NEXT TO ME (A Love Happens Novel Book 1) (8 page)

The background check would take only minutes. With a few taps on his laptop, he could access databases that would tell him everything about her, and he wasn’t talking about her credit card balances or family history. He could find out her blood type and the last time she’d had a tetanus shot, or what score she had received on her SAT’s and if she’d cheated to get it. Hell, for that matter, he could put Beck on it and find out exactly what she was doing at this very moment.

But Sam didn’t do it. He held back. Ali was protective of her privacy and it was his choice whether to respect that or not. Respect won out, effectively silencing his gut feeling. Knowing they were on the precipice of something new and extraordinary, Sam didn’t want raw data on a computer screen to interfere. It wasn’t like him to go out on a limb and trust someone without the benefit of hard information to support his decision, not that he ran a report on every woman he dated. He never intended to keep any of them around long enough that it would matter what secrets their past held. And although he’d never done it a single time for personal use, he had run reports in the past for a few buddies who’d gotten themselves into some deep shit before they could come up for air and think with the correct head. Sam always told them it was better to know the woman you were getting into, before you actually got into her.

So did that make him a hypocrite or just a fucking fool? Most likely, both. But he was not starting this relationship with Ali by looking up her credit score or her driving record. He wanted her to open up to him, to tell him about herself, because she trusted him.

And if he didn’t stop obsessing like a teenage girl with puppy love and get to work on all the shit currently covering his desk and filling his inbox, he might never make it home tonight. Swearing long and low, Sam dealt with the problem first and foremost in his mind. Picking up the phone, he dialed Ray Berg’s number, ready to rid himself of one big fucking headache.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“The judge signed the decree, Ali. The day before yesterday. Even though Danny contested the divorce, New Jersey is a no-fault state and since you weren’t asking for any community property, assets or alimony, all we needed to do was wait out the six months.”

It was early evening, the sun sinking low in the sky and the air just beginning to cool, as Ali paced the length of her kitchen. Bare feet silent on the wood floor and burner phone to her ear, she absorbed what her lawyer was telling her. “So does that mean it’s done?”

“Yes. In the eyes of the law, as of forty-eight hours ago, you are officially divorced. I can have the original, notarized documents overnighted to you.”

“Does he know? I want to make sure that he knows it’s final.” That she was free and clear from him, at least legally speaking. “And my real address isn’t anywhere on the papers, right?”

Before leaving the state, Ali had set up a post office box, somehow having the foresight to know she needed her mail sent to a location where she wasn’t. Danny was smart, she didn’t need to make it any easier for him. Her lawyer was the only person that knew her true whereabouts and she would check the mailbox monthly, forwarding any correspondence to Ali.

“No, Ali. Every step was taken to ensure your privacy. They all have the New Jersey post office box. And I will personally mail the envelope with these documents myself so your location will remained privileged. As to Danny? The man is licensed to practice law in three states. He should know how this works.”

The relief Ali felt was so strong, she sank bonelessly down onto the slip-covered sofa, clicking the phone off with a heartfelt whisper of thanks.
The judge signed the decree, Ali. The day before yesterday.
Leaning her head back against the sofa, she laughed out loud, the sound rusty and garbled as an exultant sob joined in. The weight of the world began to lift and she inhaled deeply, the suffocating mistakes of her past slowly easing. Oh, the seed of fear was still there, deep in the pit of her stomach, but the undiluted hope she felt minimized it. She was one step closer to putting the pain of the past six years behind her. A new beginning was within reach and Ali could finally see her opportunity for happiness on the horizon.

