Double Standards, page 1
Double Standards
Caitlyn P. Tajon
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Caitlyn P. Tajon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: caitlyn@tajons.com.
First paperback edition September 2021
Published by Caitlyn P. Tajon
Edited by Skye Noelle Cruz and Haley Veltkamp
Book cover design by Emily Wittig Designs
Formatting and printing by KDP & IngramSpark
Amazon KDP
ISBN 979-8-5434-2688-3 (paperback)
ASIN B09B68R4MN (ebook/kindle)
(ebook)
IngramSpark
ISBN 978-1-0878-9416-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-0878-9427-0 (ebook)
www.caitlyn.tajons.com
Note from Author & Trigger Warnings
Double Standards is the first book in the “Double Standards” duology. It contains strong language, mature content, mental health issues (depression, anxiety), explicit sex scenes, alcoholism, mention of abortion, abuse, and divorce, unhealthy relationships, miscommunication, religion, death/murder, and guilt. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable or trigger you, please do not read this book.
Callie and Liam will frustrate you.
If female characters who struggle with mental health and toxic coping mechanisms or men who have commitment issues and don’t know a good thing from a hole in the ground bother you, then you probably won’t like this book.
As someone who has suffered from mental health issues, I make it a point to discuss them in my books. They are a part of real life that need to be normalized. If you feel intense frustration with either of these main characters, that’s a good thing. They are examples of two broken people who form a dysfunctional relationship, not a depiction of what a happily ever after should look like.
Songs that inspired this story:
“illicit affairs” by Taylor Swift
“’tis the damn season” by Taylor Swift
“tolerate it” by Taylor Swift
“All You Had To Do Was Stay” by Taylor Swift
“Forever & Always” by Taylor Swift
“Red” by Taylor Swift
“Come Back… Be Here” by Taylor Swift
“Begin Again” by Taylor Swift
“Sweater Weather” by Pentatonix
“Christmas Blues” by Sabrina Claudio & The Weeknd
“Start (feat. serpentwithfeet)” by Ellie Goulding
“the 1” by Taylor Swift
“you broke me first” by Tate McRae
“Untouched” by The Veronicas
“There’s No Way (feat. Julia Michaels)” by Lauv
“Body” by Julia Michaels
“Shouldn’t Have Said It” by Julia Michaels
“Over It” by Katharine McPhee
“Wasting All These Tears” by Cassadee Pope
“Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi
“Circles” by Post Malone
“I Really Wish I Hated You” by blink-182
“Should’ve Said It” by Camila Cabello
“Champagne” by Niykee Heaton
“Privilege” by The Weeknd
“Mean It” by Lauv & LANY
“Tokyo Narita (Freestyle)” by Halsey & Lido
“Anyone” by Demi Lovato
“Sacrifice (feat. Jessie Reyez)” by Black Atlass
“Consequences” By Camila Cabello
Dedication
For my husband, Tyler,
who has been nothing but supportive of
my childhood dream to publish a book… and my
ever-changing sense of purpose in life.
For my mom, Misty, who has always
believed in my ability to tell the stories in my head,
who told me with enough hard work, I could achieve anything,
and who has continuously had faith in me and my dreams.
For my dads, Donnie and Michael, who
are lifting me up in their own ways, without
reading the not-so-family-friendly book I’ve written.
I love you all.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Prologue

Callie
Christmas Eve
“Fuck New York,” my best friend, Sophie, muttered under her breath, creating a white cloud around us. I shivered at the sight and pulled her closer to feel her warmth.
“Too many damn people. I’m so glad I moved away,” she continued.
I chuckled, then shivered again as a gust of wind blew the top of my coat open and brushed my bare skin. It was Christmas Eve and the sun was down, meaning that the temperature was quickly dropping. Small snowflakes flurried around us as we briskly walked through the mildly busy streets of New York City. The sidewalk was wet from melted snow and reflected the Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts and headlights from passing cars.
“They have nicer weather than we do, though,” I pointed out.
She scoffed. “By an average of, like, two degrees and an inch less of rain.”
I couldn’t disagree with her there.
We finally approached the Museum of Modern Art, where the Midtown North Precinct was hosting this year’s Annual Twin City Christmas Gala. It was evident we were at the right place by the sheer number of people in formal clothing gathered on the stairs out front, drinks in hand. Holiday music poured out of the doors whenever they opened, and the smell of baked goods and cinnamon greeted us.
“Thank God,” I said as we started up the steps. “It’s so fucking cold out here.”
“To be fair, your dress wasn’t exactly made for this weather,” Sophie teased as we ascended the steps.
