Fucking idiot.
I watched as she went from being desolate to only moments later embracing letting go and throwing her head back and laughing. How she let go with such abandon after what she’d been through had my blood boiling with jealousy. Every once in a while moments of weakness and self-doubt crept in. She hid it well under the sarcasm and tough exterior, but it was there. Her jaw ticked. She bit her lip. The look in her eye told me she was unsure of what to do or say next. I knew the look. The confused feeling that must have run through her body. So I went against every moral I had, every rule I’d ever set, and dragged her away from prying eyes.
And the moment we were alone, I was lost to her.
When her gaze met mine, those same eyes I’d watched dance in wonder looked at me as if I were the only man in the world, and I wanted that to be true. I wanted it so badly that I needed it to be. So I took her. I shouldn’t have, but I was desperate for her. Desperate for the feelings. The feel of her.
God . . .
The feel of her in my arms. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman in my arms. I was drunk on it. Drunk on her. Her warmth. The way she pressed against my hand, her body urging me to take her. To fuck her. To take what I wanted. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that. Something so pure and tangible and wanting it to be mine. But in the end, I couldn’t. My fucking conscience had got the better of me. It killed me to pull away, but as I took with no regard for anything but my basic needs, I became everything I hated. And deep down, as much as I hated the idea, I knew what I had to do.
So I left.
Pulling myself out of the sordid memory, I run my hands through my hair.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Now what do I do? I don’t know the girl, and I never have to see her again, but will she be okay? Despite every voice in my head shouting no, I can’t help it. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a prick to people who don’t deserve it.
I push the door open, and I’m met with an empty alley.
Shit.
I’m sure she’s fine. Pissed, but fine. Letting out a huff of air, I make my way back down the hall and into the lounge. I plaster on my fakest smile, straighten my back, and let the mask fall. I need to leave. Coming here was a bad idea.
“Grant,” I hear from behind me and glance over my shoulder. A woman I once dated in college is standing there. Her heavily injected lips pucker, and she pushes her fake breasts together, giving me an ample view of her cleavage. Monica is just as fake as she was the last time I saw her. She reaches out to touch my arm.
“Monica.” I look down at her hand, then give her a pointed look. She can’t be touching me like that. No matter how much she wants me, it’s never going to happen. Monica, as beautiful as she is, could never make me sway.
It was wrong of me to go there with Bridget, but I couldn’t help it. She was so enticing . . .
I almost faltered in my resolve.
Almost.
I don’t remember how I got home last night. My brain was in a fog of alcohol mixed with humiliation. What I do remember is the irony of the fact that I once made fun of my sister Olivia for making out with a stranger and now not even a year later, I’ve done the same thing. I guess as much as I try to not follow in my sister’s footsteps, I do. The only difference is Olivia fell in love with her stranger and I was left with the trash. The memory makes me wince.
He rejected me. But worse than the rejection was the look in his eyes. Haunted. Tormented. A look in which it was obvious that not only did he hate what he did, but he hated me for it. As if it was my fault that it happened. As if I forced him. Just thinking about it has my head pounding. What is it with men taking advantage of me? He didn’t exactly force himself on me. I came willingly, but the way he left . . .
It was shitty.
Between my hangover and last night, I need a distraction. Picking up my cell, I fire a text over to Lynn.
You around?
I pray she is. After yesterday, I need my best friend. I need to vent, and maybe scream, and Lynn is the only person who will fit the bill to make me feel better.
Lynn: Yep, Carson is gone all day.
I breathe out the pent-up oxygen I didn’t even know I’ve been holding.
Me: Want to hang?
Lynn: Time and place?
Me: 72 Diner? I could use some greasy food.
Lynn: Ha. Hungover?
Me: You have no idea! What time?
Lynn: One hour?
Me: Great. See you then.
Knowing I’m going to spend the day with her has my corded muscles uncoiling. I need someone to talk to about what transpired at the lounge last night. More importantly, I need a pep talk in how to handle the situation with Karen. As much as I’ve tried to push it aside, I can’t do it any longer. Everything from yesterday has me realizing more than ever that it’s time to grow up.
An hour later, I find myself in a small, dingy booth sitting across from my sister. My head is pounding, and I can barely muscle up the energy to lift my mug to my mouth. Lynn, on the other hand, is grinning away at me as she sips a cup of hot coffee and nibbles on a french fry. I want to smack the smirk off her face. Why did I think coming here was a good idea? The people around us are way too loud. The place is too bright. God, all I want right now is to be still in my bed.
“You know, I’m trying not to laugh at you, but it’s hard. You’re pulling the funniest faces,” Lynn says.
“Why would you laugh at me? You’re my sister, and right now you’re supposed to be supportive in my time of need.”
“I know, but I can’t help myself. Watching someone with a hangover is just so much better than experiencing it yourself. I was feeling miserable last night when I got into bed with my book before ten. But now I’m feeling quite pleased with my decision.”
“Cruel. So cruel.” I wince. “So, what am I going to do about this whole situation?”
“You mean the romantic one in which you kissed a handsome stranger out by a dumpster?”
“Real funny, asshole. There was no garbage.”
“Girl, you were probably so hot and bothered you didn’t even notice the stench.” She winks at me. “But for reals, what are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’ll never see him again.”
“Well, he sounds like a whack job. Good riddance,” Lynn offers in support.
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s one way to describe him. One minute he’s kissing me like his life depends on it, and the next he’s running off in anger. I know I was tipsy, but I definitely didn’t imagine his complete change in demeanor. Was the kiss that bad?”
“I doubt it. I’ve been told by a good many people that you happen to be a good kisser.”
“You have? Like who?”
Lynn laughs. “I don’t know. I just said that to make you feel better. But I’m sure you’re a good kisser.”
“Good to know.”
Lynn lets out a long sigh. “I need a good kiss. I swear it’s been forever.”