Tell Me You Love Me Read online

  “So what do you do, Lizzy? When you’re not reading to little kids at the library?” he asks, obviously doing his best to change the subject.

  “Nothing, really. I’m in transition, I guess you could say.” This is my chance. To tell him I’m a housewife, a domestic freaking engineer, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m so much more than that. Or I wish I was. This is where I should tell him I’m married, that I’m taken, but I can’t bring myself to say the words, because I don’t feel married. Not happily, I guess. Not even close. And I should be, right? Happy and in love?

  Instead, I feel like I’m trapped. Like I’m living with a dick for a roommate and we just tolerate each other in passing. There’s no passion, no love. No... nothing. We just co-exist.

  Holding my left hand in my right, I look down at my ring finger where my wedding ring used to sit. If it were still there, I wouldn’t have to tell Ryan I’m married. He would know. But I don’t wear my ring anymore. Not since I gained so much weight that it was cutting off my circulation. I wanted to get it resized, but Jace thought it was a bad idea, saying that making it bigger would be like saying gaining all the weight was okay. He thought it would be best to leave it alone and for me to use it as an incentive to get back to my old size. Kind of like when women have a pair of jeans in their closet they hope to get back into some day. Being able to wear my ring again, the one that signifies my love for a man who makes me so angry I could cry and looks at me like I make him want to throw up, yeah... that’s not much of an incentive to drop some pounds. When I wore the ring on my chubby finger, it was like a noose strangling me, sucking the life right out of me one ragged breath at a time. How apt. The irony is not lost on me. I think about what Molly said the other day when we were shopping. If only leaving him was as easy as taking off that ring.

  With all that bullshit on my mind, I talk myself out of telling Ryan my real story. Instead, I tell him who I want to be.

  “I’d like to be a librarian someday. But those jobs are few and hard to come by. I’m just waiting for some little old lady with blue hair to drop dead so I can take her job.” Now, more than ever, I really want it. I want nothing more than to turn this little fib into reality. The first chance I get, I’m getting my ass online and searching for openings. I know the local library isn’t looking, but maybe somewhere nearby is in need of someone like me.

  The talk flows between us easily again as I discover new things about Ryan. I already knew about his Dorito addiction, but I also learn that he secretly watches romantic comedies, he loves kale and black cherry smoothies, and he didn’t have his first drink of alcohol until he was twenty-one. I spit my water out at that one. Who does that? I had my first wine cooler in junior high. He also tells me about his part-time gig as a website designer. I find it humorous that this beast of a man could sit behind a computer screen and enjoy it. I know most firefighters have a second job, but I just pictured him doing something with his hands, like building something or tearing things down. I wouldn’t have guessed that he’d have a creative side, and a brainy one at that.

  After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Ryan starts talking again, his voice as soothing to me as hot breakfast tea on a cold morning.

  “So, you’re on a mission, huh? Going for time or distance?”

  It’s shocking to me how he has the ability to make me forget. The question has me stumped until I realize there is no way he could know that my mission was to give my husband a beat down, Tina Turner style and we don’t even have to be in the back of a limo. I wouldn’t mind pounding the jackass with the heel of my Jimmy Choo on my front porch. Every time I watch What’s Love Got To Do With It, I can’t help but cheer Tina on when she’s finally had enough. Makes me think that my friends would do the same—cheer me on.

  I can’t tell my hiking buddy that though. It’s not that I’m hiding Jace, I just enjoy the time I spend with Ryan and I know it will change if he knows I’m married. It’s not like I’m cheating I try to convince myself.

  “Both.” I lie, because I really had no intention of going for either. I was really out looking for him. “I’ve been doing the trail all week. All but one day, I beat my time. And on two of the days, I went passed the picnic area because the regular trail didn’t seem like enough.”

  “Isn’t that private property?” he asks, breathing heavily. Now that I know he trains like a freaking Iron Man triathlete, I wonder how many times he’s already run up this god-forsaken hill today. I love the little grin that plays on his lips as he runs his fingers through his dirty blond hair. Hell, those locks would make McDreamy jealous.

