Misadventures with My Ex

  Misadventures with My Ex

  Shayla Black

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2019 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Waterhouse Press

  Cover photographs: Shutterstock

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  To everyone who had a second chance and found love.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Also from Shayla Black

  Excerpt from More Than Need You

  More Misadventures

  Also by Shayla Black

  About Shayla Black

  Chapter One

  West

  Los Angeles

  October

  “If that son of a bitch hadn’t given in to his case of cold feet, I would be on a beach somewhere—like Bora Bora or Bali or Barbados. Why do all the best beaches start with a B?”

  As I look through the small, airy apartment, I can’t see the woman who slurs the words, but I’d know Eryn Hope’s voice anywhere.

  “I would be soaking up the sun, enjoying my life, and glowing from multiple orgasms because, even though Weston Quaid is a total bastard, he was always amazing in bed.”

  My former fiancée’s younger sister, Echo, stands in the open door, wincing. “You didn’t hear that.”

  Though I’d rather not be here, and I probably should have come equipped with a steel-girded jockstrap and a shield to protect myself from what I suspect will be a shit fight, I can’t not grin. “Not a word.”

  “But nooo. I’m getting romantic with Ernest and Julio Gallo. They don’t give orgasms.” Eryn huffs. “Hey, if that was the pizza guy who rang the doorbell, bring me a slice, will you? I need something to soak up this merlot.”

  “Eryn is just…having a bad day,” Echo murmurs.

  Because life in general has been rough or because, if things had ended differently, my former fiancée and I would be celebrating our third wedding anniversary tonight?

  “I understand.”

  Truthfully, today has sucked for me, too. I’ve avoided thinking about the significance of this date since I woke up. Too many what-ifs and memories. Since I walked away from Eryn, I’ve fought a gritty, ugly uphill battle. It’s almost over. I seem to be winning now…but along the way, I’ve taken terrible losses.

  “Maybe you should go.” Echo begins to close the door. “She’s not exactly sober.”

  I wedge my foot past the threshold. “Waiting isn’t an option. I need to see your sister tonight. It’s business.”

  Echo frowns. “What business could you two possibly have? Eryn won’t want to see you now. Maybe not ever.”

  I’m not surprised. Or deterred. “I—”

  “Pizza?” A teenage kid wearing a collared shirt with a well-known chain’s logo dashes up the stairs, an insulated carrier balanced on his palm.

  I take out my wallet and pay the guy, tipping handsomely so this interruption will go away.

  “Thanks!” the high schooler calls over his shoulder as he runs back down the steps.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Echo insists, cash in hand.

  “I’d like to deliver this to your sister personally. Alone.”

  Echo hesitates. She’s usually free-spirited, funny, and easy-breezy. Once, we shared a good camaraderie. Not surprisingly, that’s gone. Hell, I’m shocked she’s speaking to me at all.

  As usual, she’s dressed as if she belongs in a granola commercial. Today, it’s braids and flannel, cargo shorts, knee socks, and hiking boots. She’s an original. But she’s also fiercely protective of both her older sisters, just as they’re protective of her.

  “I don’t know if she can handle that,” Eryn’s sister admits. “To be honest, this day is rough on her every year.”

  I’ve come to dread October fourth, too. My younger brother, Flynn, pointed out this morning that the first year after my split with Eryn wrecked me, but he’s relieved I got over her.

  Clearly, I have him fooled.

  But I’m not here to win Eryn back. And after the way our split went down, I’m sure that’s impossible.

  “Your sister bought a restaurant recently. I need to talk to her about it. Only talk,” I assure Echo. “I’ll make sure she gets fed, sobered up, and safely in bed. No fighting. Just conversation. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Even if I’m dying to touch her.

  “Echo, where’s the damn pizza?” Eryn calls again from somewhere deeper in her apartment. “If I have to eat mediocre pie instead of fresh seafood on the freaking beach in the Bahamas—see, another great beach that starts with a B—I’d like it hot.”

  “Coming.” But Echo doesn’t move, simply blinks at me.

  Is she surprised I know about Eryn’s new endeavor? Gauging my sincerity? Probably both.

  “Echo, I wouldn’t ask to see her, especially tonight, if it wasn’t important.”

  Finally, she sighs and lets me inside. “All right. Only because I don’t think she’ll ever move on until you two have talked.”

  Guilt stings. I handled our breakup horribly. True, I’d been blindsided and was reeling myself. I’ve been over those dark days in my head a thousand times. I can’t change how everything unfolded now, and I didn’t come here to rehash the past, but maybe while I handle business I can give her some peace.

  “Thank you.”

  Echo lingers. “So, you’re a bigwig CEO now?”

  I can’t miss her subtle dig. “Yes.”

  “Congratulations…I guess.”

