The Other Side: The Affair, Companion Book 3 Read online

  The Other Side

  The Affair, Companion Book 3

  Aidèe Jaimes

  The Other Side

  The Affair, Companion Book 3

  by Aidée Jaimes

  Copyright © 2019 by Aidée Jaimes

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Dear Reader,

  I am so excited to share this short story from Bo’s point of view with you! I hope you enjoy a little insight into the events that transpired when he first met Cris. Please note, this book is a companion to The Affair, books 1 and 2, and is not meant to be read as a standalone. The telling of the story assumes you’ve read those books and may be confusing to someone who hasn’t.

  Haven’t read The Affair? Worry not! They’re available on Kindle and FREE to Kindle Unlimited subscribers! Click here to be directed to the first book, The Ticket.

  For Everyone.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Other Books by Aidèe Jaimes

  1

  The cool breeze does nothing to ease the sweat rolling between my shoulder blades on this unseasonably warm winter day. I’ve already stripped down to my white T-shirt and am seriously considering taking that off too when my mother hands me the last of the boxes my stepdad has broken down.

  “That’s it,” she says, wiping her brow.

  “All right, Momma. I’ll take them to the house.”

  “What’re you gonna do with them?”

  “I’m going to see Cole at some point this month, so I’ll give them to him. Since he’s movin’ down here, he’ll need boxes.” After loading them onto the bed of my truck, I close the tailgate.

  Somewhere behind us, we hear a garage door open and we both turn. A tall blond woman with three very blond kids is walking up the driveway diagonally across the street, and I can hear her chatting with another woman there.

  “Looks like there are a lot of families here,” I note. “Do you like it?”

  “This was a good move, Boey. But I won’t lie, I miss New Orleans.”

  “We’ll go back to visit soon. I promise.” I give her a hug, planting a kiss on her vanilla-scented hair, and then get into the truck. “I’ll be by with some dinner tonight.”

  “Just watch the seasoning. Your dad refuses to take his reflux medication.”

  “Will do, Momma.”

  Turning the key, I feel the engine of my Raptor roar to life. After I circle around in the cul-de-sac, I head up the street and stop at the house where the women are talking. I’m curious to see who my parents will be living next to.

  If it had been up to me, they would’ve moved to Huntersville. Somewhere closer, where I could keep an eye on them. But my mother said she was sick of old homes and wanted something newer, even if it was a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter neighborhood.

  Their realtor found this place. It’s nice. The houses are all some shade of white—ivory, bone, off-white, eggshell. But the siding will be easy to care for, as will the small yard in the front.

  The two-story house I pull up to now is, of course, white, with perfectly manicured grass and two black rockers on the large porch.

  Everyone moves aside, the women gathering the children next to them. When I roll down my tinted window, the beautiful blonde walks up to me with a child on her hip. The other woman, who’s much shorter and has dark hair, stands behind her while holding a little girl’s hand, making her hard to see.

  “Hi there!” the blonde greets. “Are y’all new here?”

  The brunette peeks from behind her, and I get a clear view of her face. Our eyes lock momentarily, but in that sliver of time, I see a thousand visions of lust, and the other woman disappears. My mouth is instantly dry, and I’m consumed by her unique beauty, the fullness of her lips, the glow of amber irises against smooth tan skin. My hands itch to remove the pin from her hair and release it from its messy bun to see if it reaches the curve of her hip. The thought of it makes me smile.

  The heat in the truck suddenly seems to rise a hundred degrees. A bead of sweat makes its way down my neck and into my clavicle. I’m burning up for her, yet she looks as cool as a cucumber in her black and blue checkered jacket.

  Or maybe she’s not as cool as I thought. When my eyes return to hers, she appears to be unnerved. Hardly breathing. Sweat rolls from her temple over the soft line of her jaw. And if I had to guess from the way she’s biting her lower lip, it’s me who’s made her that way.

  My grin broadens, and being merciful—though I don’t know if it’s for her sake or mine—I turn back to the blonde, and when I remember she asked me a question, I reply, “No ma’am. My folks just moved in. I live in Huntersville, ’bout half an hour or so away.”

  Though wouldn’t it be something to live this close to that? To see her every day?

  “I’m Jessica Donahue and this is Caleb.” She nods her head toward the boy in her arms. “Over there are my daughter, Clara, and my other son, Joshua. And this”—she gestures behind her—“is Cris and her daughter, Mia.”

  My gaze moves to Cris. She’s looking from us to my mother’s house, and I’m disappointed she’s not paying more attention to the conversation. I would’ve liked it better if she’d introduced herself. “Nice to meet y’all. My name is Bo. Moved up from Louisiana a few years ago.”

  At the mention of Louisiana, Cris’s eyes snap to mine, and fuck, but it feels like they’re touching me.

  But then, without warning, she takes off down the street. Through the rearview mirror, I watch her practically run to my mother’s house as if I were chasing her up the drive.

