Mad About You: A Box Set

by Pamela Ann

  “Nice of you to see her home.” Drew’s distinctive voice echoed throughout the hall, stopping us both cold.

  Spencer took a deep breath, hesitating a few seconds before he spun around to face Drew. “Uh, yeah. Of course.” He quickly glanced back at me then quickly reverted back to him. “Can we get some privacy?”

  Nervously biting my lip, I couldn’t for the life of me look at Drew. I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t ashamed of anything, but for some peculiar reason, I just couldn’t bear it.

  “If you plan on getting laid tonight, you can scratch that idea, Spencer,” Drew said in a measured but threatening voice.

  I wanted to die, simply because he had no right to intrude on us. And the way he was acting about it was like a damn ogre. Hell, Jackson wouldn’t even dare react this way, so why should he?

  Spencer was not too amused by being told what to do.

  “What the actual fuck? Who do you think you are?” he spat out.

  I could literally hear a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode any moment.

  My eyes flickered back and forth, knowing Drew wasn’t backing down, either. One thing I knew about him was that he wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated, most especially since he was twice the size of Spencer and several inches taller. So, no, Drew wouldn’t even think twice about knocking him out. I had seen him engaged in brawls before, and he always came out the victor.

  “I’m someone who cares about her. She’s family. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister, so I’m not going to let some drunk kid do some sloppy drunk shit around here. If you want to fuck around, go ahead, but it sure as fuck won’t be with Chloe.”

  A sister? Was that what he said? What the actual fuck? How insulting could he fucking be! Unbelievable.

  Spencer was getting so heated I was afraid a fight was going to break out. Thank goodness it didn’t. Instead, he gauchely looked at me.

  “I’ll see myself out. I’ll call you. Have a good night, Chloe.”

  Before I had the chance to say a damn word to him, he was out the door. What the fuck had just happened?

  “If you plan on chasing the fucktard, you can think again.” Drew’s hardened voice broke through my jumbled thoughts.

  I was not amused. Far from it. How dare he act as though he had treated me any differently? Well, the claws were definitely out.

  “I’m the closest thing you have to a sister?” I screeched at him, livid beyond measure.

  His frown deepened as he took in my hysteria. “I didn’t mean it like that. That came out wrong.”

  It came out wrong? How many ways could one interpret the word sister? I was enraged more by the fact that I had spent so much time piecing myself together, all due to a man who deemed me the closest thing to a sister he had. It was so laughable even Hollywood couldn’t come up with something like it. I wanted to cry from embarrassment, to hurl something at him, to punch something, anything that inflicted pain, because this was the biggest blow any woman could receive. The least I interacted with him, the better.

  “Next time, don’t try to cock block. I can make decisions for myself. Go fuck yourself, Drew Cavendish.”

  “I have every right to. Spencer is garbage.” Oblivious to the pain he’d just inflicted upon me, he stepped closer into my domain, choking me with his proximity.

  “Jackson didn’t seem to mind.” I wanted to push him off, but I couldn’t gather enough strength to fight him.

  “Well, maybe he should ’cause that guy doesn’t deserve you. So get mad all you like, but I did the right thing.” His tone grew deeper as he advanced farther onto me.

  Much to my utter dismay, I stepped backward until I managed to hit the wall and tried to appear less than unsettled. “You’re being ridiculous! In case it’s escaped your notice, I’m a grown woman. I can do whomever I feel like without needing approval from you or from anyone. Besides, you’re one to talk. If Spencer is garbage, what does that make you? Oh, right, I forgot—”

  “A bastard,” he nonchalantly supplied. “I think that’s the word you’re looking for.” “I’m sorry.” I rushed to apologize, but I knew the damage was irreparable. My anger had gotten the best of me. I knew better than to bring up something so rottenly vile from his past.

  He had grown up being taunted and labeled by our peers and the people who knew the story of his parents. His father had walked out on him and his mother when he had only been two years old. His mother was from a famous family, so it was hard for the lewd gossip not to spread like fire.

