Twisted Reality (Blind Reality #2) (21 page)

I look at the clock briefly, seeing that Josh is out of time. His driver will be here any second and he only waits a minute before he’s ringing our doorbell. It’s not only one ring and wait; it’s the constant jab that makes the bell go off repeatedly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I tell him, reaching into his shorts. The second my hand comes in contact with his shaft, his eyes roll back and his hips thrust, creating some friction.

He shimmies out of his shorts and boxers, letting his erection free and removing my hand. I adjust quickly, pulling my legs out from under him and spreading wide so his access to me is easy.

“Better make it quick, cowboy.”

Smirking, Josh pats my clit with the head of his penis. “Maybe I want to tease you, make you suffer the way you make me suffer.”

“I always give in.”

“Not always,” he says, slipping into me. “Sometimes you make me chase you, work for it.” He pulls out, leaving me with a void. He’s teasing, tormenting me. I’m worked up and he knows it. When he enters again, it’s hard and eager, and suddenly my legs are up over his shoulders and he’s pushing me forward.

“Fuck.” I reach for any part of him: his ass, his arms, and even his side, anything that I can dig my fingers into for leverage.

“That’s what I’m doing.” He grunts and reaches for our headboard, using that to his advantage. The tightness builds quickly with the urgency of our situation. “Do you want to come?” he asks.

“Yes.” I pant, my breathing labored as the familiar stirring starts to increase. His thumb presses down on my throbbing clit and I buck, desperately wanting more friction.

“Ah, Joey,” he moans as my orgasm moves through my body. He moves faster, harder, and I take it, all of it.

“Josh,” I whisper his name as he releases, grunting through the aftershocks that rock through our bodies.

“Fuck work,” he says, falling off to the side. His shorts are barely below his ass, making him look like a horny teenager trying not to get caught by his girlfriend’s dad.

“You say that every day.”

“And I mean it every day.”

The doorbell rings again; the loud annoying sounds grates on my nerves. “Fuck it,” getting up off the bed, he pulls his shorts back up, “I’m going to work with your scent all over me.”

I give him a look and he smirks. “I love the smell of your pussy, so it’s all good.” He kisses me quickly and tells me that he loves me before rushing down the hall. I hear him faintly tell the driver good morning before the front door shuts.

“Do you like this one?”

I go over to where Rebekah is standing next to a white crib. It’s pretty, but girlish. Our shopping adventure has landed us at a baby boutique. I’ve been eyeing this place for a while now, but haven’t had the courage to go in. The baby is going to need things at our house, but deep down I don’t want to buy the things I want my future child to have. I know it’s selfish, but I want my son or daughter to have that special crib. I know I’m going to step mom hell.

“I really should wait for Josh. He should be picking this out, not me.”

Sighing, Rebekah pulls me into her arms. The hug is friendly and needed. “Bronx doesn’t think the baby is Josh’s.”

“I know, he’s told me. Josh says she wouldn’t lie about it, though, and the way she’s been acting … I don’t know. I question whether she’s really pregnant.”

“Hasn’t Josh gone with her to an appointment or seen her sonogram?”

I shake my head. “He’s asked, but there’s always an ultimatum that goes with each request so he doesn’t push her.”

“Like what?”

We continue to browse through the store, my fingers touching over the soft fabrics used for blankets and clothes.

“She wants him to spend the night, all the time. Or go over to her place. When he says no, she withholds information about the baby and her pregnancy. She’ll go on rants to him about how she’s all alone, how I ruined her life and it will be a cold day in hell before she lets me hold her baby.”

“But you let her into your house, Joey, why do you do that?”

Shrugging, I look away. Rebekah is a rarity in Hollywood according to Josh. She teaches Sunday school and has Bronx going to church twice a week. They don’t party, unless they’re at a friend’s house, and she hardly ever drinks. I used to think her relationship with Bronx was all for the cameras and that her and Gary would end up together, but that’s not the case. Sure, Gary wants her, but she’s devoted to Bronx and their marriage.

“To keep the peace, I guess.”

“Are you with her all the time when she’s there?”

I shake my head. “No, she uses the bathroom. I don’t follow her in there.”

“I would,” she mumbles before changing direction to look at the toys.

The thought sickens me that Jules would do something in my house that would hurt me, or even Josh. Maybe Rebekah is right and I’ve been too trusting of her. Maybe Josh has been as well.

As soon as Rebekah and I part ways I decide to head home, instead of going to the gym. When I step inside, my senses are heightened. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is needs to jump out and wave its hands for me.