  “Guess she’s anxious to meet your family,” Jessica says and shrugs.

  “It would seem so.” Directing my focus back to her, I say, “I should probably get goin’. I’ll be coming around quite a bit to help my parents, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other.”

  “All right. It was nice to meet you, Bo.”

  “You too.” I drive away, all the while glancing in the rearview mirror in hopes of seeing Cris just one more time.

  2

  “Purple.”

  “Not purple, Dan. Lilac.”

  “It’s purple, I tell you. Call it what you will—violet, lavender. It’s damned purple! Bo, talk some sense into your mother. A man can’t live with a purple bathroom.”

  My mother’s eyes move to me as she taps her long red nails on the granite bar top, daring me to challenge her authority over the house. Not having expected to be a part of this decision, I take a large bite of my po’ boy. “Fif whavever.”

  “What? Speak up, son!” My stepfather puts his hand to his ear, trying to understand what I’m saying.

  “Boey, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Laughing, I take another bite, and say, “Af you wif.”

  My mother scoffs when she realizes I’m not going to side with either of them. “We’ll paint that bathroom lilac, and Bo will do it for us.”

  Dan grumbles as he takes a bite of his own sub. He knows better than to fight it. It’s nothing but a waste of energy. A battle he can’t win.

  Finally swallowing, I say, “Why not paint that bathroom purple—”

  “It’s not purple!” my mother interrupts, breaking off a piece of her French bread and feeding it to “Puggy the Beggar,” as I like to call the ball of fur.


  I continue, “Then Dan can paint the man cave any color he wants.”

  “Man cave?” he asks, as if the thought hasn’t occurred to him.

  “You have three bedrooms, a den, and two living rooms. Who the hell needs two living rooms?” I ask.

  “One’s for fancy company, and the other is for family,” Mom replies.

  “So you could give Dan the extra one.”

  “Well…I meant to use it as a sewing room.”

  “A sewing room? Woman! This house is filled to the brim with female things. Give me one damned room!” he demands.

  “All right, Dan. Fine. Take a room. But I want free rein over the rest of the house.”

  Dan waves his hand in the air, giving in. “Have whatever you want. But that room at the front”—he points toward it—“that’s all mine.”

  My mother rubs her palms together with glee. “I already know exactly where the Christmas tree is going to go.”

  “Momma, that’s almost a year away,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I’ll ask the girls to help me decorate.”

  “The girls?” I ask, looking down at the dog, who’s just placed her paws on my lap and is staring at my food like she’s starved.

  “Cris and Jessica. They live down the street.”

  At the mention of Cris’s name, I nearly choke on my bite. I haven’t seen her since the other day. At least, not with my eyes. Now, my mind is a whole other matter. She’s there. Constantly. “Right. I met them briefly.”

  “They’re nice girls.”

  “Oh? Have they come to visit?” I ask.

  “Yes. They’ve been here a few times.”

  “Um…” I’m not sure how to ask what I’m dying to know. “I only spoke with them for a minute. What do they do?”

  “Well, I believe Jessica is in school for some sort of business management. Cristiana stays at home with her—”

  “So that’s her name. Cristiana,” I say it aloud, wanting to feel the way it slides across my tongue. When I glance back at my mother, she’s watching me intently. “What?” I ask innocently.

  “Bo, I see somethin’ and I don’t like it one bit.”

  Sighing, I wipe the corners of my mouth and pet Puggy. “What do you see, Momma?”

  “Interest.”

  “Would that be a bad thing?”

  Dan turns on the television from his seat at the table and ignores our conversation.

  My mother rolls her eyes at him. This is the battle she can’t win.

  “Cher, Cristiana is a married woman,” she informs me.

  “I didn’t say anything about her.”

  “You didn’t have to. The way you said her name had enough meaning that there was no mistakin’ what you want.”

  I rest my chin in my hand, the possibilities churning in my mind. She’s got a small child who can’t be more than three, so hearing that she’s married is certainly no surprise. But I don’t want her to be. From the moment I met her, I’ve known that can’t be all there is to it. Everything inside me says that wasn’t the end. I’m not meant to look from the outside in, watching her happiness from afar. My gut tells me I’m meant to be a part of it.

  “Is she happily married?”

  “Bo Rougier!” My mother throws her napkin onto her plate. “Now you listen to me good, boy. I didn’t teach you to be a homewrecker.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Get that woman out of your mind once and for all. She’s happily married with a child. A family.”

  “But what if she isn’t? What if she’s been waitin’ for me?”

  “Bo. Son.” She stops, looking to the heavens, praying for patience, I suppose. “You surprise me. This isn’t you.”

  “I’m just sayin’ that maybe she’s not supposed to be with this guy. Momma, when I saw her, I felt somethin’. I can’t explain it, but I’ve never felt it before. And you didn’t teach me to be a homewrecker, but you did teach me to go after what I want.”

