Vick straightens himself and looks back to me. “Please, Demi.”
“I don’t want to see you ever again,” I tell him. “Please go. And don’t contact me again.”
“You heard her,” Connor growls. “Go.”
Vick glares at him before turning and heading to his truck. A minute later he’s squealing out of my driveway. I sit on the bottom step, feeling a little unsteady. I wasn’t prepared for that when I got home. I knew I’d have to face Vick at some point, but I didn’t think it would be tonight. Connor walks toward me, rubbing his head with both hands like he always does.
“You okay?” he asks timidly.
Why do I want to cry right now? I can’t quite place my finger on it, but suddenly the tears start falling. Connor scoops me up and as ridiculous as I feel having him carry me, I can’t deny it feels good to be in his arms. Once we’re in the kitchen, he sits me on my feet and pulls out a kitchen chair for me to sit on.
“I think we need another drink,” he grumbles. Clearly, he’s still a little riled up too. He’s angry, but I can’t help thinking that some of that anger is directed at me.
I take a seat as he grabs the bottle of Jack from the freezer and joins me at the table. He doesn’t speak, just twists the top off and takes a long swig. Then he slides the bottle to me. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand before taking my swig. When I start coughing from the burn, he drags the bottle back toward him.
“I’m sorry you had to . . . get involved with that,” I whimper.
Connor takes a deep breath as if to calm himself, before taking another sip.
“Are you okay?” I ask, hesitantly.
“I’m an asshole is what I am,” he answers. He stands and grabs the dishtowel from the counter, handing it to me before he sits again.
“Why are you an asshole?” I ask as I wipe my face.
He runs a wide palm down his face. “Because I wanted to kick that guy’s ass.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I admit. “Even though he kind of deserves it.”
“Is it true?” Connor asks.
“That he deserves to get his ass kicked?”
“No,” he answers sternly, his tone telling me he means business, that whatever he’s asking is important to him. “You guys haven’t . . .”
It takes me a moment to figure out what he means. Sex. He’s asking if Vick and I have had sex. “Yes,” I answer, my voice hoarse. “We haven’t done more than kiss.”
“But you were going to . . . tonight?”
Shame floods me. I was. I was going to sleep with Vick tonight. That was the plan until blondie showed up and derailed everything. But what makes it worse, is I pretty much told Connor I wanted him tonight. What in the hell is wrong with me? How could I go from planning to sleep with Vick to fantasizing about Connor? What kind of harlot am I? “Yes,” I reply honestly. “Guess it’s good his ex showed up and saved me from a huge mistake.” I’m crying again, holding my face in my hands. Connor pulls me from my chair and seats me on his lap, holding me.
“I’m sorry he hurt you, Demi.”
I meet his gaze and shake my head. “That’s just it,” I weep. “I’m not crying because he hurt me or broke my heart, I’m crying because I almost slept with a man that I didn’t love. I was just going to do it to . . . feel something,” I sob. “I just wanted to feel . . . good.”
Connor doesn’t respond, and I wonder if he’s trying to think of the best thing to say.
Now that the floodgates of my emotions are open, there’s no stopping it. “I’m so tired of feeling so . . . alone. I want to be touched, I want to be loved, I want to ache for someone so I can feel that moment when they ease it from me.”
I don’t care how wrong or slutty it is. I know I will tomorrow. I know I’ll regret it tomorrow. But right now, I want to feel. Right now, I want to feel Connor. I stand and face him, shimmying my dress up a bit, before seating myself in his lap again, straddling him. His breath hitches, his hands timidly resting on my hips.