“Pssh, whatever. If we’re here to help fundraise, this dress will certainly help,” I retorted, even though it was why I picked out the red ombre sequin dress that hugged my curves tightly.
A gentleman manning the doors in a black tuxedo smiled at us and opened the door. We tipped our heads and let the warmth from inside wash over us. Releasing each other, we shrugged our coats off, revealing my festive dress and her chic black backless jumpsuit, the V-neck and wide strips across the upper back complimenting her curvy, feminine figure. Her raven black hair was slicked back and her perfectly plucked eyebrows were dramatized by her deep brown eyes.
Sophie was the epitome of effortless beauty.
“You clean up exceptionally well. I never would have guessed you worked patrol all day,” I told her as coat checkers took our coats.
We stopped briefly at a table nearby to fill out name tags. Sophie scribbled her name in girlish, looping letters and slapped it over her heart. I snickered at her and scrawled a single word on mine: detective. If people were curious enough, they’d ask.
She sighed and shook her head as we moseyed into the event. “Now that you’ve made Detective, I’m desperate to get off patrol. My new partner just isn’t the same as you.”
We stepped through the entrance to a large gallery. Caterers wandered around holding trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne, and there were people packed into every corner.
“Trust me,” I murmured distractedly, “if I was able to get the promotion, so can you. I hear Lopez is retiring in February.” I winked at her before sashaying away and beelining for a glass of champagne. If I had to schmooze, I needed booze.
I downed my first glass and grabbed another before the waiter could scurry away. As I took a sip, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I slowly turned and saw my boss, Terry Levinsky, standing behind me, grinning widely beside a middle-aged couple.
“Callie, dear, I’m so glad you could make it,” he crooned. “I wanted to introduce you to the Florences. They’re major benefactors to the MoMA, and after I told them about the case you’re working on, they were dying to meet you.”
I inwardly grimaced. That case was killing me slowly, but I forced a merry smile at the couple before me and extended a hand to shake theirs. All the people in this room looked identical to me and held basically the same occupation, so this particular couple didn’t stand out. I just needed to fake my way through every interaction and hopefully they’d be writing checks by the end of the night.
The goal was to raise the most money. Those who did got a generous bonus at the start of the new year, and I desperately wanted the extra cash so I could move into a nicer apartment closer to work. While my promotion earned me significantly more than my patrol salary had, I’d only been in
After nearly an hour of socializing and half-flirting with rich old men, I excused myself to use the restroom. I was borderline tipsy and needed a break to clear my head. Once I’d relieved myself, I dampened a paper towel and gently pressed it to the back of my neck in an effort to cool off. I caught my reflection in the mirror and found myself thoroughly impressed with the woman standing before me.
I was more confident now than I had been mere weeks ago when I still worked patrol. After all, I was one of the youngest women ever to be promoted to Detective in the Newark Police Division.
My eyes, no longer meek but determined, were a clear crystal blue, their focus albeit glazed from the drinks I’d had.
I adjusted my simple yet expensive jewelry so the brands—a symbol of class and elegance—were noticeable.
Picking my clutch up off the counter, I left the bathroom. I lingered between the bar and the area reserved for dancing, craning my neck to see if I could find any familiar faces. I spotted Sophie, laughing joyously with some of the officers from our precinct, before she turned and made her way to speak to an older couple on the outskirts of the room.
Always a social butterfly.
I sighed and decided I needed a strong drink. I turned on my heel, but kept my gaze over my shoulder as I searched for anyone else I might know. Not paying attention to what was in front of me, I felt myself collide with another person, causing me to teeter on my heels and drop my purse on the ground. I heard its contents scatter and huffed in frustration as I immediately squatted to pick up my scattered belongings. I mumbled a half-assed apology when suddenly a pair of masculine hands grabbed my phone and lipgloss from the floor.
I glanced up, ready to give my thanks, but instead did a double take. An incredibly attractive man was handing me my iPhone and lipgloss, and I couldn’t help but stare at him. Deep green eyes bore into mine, and a dazzling smile complete with irresistible dimples stared back at me. Sandy blonde hair was pushed out of his face, and a dusting of facial hair adorned his masculine jawline.
Knees wobbling, I slowly rose to my feet, matching his speed as I did so, and carefully took my stuff back from him. Almost instinctually my eyes flitted down to his hands, and I noted that he wore no wedding ring. It suddenly felt like a hundred degrees inside, and my internal body temperature seemed to spike to feverish levels.
“S-sorry,” I stammered. “I guess I should’ve looked where I was going,” I said with a nervous laugh.
