LIAM (4 page)

It’s been two years since I last saw Mandi.

Two years of feeling this emptiness in my chest, right where my damn heart should be.

“I never, ever, want to see you again…”

Mandi—she’s a woman of her words.

I don’t blame her. I’d achieved nothing but embarrassing her that day.

After the wedding, she and Robin moved into a ritzy, ten million dollar mansion at 8 Gatsby Drive.

Lovely, just lovely!

NOT.

I hear through Carl that they’re doing great.

Shit, I’d be doing great too if I were married to Mandi and living in a 9,000 square foot villa.

“They’re hoping to have a baby soon,” Carl told me. “Imagine us as uncles!”

“I’d eat that baby,” was my response to Carl.

You, Liam Daniels, are such a damn loser.

God, I miss Mandi so much.

CritCoin’s Star is on the Rise!

CritCoins: The Currency of the Future

CritCoin, the Cryptocurrency of our Times, Valued at $600USD Per Unit…

~*~

Hold on just a second. I scroll through my email inboxes. There they are! I remember having CritCoins. Five thousand of them in fact, thanks to that gamer from COR who wanted my Lady Finger. I bet you he’s stabbing himself now… with his own fingers… (That was corny, I know.)

Let’s do some math here…

5000 times $600 is three million fucking dollars…

I, Liam Daniels, have become a millionaire overnight.

I open the door to the balcony connected to our bedroom and breathe in the fresh spring air. Shit, I’m like a black-haired Cinderella, mistress of a modern-day castle. All I need is a Disney-princess’s singing voice and cute forest animals surrounding me.  

One day, I will no longer have to share this haven with fucking Robin. All this will be mine.

I clutch the necklace around my neck and play with the adorable little clay rose. It’s a little piece of Liam’s heart. That boy, he did as I told him and stayed out of my life. For seven long years!

It’s cruel, really.

As much as it hurt him and me, that’s the only way, it could be between us, especially after he socked Robin in the eye. Robin wanted Liam thrown in jail. And my husband would have hired the best lawyers to keep the poor boy in the slammer.

Distance between Liam and me is good. I’m sure he no longer loves me or even thinks about me. From time to time, I think about him. I fantasize about being able to play with time, to make myself younger, and make him older. I dream about being able to live freely, no longer confined by the laws of our society, and my materialistic nature and vices.

I hear from Carl that Liam is doing incredibly well. He parties with the likes of Elon Musk and Derek Jeter. Every time Liam invests his money in something, he profits. Alibaba. Shake Shack. Apple. Amazon.

I’m happy for him. I’m also happy for the girl he’s with. Carl thinks that they’ll be engaged soon.

Good. Good for Liam.

I wipe my face and my palms are wet with tears.

~*~

“You should wear that little red dress of yours. It looks sexy on you,” Robin says. As I’m changing, he hugs me from behind. He slips his hand behind the cup of my bra. His greedy hand gropes my breast. His fat fingers find my nipple, plucking it like it’s a cherry.

“You love this,” he says.

I want to bite off his fingers.

It’s good that I had a Botox treatment earlier this week. My face doesn’t show displeasure. I force myself to smile, letting a silly and sexy little, “Ooh” slip from my plump lips.

Nicole Kidman, move over. I’d make the perfect Stepford wife.

Oh, wait. I already am one.

“You mean I look sexy in it.” I wink at my husband, a man good at only two things in life: making money and cheating on his wife. The more I look at him, the more I wish for his heart to explode.

Why can’t a fucking heart attack take him already? How much longer do I have to wait until he flops over and dies? I wouldn’t even mind if I wake up one morning and he’s stiff and cold next to me.

Soon he’ll be gone. I’m sure of it. His cholesterol is through the roof thanks to his diet of burgers, steak, and ice cream, and he refuses to take his anti-hypertension meds. Too much Viagra lives in his bloodstream. The stress that piles on him at work is killing him.

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

Shit. We haven’t had sex together in months. What’s gotten into him?

He pushes me onto our bed and rips off my bra. I cover my exposed breasts with my arm.

“You’re still so damn sexy,” he says. “I miss you, hun, you know? I miss what we--”

“Oh dear… I hate to break it to you now, but I have my period. Sorry, my love.”

He looks at my panties. I’m not wearing a pad. I could have a tampon in me, but he wouldn’t know the difference.