  She’s judging me for seemingly prioritizing business above love. I get it. That’s not exactly true, but I understand it must appear that way. At the time, I made the only choice I thought I could. Only distance and perspective have made me second-guess that.

  “How’s school?” I change the subject. “You’re close to finishing, right?”

  “I graduate in May, then after my internship I’ll be adulting full-time.” Her grim smile melts into a frown. “Be good to my sister. Don’t make me regret showing you mercy. Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  Without another word, she grabs her overstuffed wallet, knit ski cap, and giant chain of dangling key rings, then nods as she closes the door behind her with a quiet snick.

  After three long years, I’m alone with Eryn Hope. Maybe I’ll have the chance to apologize for what I can’t control now…and what I didn’t know how to stop then. She might understand. But I’m realistic. This is Eryn. Thanks to a chaotic childhood with workaholic parents, she was cynical even before we met. I can only imagine how guarded she’ll be now.

  After all, I left her on our wedding day.

  I step past the stylishly lived-in kitchen and deeper into the apartment that has a vintage, Audrey Hepburnesque vibe. It’s so Eryn. My heart thumps madly the cl
oser I come to her. Not surprising. After all, losing her was the worst mistake I ever made. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.

  “What’s taking so long?” she calls. From the bedroom, maybe?

  She’s moved since our engagement. We both have. The apartment we shared here in LA was probably too full of ghosts and memories for her to remain. And after more than two years in New York, I’ve now settled in Las Vegas.

  “Echo, you’re listening, right? I’m pouring my heart out,” Eryn continues with a sigh. “You know what sucks more? It’s like that bastard ruined me. I can’t orgasm with anyone else. And—oh, god—I still masturbate to thoughts of him. What’s wrong with me?”

  It might make me an asshole, but I don’t hate knowing that no one else has pleased Eryn’s sweet, petite curves as well as I did. In fact, I swell with more than masculine pride when I remember all the ways I once wrung screams from her.

  I wish I could have even one night with my ex again.

  On soft footfalls, I cross the kitschy-chic black-and-white living room, then find the bedroom tucked away through an alcove on the right. I lean against the doorframe, shoulder braced, and watch as my deepest regret paces the small bedroom in bare feet—and adorned in the wedding dress I never had the pleasure of seeing her wear.

  I wish like hell we’d made it to the altar so I’d have the right to put my arms around her, kiss her neck, and seduce her straight into bed. Logically, I know the smartest course of action now would be to give her the unfortunate news about the property that houses her restaurant, then maybe broach an honest conversation about our past before I leave her in peace. Maybe afterward we’d both be able to heal and be happy.

  Because the woman in front of me clearly isn’t. And for that, I’m beyond sorry.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, honey,” I tell her. “I still think of you, too. All the time.”

  Eryn whirls with a gasp, a nearly empty bottle of red wine in hand. “West?”

  When our stares meet, it’s a sucker punch to my solar plexus. I stare at her haunting dark eyes in her shocked pale face. She blinks. Her rosy lips part as if she means to speak, but she doesn’t say another word.

  My former fiancée is even more beautiful than before. How is that possible?

  “Hi,” I say, my voice rough.

  “This can’t be happening. I haven’t seen you in three years, and now I’m suddenly seeing two of you?” She shakes her head. “No. You’re a hallucination. You’ll go away.”

  Repressing a smile, I set the warm pizza box on her rumpled bed, trying not to notice that the sheets smell like Eryn. Baby powder and vanilla and something musky that always turned me on. I’ve never experienced a similar fragrance on any other woman. I can’t identify it, but I know it well. That scent takes me back. It makes me instantly hard.

  “I’m not a product of the wine or your imagination, Eryn.”

  “You have to be. You look like West. You sound like him. You’re hot like him.” She shakes her head. “But my sister knows better than to let you into my place. Echo!”

  “She’s gone. She’ll call you in the morning. It’s just us here…and what I assume is a sausage, mushroom, and onion pizza.” At least based on the savory aroma. “I came to talk to you.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I don’t care that fake-you remembers what I like to eat. Go. You’re not welcome here.”

  “We have to talk.” I approach with slow steps.

  Eryn backs up, shaking her head. “Stop.”

  I do.

  She snorts. “Now I know you’re not real. Turns out, the West I was engaged to didn’t give a shit about me or what I wanted.”

  No doubt she saw it that way. “Can we sit down and eat? Be civil? I’d like to apologize and explain why I’m here. Will you listen?”

  ERYN

  I blink. Then blink again.

  Nope, Weston Quaid is still standing in my bedroom, looking really, really real—and really, really gorgeous. He still thinks of me? Ha! I don’t believe that for a minute. How can I? Besides, if he wants to apologize, he must be a mirage.

  Except…when did my visions of West ever include him sporting a perfectly tailored suit, a well-kept beard, and dark hair cut ruthlessly short?