I shouldn’t be reacting to a man this way. I was seeing someone, after all. Though we had only been dating since the beginning of November, I was still dating him… even if we hadn’t specified whether or not we were exclusive. I naturally assumed we were, since he was waiting for marriage to have sex and I adored his doting, goofy behavior and gentle personality.
And yet, my hormones, traitorous bastards, were ill-behaving and completely out of my control.
Probably because I hadn’t gotten laid in nearly six months and I was a twenty-four year old woman with needs.
“I should have, too.” His voice was deep and smooth and laced with charm. He was a few inches taller than me, even in heels, putting him somewhere close to six feet tall. “Sorry your stuff went everywhere.”
I flushed and awkwardly shoved my belongings back into my clutch. “It was collateral damage. No harm done here.”
He looked really good. He wore a burgundy velvet suit jacket, slim fit black slacks, black dress shoes, and an expensive watch. Paired with a white dress shirt, black bowtie, and cufflinks, he looked stylish and incredibly attractive.
I noticed the sticker on the lapel of his suit jacket that read: Hello, my name is DETECTIVE. It was written in masculine, blocky letters. I pointed at it and chuckled because mine read the same way.
“Interesting name, might I add,” I teased, batting my lashes at him.
He smirked, revealing a swoon-worthy dimple, and raised his eyebrows. “It’s not a very common one, and yet somehow I’ve met someone with the same name as me,” he reciprocated. “Can I buy you a drink, Detective?”
I nodded, still unable to look away from him. I followed him to the bar and slid onto a barstool next to him. “I don’t like putting my name on a name tag because it’s an easy way for people to remember it. If I’ve made an impression like I’m supposed to, they’ll remember on their own,” I explained, and fought the urge to inwardly groan. Am I being too awkward? I felt as if I’d never flirted before.
The other detective gave me a curious look, and something in the color of his eyes sparked a feeling of familiarity in me. “Oddly enough, that’s exactly why I do it too.” He paused as the bartender approached us. “The lady can order first.” He handed a card over to open a tab.
The corners of my lips tipped upwards as I forced myself to look at the bartender. “I’ll take a scotch. Neat, please,” I ordered, then turned my attention back to the man before me.
“I’ll have the same,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Good taste in alcohol, too.”
I shrugged. “I need something a little stronger to get through tonight.”
He nodded understandingly. “I second that. I just filed for divorce, and this is my way of celebrating.”
My jaw dropped. I wanted to acknowledge his proclamation, but felt it was inappropriate to do as a stranger. “Everyone’s rewarding me on a case I have yet to solve that’s eating me alive, and I honestly just want to forget it for a damn day.”
The bartender slid our drinks toward us, and the other detective held his up in a toast.
“To distractions,” he murmured.
“To distractions.” I clinked my glass against his before taking a healthy swig of the strong amber liquid in my glass.
Liam
I uncomfortably fiddled with my cufflinks to avoid running my thumb over my naked ring finger. I had only taken off my wedding ring today, and it was still a foreign concept that I had filed for divorce.
Christmas Eve of all days.
I just couldn’t get through another holiday forcing a smile on my face and pretending like I was still in love.
Now I stood in a crowd full of mostly strangers at an event designed to raise money for New York and Newark’s police departments. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed fake niceties and act like my personal life wasn’t falling apart, but I did the best I could. I shook hands with a few people, made small talk, and drank to take off the edge. It wasn’t enough of a distraction.
My phone buzzed in my breast pocket. I pulled it out, frowned at the Caller ID of my soon to be ex-wife, and declined the call. I put it on Do Not Disturb, slid it back in my pocket, and snatched another glass of champagne off the caterer’s tray that passed by. I looked at all the people bustling around me, and felt no urge to socialize. I was here solely to distract myself, and yet I couldn’t find a damn thing that would do just that.
I swished the bubbly liquid in my mouth and set my empty glass down on a cocktail table. Drowning my sorrows certainly wouldn’t do anything for me, and the few conversations I had weren’t stimulating my brain. Perhaps I’d be better off wallowing in my misery at the hotel I was staying at while I waited for my new lease to begin.
I went to the bathroom and then decided to leave. Being at an event I usually brought my wife to—well, ex-wife—was difficult enough on its own. I didn’t need to be asked where she was by the people I normally spoke to at these events. Why did I think coming here was a good idea in the first place?
I distractedly headed toward the exit, lost in my own thoughts, and stumbled right into a petite woman as I did so. All I saw was a flurry of red sequins and glossy brown hair as she muttered a quiet apology and dropped to pick up the contents of her purse.