He narrows his eyes. “Again? Didn’t you just have it?”

I shrug. “It must be my hormones.”

“Then just blow me.” He takes off his pants and boxers before straddling me. He waves his tiny, limp dick and dangling balls in front of my face. Once upon a time, I did enjoying making love to him. He used to be sexy; when I first met him, he had a six-pack. Now, that’s become a one pack. God, he’s gotten fat. His green eyes were so bright. Now they’re always bloodshot. His brown hair has gotten thinner and thinner. It’s also graying. Vomit wants to leave my throat.

“Come on, darling, suck me.”

Tell Rosita to suck you, I want to tell him. I hired our maid to pleasure her master so that I don’t have to. She’s good at doing that, pleasing him in our kitchen, on our bed. Sometimes, when I’m bored, she pleases me too.

Rosita really stinks at cleaning though. I’ll have to talk to her about that.

He strokes his floppy dick. It doesn’t get erect. Even a woman with a vacuum mouth couldn’t harden him now. He frowns. Erectile dysfunction and heavy reliance on Viagra at his age can tell you just how unhealthy his cardiovascular system is. Soon, very soon.

“Forget it,” Robin says, looking at the clock on our nightstand. He puts on his clothes. “Let’s just go to the damn party.”

Thank god.

~*~

We could have walked to our new neighbor’s home. Instead, Robin drives us there.

I step out of his McLaren and fix my red dress. It’s getting a little tight on me. These days, it’s as if I gain a pound with every sip of water. Maybe I should wake up and realize that I’m no longer a size four.

I study our surroundings and notice a beautiful white peacock dancing on our new neighbor’s lawn. Is it even legal to own a peacock? Leave it to the newly rich to find the most outlandish ways to flaunt their wealth. Like, let’s say, host a party for all your neighbors at Empress Point.

“What the fuck kind of chicken is that?” Robin wrinkles his nose as he stares at the pretty peacock.

“It’s an albino peacock, darling,” I tell him.  

“Our new neighbor must be a zookeeper!”

“You’re so funny, Robin.” I flash my best smile at my husband. He looks so darn smug. When will people around him stop appeasing him? He needs to realize that humor is not his forte.

At the entrance of the mansion, a young man, dressed like a butler, hands us feathered masks.

“I didn’t know we were going to a masquerade,” I say, winking at the young man. Robin grunts. Did I mention that he’s very possessive of me, his trophy?

“Please enjoy the party ma’am. Masks on, please, before you step through the door.”

Robin and I oblige. Now
we
look like peacocks with these silly masks partially covering our faces.

Entering the mansion, my often jealous and vengeful husband stomps on the poor young man’s foot as if it were a cockroach.

“Oops,” Robin says, neglecting an apology. That’s the rich and powerful for you.  

I sigh, pretending not to see anything.

The interior of the mansion looks sleek and modern, decked out with white furniture, pristine white walls, and a large chandelier in the foyer. Sprawling staircases. Check. A grand piano in the living room. Check. Long hallways and expensive-looking artwork. Check. A decade ago, all this would have impressed me, but it’s now just the minimum standard of living to me.

In the dining room, Robin and I sample the hors d’oeuvres and sip bubbly. We make small talk with neighbors that aren’t our friends or our enemies. Behind our masks, we still know who each person is. That’s Megan of 13 Gatsby Drive—wearing the Louboutin fuck-me heels—fashion blogger and editor of some couture magazine. There are the Dolens of 1 Gatsby Drive. They made their fortune selling fruit in Chinatown. Yep. Over there, smoking a cigar and winking at me, is Mr. Alexander, a nice hotelier who once offered Robin a million dollars to sleep with him. We don’t talk to Mr. Alexander anymore, which is a shame, because he’s really just a sweet and lonely guy with terrible taste in men.

I should be talking…

Then I notice a dark-haired HILF (hunk-I’d-like-to-fuck), tall and muscular, hiding his face behind a black-feathered mask. A tailored dark gray suit—Armani I’d say if I had to guess.  Damn, he’s hot.

I have no idea who he is though. Is he the one who invited us to this party? He faces me and he curls his lips into a smirk. He takes a step toward me.

The lights go off. In pitch darkness, many guests, including myself, gasp.

