THE EX FACTOR

LEVI

I’m not ready for this. No matter how I prepare, I’ll never be fucking ready for this. My best friend is dead, and I’m sat here in my apartment, showered, but naked, staring at the suit I’m supposed to wear to his viewing. Because everyone wants to see Ash—the once fit and very much alive rock star—pasty-faced and staring up at them from the inside of a casket. Four days after his death and I still don’t really believe it. I still can’t function, I can’t breathe, and whisky and coke are the only things keeping me afloat.

If I could be bothered, I’d go out and find some pussy—hell, maybe I’d even get lucky and contract AIDS too. There’s a strange sort of poetic justice in that, going out like Ash did, finally getting my comeuppance after a lifetime of using women. But I’m too drunk to even muster a semi, and what the hell would be the point? I’d only be blinded by desire imagining it was Brie’s pussy I was burying myself in, and heartbroken all over again when I opened my eyes and saw it wasn’t her.

What was the fucking point in any of it? I may as well just sit here and drink myself to death. At least then I know I’d be happy with my bedfellows in the morning. I wouldn’t have to throw Jack, Jim, or Johnnie out when the sun rose, because they’d be gone, all used up.

There’s a knock on my door and I get up to open it. I stagger a bit before leaning on the wall and moving at a snail’s pace towards it. I throw it open, not caring that I’m naked, or who might be on the other side. Maybe I should have though, because strangely enough, my two exes stand in my doorway.

“Jesus, did I just step onto the set of Revenge?”

“You’re drunk,” Ali says, looking down her nose at me, which is impressive for someone so vertically challenged.

“And you’re married. Me being drunk never stopped us before, but hey, I’m up for it if you two are.”

“Cut the shit, Levi,” Ali says.

“At least I’d go out with a bang.” Both women just glare at me. “Where the fuck is Zed when you need him? He’d have gotten that joke.”

“We might have too, if it had actually been funny,” Ali says.

“Not that it isn’t nice to see the two women I fucked and who fucked me up in a room together, but what do you want?”

“I heard about your friend,” Brie says. It’s the first time she’s said anything since I pulled back the door, and the sound of her voice—that fucking hot French accent—guts me to the core. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Yeah, well sorry doesn’t bring him back, but you already know that, don’t you?”

Brie sighs and Ali just shakes her head and says, “You need to sober up and get ready.”

“Fuck sober.”

“Then at least have the decency to sit your arse down and think about the fact that Brie just travelled thousands of miles to see you, and you haven’t even acknowledged her.”

“I’m sorry, did I forget to roll out the fucking welcome mat for you, princess?”

Brie’s shoulders sag, and I both love and hate that it’s so easy to hurt her with careless words. “Levi—”

“What exactly are you doing here, Brie?” I swig from the bottle in my hand and frown when I find it empty. “Did you burn through your two-hundred-thousand-dollar pay cheque already? You need to come running all the way to Australia to ask Daddy for more money? Get on your knees, little girl, and we’ll work something out.”

“You arrogant arse!” She closes her eyes against her tears, but she won’t let them trail down her cheeks. She’s far too proud for that. I feel like shit. I want to touch her, pull her into my arms, fuck her, but I can’t. I glance at Ali, who’s busy looking around my apartment. It occurs to me that with everything this woman and I shared, she’s never seen the inside of my home. “I came here because I made a mistake ... I love you, Levi.”

I scoff and throw my arms wide with a bitter smile. “Then where the hell you been, Brie?”

“I came as soon as Ali called me. I’m sorry about your friend. I’m sorry I pushed you away. My mother was heartbroken after my father’s death, and I couldn’t leave her.”

“But not you, right?” I walk over to the coffee table and snag a half-finished bottle of Johnnie Walker XR. Then I plant my naked arse on the couch and glare up at her. “You weren’t heartbroken.”

“Mon Dieu!” And that does it, my Angry French Girl is back with a vengeance. “Would you just listen for once? I love you, idiot! I’m here because of you. Because I couldn’t live without you.”

“Jesus fuck!” I laugh and tilt my head up to the ceiling, praying for answers, or a fucking bullet. “Why do I let you women do this shit to me?”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Ali says. I turn my head to look at her. I forgot she was even here. “Brie, call me if you need me.”

