Page 32 of Pieces of Us

Since he didn’t pressure me about my past, I won’t pressure him about my dad’s present.

‘What were you thinking about the design of your house?’ He switches topics, gearing up to go into full work mode.

Something completely different to the mock-ups Lincoln once drew and promised he’d build of our future house together.

A new dream home, for sure. Definitely everything opposite to what could have been.

After an hour of going back and forth over designs and materials I prefer, Uncle Jacob says he’ll have a draft for me by next week, and final plans—pending my procrastination—drawn up in a couple of months.

‘I don’t have one file I need to give your dad. It’s at the office. Could you swing by?’ Uncle Jacob slightly begs.

Avoiding Lincoln is my top priority, so the plan is to make it in and out stealthily.

Chapter 15

Papercut

Lincoln

I pull into my reserved parking spot underground and cut the engine. It’s three P.M., and instead of going home after my last off-site meeting, I came back to the office to get on top of my never-ending admin work.

The majority of this could be done at home, but the silence there is deafening. I could have met up with a few mates for some afternoon drinks, but it’s a weekday and I’m not feeling much of anything lately.

So, back to the office it is. I enjoy spending most of my time here because it’s a distraction from the emptiness that is my life. I can sink my teeth into my work and not worry about going home to complete desolation.

Snatching my phone and briefcase from the passenger seat, I step out, lock the car and head for the elevator.

There aren’t as many colleagues as there were this morning, with some leaving to go and pick up children from school and others scheduling their last appointments off-site so they can go home. Most of the offices are locked, leaving only the admin and support services staff at their desks.

‘Lincoln.’ I’m so focused on observing the quiet ambience of the office that I almost walk straight past Billie, who is perched on the edge of the receptionist desk. We’re in a weird dynamic at the moment. She still wants me, but she’s also seething that I don’t want anything more than a quick fuck.

My stomach drops at our complicated history.

I gave my heart away a long time ago. It wasn’t fair on Billie that she couldn’t fill that void. But what she did was make me feel wanted. She is sweet, funny, loyal and she makes me feel loved. I know she has her faults, like being jealous and insecure. I could have looked past those traits if it didn’t manifest into ugliness towards Amity. That is inexcusable.

Ever since I found out Amity was coming back, it felt wrong to be too friendly with Billie. After speaking with Amity for the first time in years, I was bombarded with a deluge of memories and emotions of our life together.

Anyone but her will always feel like a poor substitute.

Despite having sex with Billie less than a couple of months ago out of familiarity and comfort, I knew I would never do it again, because it wasn’t fair to keep giving her mixed signals.

‘Billie.’ I nod cordially. ‘How’s the afternoon been?’

She smiles, standing to full height in what looks like stilt-like-ankle-breaking stilettos and NSFW attire. The red dress she’s wearing looks like a second skin and is so low cut, I’m sure there’s even a bit of nipple peeping out. The length is indecently short as well.

In a flash, giving me zero time to react, she gives me a swift hug and kiss on my jaw. ‘It’s been a breeze.’ She fluffs off imaginary lint on my jacket, getting entirely too close. I can even smell her perfume. She’s still gorgeous, but the only feelings that remain are regret and guilt, tossed in with a bit of resentment for how she treated Amity.

She walks her french-tipped nails up my shirt for absolutely no reason. ‘I was hoping we could have grabbed lunch, but maybe tomorrow?’

‘Uh, yeah, maybe.’ She pouts as I dismiss making concrete plans. I check my phone in a bid to get away from her. ‘Sorry, can’t chat right now. Have to call a client.’ I wave my phone at her, practically scampering to my office.

As much as I wanted to be productive this afternoon, all hopes in hell have gone up in flames as I obsess over how Amity has dropped off the radar since our last text exchange. I swivel in my chair, pondering how to get her to talk to me. Unable to satiate my cravings, I settle for googling her. At least I can see her from a distance. Most of the photos that pop up are of her scantily-clad, and while undoubtedly sexy, being so close to her fully-clothed at Dad’s party reminded me how beautiful she is.

The shorts and shirt she was wearing were like a beacon to me, causing me to hone in on her no matter what corner of the house she was hiding in. My eyes greedily took in the curve of her cleavage, the swell of her ass—breasts and ass I’d kill to feel under the palm of my hands or swipe of my tongue.

Will it ever happen again? Not unless Jesus Christ himself grants me a miracle. She is still simmering in anger, but underneath it all, I can still feel this undeniable fire that is charged with sexual intensity. Am I crazy? Is it one-sided?

With a frustrated breath, I run my fingers through my hair, pulling at it so I can feel anything but helplessness.

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