  “Technically, yes.” I look up at him and watch as he raises a brow at me. “But it’s not like I’m trespassing on anything secret or private. There isn’t anything there. It’s empty land. A blank canvas. The next phase of building. Great for more hiking.”

  “I see,” he says. “Let’s go for it.”

  I do a double take, glancing up at him again while almost falling on my face. He catches me by my waist and pulls me close to him so I don’t fall.

  “Son of a bitch,” I shout. I feel like the air’s been knocked out of me. From falling or from Ryan’s touch, I’m not sure. Either way, I want to lean into his hold, but instantly, I know I shouldn’t and I shrug him off. His arms feel nothing like the restraint of my wedding ring.

  They feel... warm. Safe. Cozy.

  And, yes, they definitely feel hot.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “I’m okay. Damn rock jumped out of no where.”

  Looking confused, he takes a deep breath before speaking. “You should really walk on the path. If I wasn’t here to catch you, you might have fallen and been hurt.”

  Sometimes, the pounding on the paved trail can be hard on my bones so I like to walk on the gravel. It’s not that much softer, but it helps. Besides, if he hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have come close to falling on my ass like a clumsy fool. Distraction is an understatement when it comes to Ryan. This man has my brain a foggy mess. It’s not like I can tell him that either.

  “Really, I’m good. The only thing hurt is my pride.” I chuckle at my own joke.

  “Oh honey, I’ve heard you sing. You shouldn’t be embarrassed by a trip on a rock.” A little laughter escapes from him as he begins walking again. Stunned by his harmless ribbing, it takes me a beat before I take off after him.

  “You still owe me a song, you know,” I tell him when I catch up with him—which takes extra effort considering his long stride is the equivalent of four of mine. I may be exaggerating, but the man’s long legs go on for days. Right up to his luscious ass. It seems to me there are some definite perks to walking behind Ryan after all.

  “Maybe we can sing one together,” he says. He flashes me a boyish grin as he glances down at me.

  Sing? Together? We’re walking so fast, I can barely talk and breathe much less sing. “Sounds like fun,” I say, humoring him, wondering if he’ll follow through. “What do you fancy?”

  “Fancy?” He chuckles. “Do people really say that? Outside of the eighteen hundreds or Europe?” He laughs some more until I join him. “How about some ‘Playlist Roulette’?”

  “What’s that?”

  He stops suddenly and removes his iPod from his pocket. “Watch.”

  His quick fingers slide across the screen and I note the size of his hands. Large, strong, and steady. Without a doubt, I want to be that little Apple in his grasp, feeling the pads of his fingers tracing across my body.

  Shit.

  Talk about a forbidden fruit.

  “First, you have to get to all the songs, and then you...” he quickly swipes his index finger along the screen and a bunch of tiny icons fly by until they come to a stop. “Now, you close your eyes and tap on the screen.” He follows his own directions and a song pops up just as he opens his eyes. “I hope you’re in the mood for some country.”

  I steal a look at his iPod and smile. “I’m always in the mood for Florida Georgia Line. I lov
e that song, but do you have the vocal skills for a ballad?” My smile widens even more if that’s possible. This is so much fun. I’d gladly walk like a mad woman every day if Ryan joined me.

  “Not any more than you do, but the rules of Playlist Roulette are clear and state that you cannot spin again. You get what you get, so it looks like all the animals within a five-mile radius will be mating by the time we’re done.”

  Again, this guy is full of jokes and has me laughing until my belly hurts. “Let’s do it, before I chicken out.”

  He pulls the cord of his headphones from the jack, turns up the volume, and presses play. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the trail as the first few verses of Stay begin to rise from the little device.

  When the chorus starts, both of us belt out, “But if I told you I loved you, would it make you want to stay?” We continue up the trail as I hold an air microphone and Ryan plays a mean guitar. We reach a dead end as the song comes to end, and we let it rip like we’re playing for a crowd at Stage Coach. “The days are long and the nights are cold...”

