“What did she say?” Sophie asked sharply. She was digging her nails into my arm and I winced.
“I’m pretty sure you’re drawing blood, Soph,” I told her and she loosened her grip, pulling her hand back.
I looked out the window and pressed my forehead against the cool glass, running my hand over my arm. Damn. Sophie had some claws.
“Mitch! What did she say that made you so upset?” Sophie’s voice rose shrilly.
“She said that she was sorry,” I said softly. My throat seized and I couldn’t say any more.
She was sorry.
I’m sorry.
I believed her. I really did. It was hard not to when she looked so fucking contrite and guilty. That was probably the worst part. Her guilt. Because it was a completely useless emotions and did nothing to get rid of the constant lump that had taken up residence in my gut.
Sophie didn’t say anything right away. I glanced over at her and she too was looking out the window.
“She said she was sorry,” she repeated dully.
“A little too late though.”
Sophie gave me a pained smile. “Sure it is.”
Was she being sarcastic? I couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t women just say what they meant instead of leaving us poor guys to try to figure it out on our own? Everyone knew that was a bad thing.
When we got back to the hotel, I pulled out the key card and let us into our room. I knew that Gracie was staying somewhere on the same floor. I cast a quick look down the hallway wondering briefly which room was hers. Was she back from the club? Had she stayed behind? What was she doing?
Why did I care?
Just so I can avoid a run-in. It was hard to convince yourself of a total lie.
“I’m really tired. I think I’m going to go straight to bed,” Sophie said once we were inside.
“Oh. Okay.” I watched as she pulled the covers back and climbed in. “I guess we should try to get a good night’s sleep. We have to head out early tomorrow.”
Sophie didn’t say anything more as she lay down and rolled onto her side. I could tell she was pissed. And she had every right to be. I had engaged in a screaming match with another woman in the middle of a club. I couldn’t remember exactly all the things I said to Gracie, but I had a feeling it didn’t sound good.
“I’m fucking sorry I fell in love with you in the first place!”
That had been harsh. I had meant it to be. The look on Gracie’s face when I had said it indicated that the words had done the trick. I had hurt her. That’s what I had wanted to do.
So why did I feel like such shit because of it?
Because I had lied to her. I wasn’t sorry that I loved her. It was the one thing I could never feel.
Regret.
Not when it came to my feelings for her.
I wish I did. It would make things a hell of a lot easier.
I looked over at Sophie. At her rigid shoulders and stiff back. I was an asshole. A total asshole.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Goodnight,” I said to Sophie after turning off the light. I should touch her. Hold her maybe. Would sex make things better?
The thought of that made me feel cold inside. I couldn’t screw Sophie now. It wouldn’t be right. Not with another woman in my thoughts.
You are a grade A bastard, Mitch Abrams.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream. I did neither. Shame strangled me. Rendering me mute.
“Goodnight,” Sophie muttered, not bothering to look at me. Frigid. Like strangers. No touching. No affection. Just suspicion and frustration.
Long after Sophie fell asleep I laid there, staring up at the ceiling, unable to settle down.
I was angry. So fucking angry. My hands were clenched into fists by my side and I kept picturing her face.
“Jesus, Mitch! I’m sorry!”
She was sorry.
She was freaking sorry?
Her apology infuriated me. Because what I told Sophie was true. It was too late to make a difference. Too much time had passed. Too many things had changed.