Seconds later, the lights are back on, dimmer than they were before the blackout. Standing inches away from me is the hot stranger. As if it were staged, the song
Lady in Red
fills the room. He takes a step closer to me.

For a moment, it’s as if time is frozen, and only he and I exist in this room, in this world. Before I can react, he pulls me close to his body, so close it’s almost sinful. Behind our masks, our eyes meet. In this lighting, his are dark blue. His stare is intense. Sexy. If we were alone and in a bedroom together, we’d probably have a one-night stand tonight.

Instead, we dance. With him leading me across the floor, I feel as if my feet are floating across clouds. When was the last time I felt this alive, spinning around with this delicious stranger?

The world around us becomes one non-essential blur. I don’t even care when I notice that Robin, sidelined, is staring daggers our way.

As the song ends, my partner dips me—the perfect end to a spontaneous dance. But, oh crap. I think half of my dress just tore open in the back. Though I do have a nice ass, I don’t need the whole neighborhood staring at my booty in a barely-there lacy black thong.

My dance partner chuckles. He edges his lips close to my earlobe. The warmth of his minty breath makes my skin tingle. His voice is low and deep. “Don’t worry and come with me,” he tells me.

He expertly leads me away from the party, standing close behind me to hide my exposed backside from view. One of his hands rests above my hip, and the other hand clasps one of mine from behind. It’s as if we’re still dancing away, a la Tango-al-Reves style.

At the stairway, away from prying eyes, hand in hand like children, we run up the stairs. My hand disappears in his. At the end of the hallway on the second floor, he opens a large set of doors. We walk into the large bedroom.

It’s the perfect bachelor pad. Before us is a king-sized bed, covered in clean, navy blue bedding. I can picture myself rolling around in this bed with this man.

“Is this your bedroom?” I ask him, arching my right eyebrow.

“It’s our bedroom,” he drawls.

“Excuse me?”

“My girlfriend and I sleep here,” he answers.

“I see…” Can he hear the subtle tone of disappointment in my voice?

He walks toward the closet, a walk-in of course, and disappears for a minute before returning to hand me a black dress. From a quick glance, I’m sure it’ll fit. He’s guessed my size pretty well.

“Wear this. I’m sure that Alice won’t mind.”

I hate having to wear other people’s clothing. It feels degrading to have to wear his girlfriend’s dress. Wait. Ooh, it’s a Givenchy. Fine, I can deal with that.

I cross my arms, seeing that he’s just standing there and staring at me.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me change?”

He shrugs and tilts his head. “Do you have a problem with that? Just say the word and I’ll go. I’m a gentleman after all. ”

Him with a girlfriend, me with a husband. And yet we’re acting like two single and horny strangers who had just met at a club.

I shake my head. “I have no problem with that.” I take off my mask and wink at him. I shake my head to loosen my hair. Then I waggle a finger at him. “But first, you’ll have to remove your mask, darling.”

“Take off your dress first.”

I like this little game we’re playing. He’s already had a good view of my ass from behind.

“I’ll need your help. Unhook the back for me.” I turn around so that my back faces him. I lift my hair from my shoulders. He obliges, unhooking the back of my dress and unzipping it from the top. That way, I can slip it off.

“Thanks, darling.”

I turn around and remove the dress, stripping slowly before his eyes.

I watch him, studying his chest for signs of faster breathing. I love it when men are aroused and uncomfortable in my presence. Wearing nothing but my bra and thong before him, I feel powerful and completely comfortable. Behind the mask, his eyes fixate on my breasts, my pointy aroused nipples peeking out from behind thin, silk cloth.

“You’ve had a good look now. Your mask?” I twirl a strand of my hair.

“Fine.” With that, he removes his mask.

With one glance at his uncovered face, I can imagine that all the blood has now drained from my own.

He’s older now, but still young. His face no longer belongs to a boy. He’s a man now. A heart-stoppingly handsome man. He looks at me with a marked expression of disapproval. Almost a sneer. Almost disgust… On some days, when I look at my reflection, I see the same expression.

“Liam…” I feel my lips quiver.

“Seven years and this is what you’ve become, Mandi? A desperate housewife?” He scoffs. “Robin is downstairs, and I told you that I have a girlfriend.”

“Liam… I…” I cover my arms over my chest.

“Put this on, Mandi. Have some dignity, please.” Liam tosses his girlfriend’s dress at me and storms out of his bedroom.