Only one of the spare bedrooms has a bed and that room is right off the garage. I go in there and look over everything and see nothing out of place. I don’t remember a time when she was gone longer than a few minutes, but I also don’t remember tracking her time. I’ve been trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I go into the room that we’ll be using for the baby’s nursery. The paint samples I had taped to the wall are on the floor. I can’t imagine she’d take them down. What purpose would that serve?

All the bathrooms are checked, but without knowing what I’m looking for I can’t be for certain she hasn’t done anything.

The last room I check is our bedroom. My stomach drops at the thought of her being in here. The only thing I find out of place is the wedding photo on Josh’s nightstand is turned backwards. I right it and wonder how long it’s been like that.

Walking into my closet I roam over everything I have in there. It’s mostly clothes with a few boxes of pictures that I haven’t had a chance to go through yet. The garment bag that holds my wedding dress is there, visible for anyone who walks in. I know Josh wouldn’t peek, but would she?

My heart drops as I start to pull the zipper down. I pray that Rebekah is wrong, but what if she isn’t? What if I’ve been letting the devil play in my house? When the zipper reaches the bottom I push my hands inside the plastic and push it off the hangers.

I gasp and tears immediately take over my vision. My beautiful Cinderella dress is tattered and ripped to shreds. The beadwork on the bodice is pulled apart and the tulle is gone.

“Oh my God, she did this,” I say out loud to my empty house. Bending down, I pick up the scraps of fabric and let them fall through my fingers. Beneath it all I find a stack of photos. Thumbing through them, the contents of my stomach stir. The pictures are of Jules on my bed, in my shower, and of her with Josh. There are numerous photos of Josh and Jules, sitting next to each other, taken inside this house when I’m not home or not in the room. He’s smiling for the camera. Why?

I rush to the bathroom and expel my lunch. This woman is nothing but trouble in our lives and he continues to feed into her twisted reality. After rinsing my mouth, I trudge back to my closet for more torture, pausing at his. On his top shelf is a box that he keeps articles about himself in. I pull it down and open it.

My hand covers my mouth when I pick up the first one. It’s about Josh and Jules going into a doctor’s office. The picture attached shows them embracing. How did I miss all of this? Am I that blind that I can’t even recognize when my husband is cheating on me?

I go back to the living room and grab my phone, dialing Bronx’s number. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Is he cheating on me?”

“Josh? No, you know I’d tell you if he were. What’s going on?”

“I found … I … oh God, he’s been seeing her Bronx.”

“Don’t do anything, I’ll be right over.”

Bronx hangs up, but the damage is done. Everything is in black and white, printed for my viewing pleasure. My husband is a liar. Everything that I’ve been wishing for with him, he’s been doing and lying to me about it all.

W
hen the driver pulls in, Bronx’s car is in my driveway. I groan at the sight of it. I know Joey is friends with the Taylors, but I can only take so much of them. I don’t care if she hangs out with Rebekah, but Bronx is another story.

I slam the door in frustration and the driver pulls away. I didn’t even give him a chance to get out and open my door. After a long day of filming the last thing I want to do is deal with Bronx.

“Joey,” I holler, slamming the door for effect. I want her to know I’m pissed. She should’ve texted me to give me a heads up that they’re going to be here. I enter the living room, half expecting the windows to be open and to find them outside, but instead I’m met with Bronx sitting on my couch with a mess of something on the coffee table.

“Where’s Joey?”

“Nice to see you, too.” He doesn’t move from my couch. In fact, he crosses his leg over his other as if he’s welcome to stay.

“Where’s Joey?” I ask again.

He shakes his head and sighs, pissing me off even more. My day was utter shit and I just want to crawl into bed with my wife and forget everything.

“She left.”

“What do you mean she left?”

“I mean Joey decided to look at her wedding dress today and found it ripped to shreds, along with an assortment of fucking photos of you and Jules. And because that wasn’t enough torture, she decided to go snooping in your closet and found an article about you and Jules going to a doctor’s appointment so she fucking left you, Josh,” he says, standing.

“I warned her about you and Jules, but she wouldn’t listen. And when Jules said she was pregnant I told you both that it’s not yours, but you have the gall to tell Joey that Jules wouldn’t lie to you? Look at this mess, Josh. Do you think Joey tore up her own fucking dress? Do you think she took pictures of Jules lying on your bed? When did you think it would be okay for you and Jules to pose for pictures while you’re cuddled up on your couch? Newsflash, buddy, it’s never fucking okay. You should’ve let Joey go when the show ended.”

I’m trying to digest Bronx’s words, but they’re muted and mumbled. I can’t get past keywords of Joey being gone, her dress being ruined, and Jules. I can see the picture on the table, but my vision is blurred from a mixture of tears and anger. Why would Joey leave and not talk to me about this first?