She’d already had her fits of anger and cathartic crying sessions over the end of her doomed marriage, working through the devastating emotions with the help of unaccompanied time and fresh perspective. And a good bottle of chardonnay, when the doldrums really set in. Determined not to repeat the past, Ali spent hours racking her brain, tallying up every red flag she had either missed or discounted. She’d been doing exactly that the night before last, sitting on the beach watching the sun go down and wondering if she’d ever have a normal life, when Pete interrupted her melancholy musings and made his introduction, Sam following shortly behind. The tears that night weren’t from sadness or regret over what had been lost, but instead what she’d never even had to begin with. Her marriage hadn’t been driven by dreams for a long, fulfilling life together, spent juggling children and work and laundry, along with bills that couldn’t always be paid. No, Ali’s ill-fated marriage had instead been filled with things like control and isolation, and abject resentment by both parties. The tears she’d cried that night on the beach were because she had so desperately wanted the hopes and dreams, along with the kids and the bills. Her mama always told her, if the foundation was strong, than hardship and happiness could co-exist. And that was what Ali signed up for the day she married Daniel Davis in a Fairfield County, Connecticut courthouse when she was twenty-two years old.

When she should have been old enough—and smart enough—to know better.

What did that say about her? That she could so easily be duped by a man? Raised in a loving and supportive home, Ali had never been told to shut up as a child. Never been told to look pretty and act happy. Never been told that when you broke the rules, you had to face the consequences, and that usually included an open-handed bitch slap that came from left field—a move Danny had down pat. Her mother was a tough old broad who didn’t take shit from her father or anybody else, for that matter. Anna May Ross was a God fearing woman who went to church every Sunday morning and cooked a hot meal for her husband every night. She’d always been firm but loving to her only child, until the day Ali had refused to listen to her wise advice and walked away from her parents to be with a man that her mother had somehow instinctively known was bad, even though she’d met him only once. Ali had never returned to her hometown, nor had she seen her parents again. She realized now why Danny had been so adamant she break ties with them. He knew her mother saw in him what Ali herself had yet to see.

If her mother was standing in front of her right now, in this very room, she would look Ali straight in the eye and sternly say, “Listen up, Ali Ann. I didn’t raise you to think it’s okay for a man to treat you that way. Now you wipe your eyes and stand up straight. And you best clean up your house if you want a happy life.”

Cleaning up your house was her mother’s way of saying
get your mind right.

“Well, Mama. I’m trying.” Ali whispered the words to the empty room, wishing she could simply pick up the phone and say it directly to her, the woman whom she had not spoken with since she’d blindly followed Danny to upstate New York six years ago, armed with her barely dry Bachelor’s degree in journalism, a second hand suitcase full of discount department store clothes, and a two-carat diamond engagement ring. Oh, and those dreams for a long and wonderful marriage.

Her mama had been right, of course. Ali had figured it out for herself pretty damn quickly, too. But by then it was too late to go back. She was bound, by the law and her pride and her fear of Danny, and Ali hadn’t contacted her parents again after that night. The internet had been the one to tell her that her dad had died of cancer last year and that her mama was still living in the same house Ali had grown up in. Any female on the planet could tell you that the relationship between a mother and daughter was the single most fragile, and the most difficult, of all relationships. But no matter how old you grew or how strained that relationship became, deep down inside a girl’s heart, she always wanted her mama. Ali was no different. And one day she would go home to see her, and she prayed that day would come soon.

When it was safe. When Danny wasn’t a threat. When Ali had her house clean.

The sudden shadow moving in front of her glass doors sent her heartbeat skyrocketing and she jumped up from the sofa, banging her knee against the hard edge of the coffee table. A second later she recognized the large, broad shoulders, dark hair and too handsome face. Walking to the door, she jerked it open with an irritated huff.

“Jesus Christ, Sam! You just took another year off my life! I swear to God, you need a bell around your neck.” He laughed, snaking an arm around her before she could step back. Despite her scolding words, she immediately returned his hug, burying her smiling face in his musky smelling shirt. “Give a girl a warning signal next time, will you? Stomp your feet or something.”

“You are the most skittish person I know.” He leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft against hers, teasing her with tiny licks of his tongue. “I still like you, though.” And with that statement, he released her, walking to the fridge and grabbing a beer from her fully stocked array of options. “How was your day?”

Rubbing away the pain in her knee, it took her a second to regroup. Sam, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at home. “My day was...” How was her day? No one had asked her that in a long time. At least, no one who actually cared about the answer. “It was fine, I guess.” Better than fine, according to the State of New Jersey. “Yeah, all in all? I’d have to say it was pretty good.”