Angry French Girl nods. “Merci.”

“You.” Ali points at me. “Sober the hell up. The viewing starts in two hours.” She leaves my apartment, slamming the door behind her.

I glance at Brie, her silken hair falling over her shoulders, and sadness in her eyes. “I like her. I didn’t think I would because she fucked you and broke your heart, but I actually like her.”

“Then why don’t you go and join her and Coop?” I pull the lid off the scotch whisky and drink. “You can have your own little ménage à trois.”

“Maybe we could,” she agrees, stepping closer. “But there is just one problem.”

“Really, what’s that?”

“He isn’t you.” Brie climbs into my lap. My cock twitches. Her features soften, and she peppers my face with kisses. “I missed you so much.”

I cup her cheek with my free hand and look at her. I can’t believe she’s here. She’s all I’ve wanted for weeks, but these last few days especially. And she’s crying, sobbing as she smooths her fingers over my cheeks, and burrows her head into my palm. I let go of the bottle of booze, and suddenly the dam within me breaks. Everything I’ve been shoving down since she left me comes ripping, tearing, screeching to the surface, and a sob more animal than human tears from my throat. Jesus. I bet Ash would bust a nut laughing if he could see me right now. I’m naked and pussing out like a little bitch while the woman of my dreams straddles my lap.

“It hurts so much.”

“I know. Shh,” she soothes, clutching to me for dear life. Her fingers slide into the hair at the nape of my neck. I let her hold me close, and pet me, and I wrap my arms tightly around her body, afraid she’ll disappear.

Her lips give me soft, sweet kisses. That’s not what I want. This woman walked away from me, and here she is, straddling my hips, kissing me like it’s a fucking goodbye. It’s not a goodbye. I slide my hand into her hair at the back of her head and pull her down to me, pressing my lips hard against hers and thrusting my tongue in her mouth until she yields, until she opens and submits to me. There’s something wrong, though; she’s not kissing me back the way I want her to. In fact, she’s trying to get away. I pull back and glare at her.

“What the fuck?” I snap. “You come all this way just to be my friend, Brie?”

“No, of course not.” She shakes her head emphatically. “But I don’t think now is the best time to reconnect. You’re hurting.”

“Yeah, my cock’s aching too. Or can you not feel that?” I roll my hips beneath her, pushing my hard-on against her soft flesh.

“Levi, stop. It’s okay to feel grief. It’s okay to not make everything about sex.”

“Says the woman wearing that.” I glance down at her cleavage on display.

“I need to take a shower. I’ve had a long flight.” She crawls off me and stands beside the couch. Her gaze darts to my hard-on and then back up to my face.

Jesus Christ. I need a drink, a line of coke, or a hit of something stronger. “Fine, go take a fucking shower.”

Suddenly I want her gone, because I have a little baggie full of coke with my name on it. My snow-white friend won’t take away the pain completely, but it’ll take the edge off; it’ll make this day more bearable, so it’s a fucking start.

She sighs and holds a hand out to me. “Come on, you could use some sobering up.”

“In a minute,” I say, trying not to eye the stash of coke and the little metal straw I purchased for this very purpose for the fear that I may draw attention to it, and Brie might take it away.

She gives me a sad smile. “Okay, where is your bathroom.”

“Second door on the right.” As soon as she disappears, shutting the door behind her, I spring forward and grab the little silver tray with my coke on it. Only, the bag isn’t here.

“What the fuck?” I shout to the empty room. I sweep everything off the coffee table and get down on my hands and knees, rummaging through the debris. I pull out the couch cushions, one by one. I tear the fucking place apart, but my coke is nowhere to be seen. I spot Brie’s handbag on the floor and rifle through it. I glance at her suitcase, but there’s no way she could have stolen it and stashed it in there because my eyes were on her the whole fucking time. Red. That fucking bitch. She swiped my fucking coke while I was distracted with Brie.

Fuck!

I upend the coffee table and stare at the mess, panting. Then I find a pair of discarded jeans on the floor and a worn Henley and throw them on. Grabbing my keys and my wallet off the kitchen counter, I walk out and go in search of a high that won’t tease me with the promise of oblivion, but one that will actually give it to me.