  “I don’t care, Boey. Not her and not where I live. You’re a good man. Handsome. There are plenty of women out there who are dyin’ to be with you. Plenty of free women.”

  Setting down my napkin too, I sigh. “All right, Momma.”

  “You’re going to let it go?”

  “No.”

  “Bo! Do you really want to bring trouble to my doorstep? Because goin’ after her will do exactly that. We just moved here. I’m not ready to move again.”

  Finally listening to what she’s saying, I snap out of this crazy, persistent mindset where all I can think about is Cris and making her mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I told you that I felt somethin’ for her. Guess it’s clouding my ability to think straight.”

  “Promise me you’ll stay away.”

  “I promise…” I trail off because I’d hate to lie. Instead, I say, “I won’t actively pursue her. But, Momma, if fate plays its hand and puts the chance in front of me, I’m taking it.”

  “Then for all our sakes, let’s hope fate keeps her nose where it belongs.”

  * * *

  After lunch, Dan heads upstairs to the room he’s claimed as his. There’s no furniture, but he doesn’t care. It’s his, and all is good.

  My mother asks me to stow away some of the heavy boxes to go through much later, if ever, and I start putting them in the guest room closet. When I glance out the window, I notice that I have an unobstructed view of Cris’s home.

  She’s there.

  The garage door is open and she’s sitting on the driveway with her daughter. By the looks of it, they’re drawing with sidewalk chalk. Probably taking advantage of the mild weather while it’s warm enough to be outside and enjoy the sunshine.

  My mind races with infinite excuses to go over there. I could say, “Hey, my mother needs a cup of sugar,” or “Could we borrow a ladder? We haven’t unpacked ours yet.”

  But what I’d really like to say is, “I just came over to see if you’re as beautiful as I remember, because the image of you haunts me all day long.”

  How any woman could have invaded my mind this way after only a few minutes in her presence is beyond me. It bothers me to the point where I’d like to prove it’s a fluke, that I’m imagining her effect on me.

  “What’re you doin’, sugar?”

  The sound of my mother’s voice has me snatching my hand back from the blinds. I turn to her, flashing her a smile that I hope will blind her to my actions. It doesn’t.

  “Don’t think that charmin’ grin will keep me from seeing what I saw.”

  “What about this one?” I ask, lifting only one side of my mouth.

  Laughing, she smacks my arm, her hoop bracelets clanking. She walks to the window and peeks out, then shakes her head and says, “She’s not for you, Bo.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “It’s all over your face.”

  “Momma, why don’t you invite her over one of these days? Maybe then I can see for myself that she’s not for me,” I suggest.

  “Because I already know she’s not for you. I’d be beggin’ for disaster.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “She loves her husband, Bo.”

  “Okay, maybe you’re right.” I say the words she taught me, the ones she says end an argument every time without anyone really giving in.

  She huffs, fully aware of what I’m doing, and leaves.

  Opening the blinds again, I stare out at Cris. Coveting another man’s wife. My mom’s right. This isn’t who I am. I don’t like it any more than she does.

  I’m not a homewrecker. I’ve never even looked at a married woman. Would have been offended should anyone suggest it. Yet I can’t help that pull I feel when I see Cris. That desire to be near her. Even from this distance, I feel it. It’s not normal. What it is, is painful.

  Just come over here. I will her to come to me if I can’t go to her.

  As if she hears me, her eyes snap up. I watch her intently, wondering if the pull is there fo
r her too.

  She stands, collecting the toys and chalk. Then with one last glance in my direction, she heads inside, closing the garage door behind her.

  Yes, this is very painful, I think as I walk away from the window.

  3

  I’ve been calling these people since seven a.m., and neither one has bothered to respond. Now, it’s not anything new for them to lose their phones. But as the day drags on and there’s still no answer, I begin to imagine my parents lying on the floor, having fallen down the stairs.

  “Hey, man, you got this? I gotta go do somethin’,” I tell my project overseer, Noah.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  I leave work, my heart halfway up my throat, and dial my parents once again. And once again, no answer.

  When I arrive at their house in Charlotte, I nearly jump out of the truck before it’s fully parked. I raise my hand to pound on their door but pause when the sound of a child’s laughter reaches me.

  Unless my kids were here, there’d be no reason for the high-pitched squeals to be coming from inside. Except…

  There are only two possibilities. Either Jessica’s here with her kids. Or Cristiana is. My breathing all but stops at the realization.

  I have a fifty percent chance of finally satisfying my curiosity, my need to see if Cristiana’s effect on me was exaggerated, or if, in fact, the all-consuming attraction is justified.

  The excitement of knowing once and for all has me pressing the doorbell hard.

  Ding.

  From inside, I hear my mother, loud and clear. “I wonder who that could be.” A few moments later, the door opens. “Well, mah Lord, Boey! What’n the world are you doin’ here?”

  She tries to prevent me from looking into the house toward the noise coming from the living room, but her five-foot frame allows me to see over her head easily.