He looked at her with a wry smile and chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ali, you are one of a kind. You know that?”

“No, Sam, I don’t know that. Actually, I’ve been told I’m nothing special.” She liked this playful side of him, his easygoing personality calming. And refreshing. “Oh, and I was recently told that I’m unusually skittish. But not one of a kind, no.”

He set his beer down with a frown and reached for her, lifting her up onto the kitchen island like she weighed next to nothing. “Who said you were nothing special? Tell me. I’ll hunt him down and make him sorry he was ever born.”

His mouth was doing magical things to that sensitive spot on her neck, yet the words he spoke weren’t lost on her. Placing her hands in his hair, she tugged lightly, pulling his mouth up to hers for a kiss. “You’ll slay my dragon for me, Sam?” she whispered, against his lips.

“Hell, yes. If you promise not to put a cat collar on me. I walk into a room like any other normal person, Ali. It’s like your expecting the boogeyman to jump out at you.”

His mouth locked onto hers fully then, his spicy taste intoxicating as he swept his tongue across hers and stepped closer into her, letting her feel his response to their quickly escalating make out session. He reached for her semi sheer t-shirt, covering a matching bra, and slowly pulled the hem up, his fingers cool on the hot skin of her belly.

“And you are special, Ali. Okay?” His serious words barely penetrated her hazy, lustful thoughts and he pulled his mouth back an inch. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you different. Got it?”

She looked up into his sincere gray eyes. “Got it.”

“Good. Now what do we have here? Hmm, I’ve never seen a bra in that particular shade of green before.” Her revealing, cheetah print demi-bra, now exposed with her t-shirt pushed up above her breasts, made him smile and he told her so.

Exactly how many bra’s had the man seen? “The boutique called this color avocado smoothie. I thought it was cute.”

“It is cute. Makes me hard as hell. Makes me hungry for guacamole, too.” Leaning down, he nipped at the hardened tip, his tongue running along the black lace edge for a brief second. “Let’s go get Mexican. I know a place up the coast a mile or so. Great fish tacos.” He was pulling her shirt back into place as he spoke.

“Wait. You want to go eat? Now?” At his nod, she sputtered. “But... I’m sitting here with my boobs out,” she gestured around her, “on a counter that has been used more for foreplay than cooking. And you were already rounding first base, by the way.”

He laughed and lifted her down. “Feed me, woman. Please. I promise you, it’ll be worth it. You don’t want to be around me when I’m hungry. It ain’t pretty, babe.”

Ali pouted. “You’re a fun hater, Sam Gleeson. You hate fun.” Teasing him, she grabbed a tattered sweatshirt off the back of a rattan bar stool and slipped her feet into flip flops. Suddenly, she looked up at him with excitement. “Hey, do they have homemade chips and salsa?”

“Now, what kinda man would I be if I took you to a Mexican joint with shitty food? Of course, they have homemade chips and salsa. And top shelf tequila that will kick your ass. I’m parked in your driveway, so lets go out the front.”

Sam nodded in that direction and she grabbed the hand he held out to her, quickly locking the front door securely behind her with the other. It was then that she realized her selfishness. “Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry. I forgot to ask you how your day was.” God, she sucked at relationships. Or whatever the hell this was.

A wrinkle creased his forehead and Ali reached up to rub it with her index finger, wanting to take away whatever stress and worry this man had.

“It started off really great and it’s ending really great. That’s all that matters.”

***

Whoever invented pomegranate margarita’s should be anointed to sainthood. The colorful frozen concoction had a way of making everything right with the world. Temporarily, at least. Her nearly numb extremities and mellow mood could testify.

“This is a very nice car.” Ali ran her hands along the contoured seat, the butter colored leather soft under her touch as they headed back down the coast after their casual dinner. The sleek sports car was the color of molten steel, nearly the same shade as his eyes, and Ali tried not to wince when she thought of how much it must have cost.