  “I’m not spending tonight with you, especially not an imaginary version. That would make me pitiful. And I’m not. I’m just drunk.” I tip the bottle to my lips and imbibe another swallow of the mellow red. “Once I’m sober, you’ll be gone.”

  That kind of depresses me.

  How many times have I fantasized that West would show up and say he’s sorry? Too many. Still, I’m not listening tonight. If I let myself believe he’s actually here to make amends for walking out on our wedding day, I’ll cry again. I’ve already done too much of that.

  “Eryn.” Softly, he cups my shoulder. “I’m staying until we’ve talked.”

  At his touch, I’m uncomfortably aware of a dark, unwelcome heat suffusing my every muscle and nerve. It centers into a throbbing ache in one unmistakable place. The sensations make me feel even more woozy…but I’ll never be drunk enough to forget that he was the cause of the most humiliating, heartbreaking time in my life.

  The contact also proves he’s really, truly standing in the middle of my bedroom, his gaze fixed on me.

  “Why?” On this day, of all days? “If you came to find out whether gullible little Eryn is still a train wreck over the split, you can see I’m fine.”

  He raises an expressive dark brow at me. “So…it’s normal for you to be drunk, wearing your wedding dress, and lamenting about your sad sex life since I’ve gone?”

  “You heard that?” As mortification rolls over me, I raise the bottle of wine to my lips for more liquid fortification.

  West plucks it from my hand and shoves it onto the dresser behind him, out of my reach. “Eryn, we have a lot to say. Give me an hour. I know you don’t owe me anything, but if you’ll let me say my piece, I’ll leave for good.”

  “Of course you will. You’re an expert at that.” I wave a dramatic hand through the air. “I remember all the times I ‘gave you an hour’ and you made my toes curl. Which was awesome; I’m not gonna lie. But then, after everything? Poof. You were gone with nothing more than an ‘I’m sorry, honey.’”

  “Eryn—”

  “Do you know how many people I had to explain our breakup to? I lost count. At first, I told people about your family emergency, but after a while… What was I supposed to say? You didn’t explain why you never came back. So I told people how great it was that we realized we weren’t compatible before we exchanged vows. It would have served you right if I’d told everyone you had a raging case of herpes.” I huff, still trying to comprehend that the one man I thought I’d love, honor, and cherish forever is standing in front of me. “I mailed back gifts and sent a retraction to the paper about our wedding announcement. I canceled everything—and I didn’t want your stupid check. I tore it up and paid for everything myself. And while we’re at it, this is yours, too.” I march to my nightstand and pull out the burgundy velvet box West gave me one hot July evening. All was perfect with the world then… I toss it at him now, gratified it hits him square in the chest. “Take it and go.”

  West catches the little box, then opens it to find the engagement ring nestled inside, still sparkling and winking in the light. It always mocks me with what might have been, so I stopped looking at it long ago. Mostly.

  He sets it on the bed. “This is yours, Eryn. Keep it. I never expected you to give it back.”

  “But you never expected to slide the matching wedding band on my finger, either, did you? Now that I know you’re filthy rich, I guess you’re not too broken up about spending thirty thousand on a ring.” When he opens his mouth, I wave his words away. “Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t care. You and I are ancient history, and nothing will change the fact you turned out to be an asshat whose best talent lies between the sheets.” I grit my teeth. “Ugh, I have to
stop pumping up your ego. If I could get a decent sex life, that would help, but I’m still better off without you. So just go. I’m going to eat my pizza and watch a marathon of La Femme Nikita. Or Kill Bill. Blood and guts will make me feel better.”

  “You hate violent movies.”

  He remembered that, too. That makes me even sadder. Once upon a time, I swore we were perfect for each other. “Maybe since I learned to hate you, I’ve learned to love them.”

  As soon as I spit the words out, I clap my mouth shut. Damn it, I don’t want to be combative, emotional, or bitter. Booze and West combined have killed my composure.

  No, I threw it out the window. Somewhere in my head, I realize I’m not acting like a grown-up. I’d love to be mad at him for that, too. But it’s my fault…with some help from merlot.

  “I’m sorry.” He pins me with solemn eyes. “That I left you with a mess. That I didn’t explain. Most of all, I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

  His sincerity penetrates my alcohol armor. Tears prick my eyes. God, I don’t want to be vulnerable to Weston Quaid ever again. “Fine. Apology accepted. Now will you go away?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

  “This is my non-anniversary celebration. I didn’t invite you.” I lunge for my wine.

  West blocks me. “Did you drink most of this bottle by yourself?”

  “Newsflash: I’m over twenty-one now, and you’re not my daddy.”

  His jaw works in irritation. “Can’t I simply be concerned?”

  He’s always had a knack for asking questions that take the wind out of my sails. I’m not ready to not be mad at him. “I don’t need your concern.”