I chuckled because it was true.
Luke was the only one besides John who knew about Rachel. He thought it was sick, but he kept his opinions to himself for the most part. He knew she was just a convenience for me.
“Did you text her to meet you there?”
That was why I was leaving. I didn’t text her, and I hadn’t talked to her since the brief exchange at the fundraiser. She knew not to go there unless I asked her to, but it was my fault for not breaking things off. I should’ve asked for the key back. After tonight, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“No.”
He made a face then turned back to his game.
“Good luck with that one, buddy.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled and headed for the door.
I had no idea what state of mind Rachel was going to be in when I got there, but I was about to find out.
*
I opened the door to my apartment fifteen minutes later to see the foyer illuminated by one of the lamps in the living room. It wasn’t what I expected, but at least wasn’t in the bedroom.
I walked through the foyer and was immediately hit with her fruity smell. She sat on the sofa with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. She was dressed in what I’d assumed to be one of her many Chanel suits with a pissed-off look on her face.
I ignored her and walked directly to the bar to place my things down, then grabbed a glass and the decanter of scotch. I knew with the way she was looking at me I was going to need it.
“Aren’t you going to speak to me?” she chided.
I poured three fingers of scotch and threw it all back in one gulp before turning to face her.
“Are you addressing me?” I asked, pointing to myself.
She scoffed before standing up and walking toward me.
“Don’t play games, Mason.”
“Games? You requested my presence, in my own place.”
“Your fuck pad, you mean?”
“Call it what you like, Rachel; it doesn’t change the fact that you are in my territory,” I stated as I stalked toward her. “You know the rules. Why are you even here?”
“Fuck your rules,” she spat. “I’m tired of waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” I asked, exasperated. “You’re engaged, Rachel. Does John know you’re here?”
She looked away.
“It’s been weeks,” she stated.
I knew why she was there. She’d grown attached, which I knew was inevitable, but being the asshole that I was, I didn’t care.
“Why haven’t you texted me?”
I shook my head as her gaze landed on mine.
“It’s over, Rachel. We can’t do this anymore.”
I turned around and poured myself another drink.
“It’s because of that girl, isn’t it? The one from the night at the fundraiser. I saw the way you were looking at her and the way she was looking at you. Are you fucking your student?”
I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose. One, two, three, four, five. I will not throw this glass against the wall and scream in her face to get the fuck out.
I knew she was trying to retaliate.
“Again, Rachel, why does it matter who I’m fucking?” I moved until I was a few inches away from her. “You knew what you were getting yourself into when you allowed me to stick my dick in your pussy. I warned you that this wouldn’t go anywhere. I’m sorry John’s not keeping you satisfied at home, but this is no longer working for me.” I walked away from her and set my glass on the bar, then turned to see her narrowed gaze fixed on me.
Her mouth was set in a tight line, and I could see the tension rolling off her body. I expected her to blow up, yell or something, but that wasn’t what I received. The last thing I expected was to see a single tear rolling down her face.
“You really don’t care, do you?” She turned her head and wiped away her stray tear.
I felt the smallest amount of remorse. I should never have let the kind of relationship we’d had carry on for so long. I knew she was getting attached, but instead of breaking it off, I kept it going. In my mind, it was my way of getting one up on John. The fact that his fiancé was coming to me for pleasure meant he wasn’t man enough to do it himself.
It was twisted, but everything in my life was twisted in one way or another. I just kept adding to that pile.
“I wish I could say I did. You were just a convenience for me, and if admitting that makes me an asshole, then so be it. But just remember, you’re the one who kept coming back for more when you knew it was just a fuck for me.”
She scoffed as she walked to the couch to retrieve her bag then turned to face me.
“You know, John’s right. You’ll never amount to anything because you’re not man enough to step up to the plate,” she stated before walking toward the foyer.
I laughed.
“Because a gold-digging whore is an achievement?”
She turned abruptly with her mouth hanging open.