  Ryan startles me when he reaches for my hand and pulls me toward him. I’m not sure what he’s doing until he pushes me away again. This hunky man is dancing with me. We sway together, singing our hearts out... my awful voice to his not-so-awful one. Damn him. He can sing. Like Country Music Award good.

  As the song finishes, our eyes meet as the final word, “Stay,” lingers on both of our lips. Stay. Stay with me. Stay here. Stay close. Stay like this forever. Stay as happy as I am right here in your arms, always.

  God. I. Want. To. Stay.

  I don’t think I’ve wanted anything quite so much as wanting to stay with Ryan right now. Why? Is he here just to tempt me? The man presses every button for me. I want him. I want this. But I can’t have him. Or this. I’m someone else’s. I want to tell him how much I want to stay, but I can’t. In fact, I need to get the hell out of here now before I lose what little self-control I have left.

  “I gotta go,” I tell him, backing away slowly, still peering deep into his smoldering bedroom eyes because it’s just too damn hard to look away.

  “Wait. Just a minute,” he says, holding out his hand. “I was going to ask you something.”

  “Sorry. We’ll talk soon.” I hear the chorus play in my head again.

  With each backward step, it hurts to walk away. To know who I’m walking away from and who I’m walking to. Dammit, I want to stay.

  I’d love to stay.

  But I can’t.

  No matter how much I want to.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lizzy

  Inspection time.

  It’s been a little over two months since Jace bought me a surprise. Work out DVDs. Just what any women wants as a gift from her husband. In that time, I could have lost a lot more than I did. It’s not like I didn’t try. Hell, I was on that damn hill almost every day. I feel great though, even if my waistline doesn’t completely show it.

  With another once-over in the mirror, I try to smooth the material on my dress, sucking in every ounce of fat I can so Jace will be pleased. It’s not lost on me that I never have to suck it in or try so hard with Ryan. When I’m with my new friend, I don’t have to try at all. How is it possible to be less self-conscious around a virtual stranger than my own husband?

  I press on my tummy one more time, wondering how I’ll be able to stand holding in my gut the whole night. I didn’t quite lose enough to go down a whole dress size, but I am much more comfortable in it. I don’t feel like I’m busting at the seams. Instead, my dress hugs my curves without making me look like I have sausage links underneath my clothes.

  “You ready yet?” Jace calls out, knocking on the door to the restroom. The bigger I got, the harder it’s been to shower and dress in front of him. I hate the looks he gives me when he sees my naked body. The way his lips purse as I pull my panties up over my belly or fasten my bra over the soft skin of my back. He has a way of making me want to cry without even saying a word. To avoid the look of disgust in his eyes, I have taken to waiting until he’s done in the bathroom to go in and take care of myself. A lot less tears have been shed this way. A lot less angst, too, perhaps on both our parts.

  But now, I’m shaking in my Spanx at what his reaction is going to be. I know he was hoping he’d be able to take a much smaller wife to his work dinner, and I’m fairly certain I’ve let him down. And I don’t look forward to seeing that look of disappointment in his eyes. That look that I’ve put there with my size. I’ve seen that look before. Not just in his eyes, but my mother’s. For some reason, I have completely failed at making the most important people in my life happy.

  When my dad was alive, I never felt that way. What I’d give to have him alive and healthy again. To help me through this rough patch I’m going through. To give me some words of wisdom, some advice I so desperately need. I know what I need to do. I know what I should do. But hearing it from my dad would be just the push I need to make it happen. He had a way of soothing me that made me feel I was going to be safe, and everything was going to be okay.

  I tip my chin up, looking at my reflection in the mirror again, searching my eyes for strength. It’s there. I’m not weak. I am strong.

  It’s going to be okay.

  I know it.

