carson and her evilness get to you! I scold myself silently. All of this supposition and suspicion would not exist were it not for her. I’m playing right into her hands. Still, I can’t help but be curious about what she said. What if Blake did screw around? It’s not uncommon, especially not around here. But as much as I try to imagine the scenario in my head, I can’t grasp Blake, my Blake, doing that. He’s too good to me. Either that, or he’s a damn good liar.

  I walk past the doorman, still lost in my own crazy musings, and step into the waiting elevator. Just as the door is closing, a pizza delivery guy dashes into it, very nearly barreling me over in the process.

  “Sorry,” he apologizes, smiling at me timidly with a mouth full of braces. He hits the button for the same floor as I do, and we stand silently at opposite ends of the elevator. It’s one of those awkward moments where all you really want to do is avoid eye contact. The pizza boy breathes an audible sigh of relief as the doors slide open. He walks over to the apartment next to ours and knocks twice.

  “I think you have the wrong apartment,” I say. He turns towards me, startled. “I mean, that apartment has been empty for a long time now. Six months at least.”

  Just as he’s about to respond, the door to the now clearly not-so-vacant apartment swings open. The pizza boy casts me a snide look. A guy who looks no older than my twenty-one years steps into the hallway, wallet in hand. There is something incredibly familiar in his face. In his smile. He just looks…well, familiar. I pull my keys from my bag and fumble to find the one that unlocks my door, avoiding his curious and intense gaze. I can feel him stare at me through lowered lids, his gaze serious.

  “How much?” the guy asks, in a pleasant tone, returning his eyes to the pizza delivery boy. His voice sounds friendly, easygoing.

  “Twenty-two,” the pizza boy lisps. The guy gives him a fifty and tells him to keep the change. The boy’s face lights up, and for a moment I think that he may just kiss the guy for giving him such a monstrous tip. Typical of a tenant of this building. Throwing money around is very fashionable ‘round here.

  The guy grabs the pizza boxes, and the delivery boy practically skips back to the elevator. My mysterious new neighbor turns to shoot me a warm and, well, quite magnificent smile, before moving towards the inside of the apartment.

  “Do you live here?” I ask, quickly before he shuts the door. It sounds stupid as hell, but it’s what comes out of my mouth, so I run with it.

  He takes a step back into the hallway. The guy is dressed in loose fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt, which offsets the color of his tanned skin, which in turn highlights his brown and green-flecked eyes. Eyes that sit below dangerously dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Intense. Deep. And a perfect set of lips, which form, as he looks towards me, a slow-burning, brilliant grin.

  “Yeah,” he says smiling. “I travel a lot though. Tyler Carson.” He takes a step forward and extends his hand. I shake it politely. His dark hair falls in a shaggy cut around his face.
Then there’s the chiseled jaw. And, oh my God, I’m staring.

  “Carson?” I parrot stupidly.

  “Yeah, why? Have you heard bad things around here? I swear that none of them are true,” he laughs, placing a hand on his heart.

  “No, it’s just—” I don’t want to finish my sentence, but I have to. “My fiancée is also a Carson.”

  “The only other Carson in this building is— Wait, are you Emily, Blake’s fiancée?” he asks, clearly confused.

  “Depends. What have you heard?” I respond skeptically, with a small smile.

  “My father only has good things to say about you. I didn’t expect you to be so—”

  “Nosy? Inappropriate?” I interject with a smile.

  “Beautiful,” he says seriously, his gaze penetrating.

  “It’s a good thing you haven’t spoken to your mother about me then. I’m sure she has a different opinion,” I reply sarcastically. I had only met Dr. Carson three times since Blake and I began dating. He was seldom around, but after meeting Eliza Carson, I understood why. “Why has she or Blake never mentioned you?” I realize how rude that sounded the minute it leaves my mouth.

  Tyler doesn’t take offense and throws his head back with a laugh. “I’m not on the best of terms with either of them. Is my brother home?”

  I shake my head slowly. “He’s working late.” Wow. Verbalized, that sounds even worse than it did in my head. It sounds like the mantra of a million wives with legitimate reasons to distrust their adulterous husbands.

  “Hey, wanna come in for some pizza? I bought two, primarily because the only food I’ve eaten in the last forty-eight hours was on an airplane and came wrapped in tin foil.” Tyler shoots me a dazzling smile, and his left cheek produces the most perfectly placed dimple I had ever seen in real life.