  Oh no. I can hear Helen Reddy singing, I am Woman. I am invincible. Wouldn’t Ryan get a kick out of that? Maybe we can throw it in the Playlist Roulette rotation.

  Slowly, I unlock the door. Jace is whipping the thing open as soon as he hears the click.

  I wait as I watch his gaze slide down my body from my shoulders to my toes. He pauses, his gaze focused on my mid section. A slight sneer plays on his lips, before he turns away from me. “Let’s go, Elizabeth.”

  And just like that, he has the ability to crush my strength with the subtle narrowing of his eyes.

  What possessed me to think this time would be different? What possessed me to think he might perhaps tell me I look beautiful in my black cocktail dress? One that is short and sexy and shows off my legs. The sassy lady at the store suggested I go with a peplum style to disguise my larger midsection. Well, it didn’t work. My husband could see right through it.

  Jace glances back at me again. This time, he slowly shakes his head back and forth and mumbles something under his breath.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He’s silent as he moves through our house, toward the garage, and into his car. I follow him.

  Like I always do.

  * * *

  Seeing my husband at work used to make me feel proud. Now, it makes me sick to my stomach. That man could sell steaks at a vegetarian convention. He’s so full of shit. He could sell that, too.

  When we walk into the Ritz Carlton in downtown Los Angeles, I cringe. This isn’t me. I’m more of a Holiday Inn kind of girl. The Hilton is about as fancy as I can handle. Yet, my husband is used to this glamour because he often spends his time shmoozing big companies into signing him to do their advertising. He’s good at what he does. Very inventive and very creative. But his success has come at a high price. It has cost us our marriage. He is no longer the easy-going, funny guy to whom I said yes. Instead, he’s this overeager bastard who would do anything to make a sale on his next account. The only yes he desires is in the form of contracts for new business.

  Tonight, he and his partners are celebrating scoring a three-year advertising campaign for Axe—the men’s cologne and deodorant company. When he and his cronies got the account for the McRib commercials, I thought I was going to gag if I ever ate at McDonalds again. Whenever he signs on to something new, we live it, eat it, breathe it. I know what my life is going to come to now. My husband smelling like a fourteen-year-old boy who drowns himself in super strong body spray.

  When Bobby, Jace’s best friend, leans into me to say hello, I know the campaign has started. He is wearing enough cologne to fill a small lake. Instantly, my sinuses tighten and burn, leaving my head
aching more so than it already was.

  “Nice to see you, Liz.” His breath smells like whiskey. “Meet my new friend, Candi.”

  Candi is exactly what you’d expect. Five foot seven, slender legs—even more slender body—with about three quarters of her body weight in her chest. Oh, and her face is pretty. Really pretty, in fact. Poor thing, doesn’t she realize she is worth more than this?

  Bobby’s hand slides down her back until he cups her ass so tight it looks like he’s holding a six-pack of beer. She flashes me a fake smile, showing her discomfort at the way he’s holding her.

  “Jesus, Bobby, let the lady breathe,” I tell him, slapping his shoulder and yanking the young girl away from him. “We’ll let you talk business. I’m dying to know what type of eye shadow Candi uses.”

  He brushes his lips across her jaw and gives us a nod of approval. I look for Jace, who is talking to his buddies. He hasn’t given me a second thought since we left the house. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Relief, maybe?

  Oh wait, he did ask me to stop singing in the car. Something about making his ears bleed. That made me sing louder until he jabbed his finger at the entertainment panel and turned the music off. So, I just hummed the rest of the way.

  “Nice to meet you, Candi,” I say, as we make our way to the elevators that will take us up to the top floor.

  “Great to meet you,” she says. She pats my hand that is linked through her arm. “Thank you for that. Just because I agreed to a date, doesn’t mean I signed up to have his hand shoved up my ass crack.”

  Our heads turn and our eyes meet. We’re silent for a second before we crack up laughing. The elevator dings and we slide inside. I’m just about to relax and stop sucking it in when Jace’s hand stops the door from closing.