  “I shouldn’t have. You know I would never mean to hurt you like that, not even when I can’t see straight from being angry at you.”

  “Whatever I do that infuriates you, remember I’m doing it for you, Chloe.” Although his words came out low, I could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

  How had I turned into this hateful person? It was a subject my family was adamant to never speak about. In our home, he was always protected and safe. He had grown up knowing no one would bash him for something he had no control over. Yet here I was, and my guilt wouldn’t let me off so easily.

  “Drew …” I captured his face in my hands, needing him to see how remorseful I was. “Forgive me. I swear to you—to God—that I never thought or saw you like that. You were always just Drew to me. Please, I’m so sorry.”

  It was difficult to gauge what he was thinking at the moment. His eyes were deep-rooted in an inner turmoil.

  The silence stretched while those blue eyes flickered about my face, slowly drawing me in, gradually drowning me in their powerful depths. Whenever he remained in deafening silence, I never failed to feel discombobulated. It wasn’t as much the silence as the way his eyes would spark fire. Each time they did so, they ignited something within me, flaring a part of me that I had tirelessly worked to hide.

  “Say something.”

  “You always look so beautiful when aroused,” he rasped out in such a low tone I could barely catch his words.

  Licking my lips, I held my breath as my eyes withdrew from his magnetizing hold, downcast. “I’m … I’m not.” He knew better. He always did. That was probably why he had slept with me that one night—just to end my agony. I had eyes for no one but him … until he had calculatedly broken my heart. That was when I had known I had to use my mind to fight my heart with everything I had until it became nothing but a memory. However, until such a pleasant time happened, there was no choice other than to be unceasingly guarded whenever he was in question.

  He tsked. “I remember you and this body all too well. Do us both a favor and spare me the lies.”

  “Maybe you should do us both a favor and stop tormenting me,” I retorted.

  Just like he had before, he caged my body with his own, placing a hand on each side of my head. His lips barely grazed my forehead, and all I could do was shut my eyes and ride this overwhelming rush of euphoria as it sent my body into a state of spine-tingling tremors.

  “What do you suggest I do, Chloe?” he croaked out against my skin. “Why would you wear such a short skirt? A guy can only think of lifting it up and feeling how moist you are for him…or how that skirt will look riding up your stomach while he fucks you raw. So tell me, what do you suggest I do?”

  Was he asking permission to do such things to me? I couldn’t be sure. Nothing was making any sense. The only thing that did was how my body was reacting to him. He hadn’t touched me, yet my thong was drenched from the mere sound of his voice and the way he was uttering and delivering his words that oozed sex everywhere.

  His labored breathing made me desperate, but I wasn’t quite sure for what exactly.

  “Is that what you saw earlier … before you interrupted us?”

  He was a mystery I wanted to solve. It was as though he was fighting the same urges I was battling with myself. As much as I liked to believe I would have the capacity to decline his advances, I knew, with a little persuasion, I would eventually give in. He could take me however he desired, even if I knew t
he consequences would be too great to overcome.

  “Let me just say that I wouldn’t be able to watch as you have done with me.”

  Oh, my fuck. He knew! Oh, God.

  “Anyone would have since you didn’t have the decency to keep things private.” My mind immediately recollected those indecent images, tormenting me as they evoked a wide range of emotions.

  Things had shifted from sexual tension to something more unpredictably precarious.

  His relaxed stance had changed into one that reminded me of a crouching animal hovering over its prey before it made it its meal.

  “Was that how you kept things private, Chloe, by letting him suck on your neck right next to a door where Jackson and I could easily see you?”

  But Jackson isn’t here, I badly wanted to argue. However, I knew better than to push this delicate situation into something I would lose control over.

  “I honestly don’t care what you think of me anymore. I’m not the girl you used to know.”

  “You’re right. The Chloe I knew had standards and class. She knew better than to cheapen herself with the likes of Spencer Goldberg.”

  That fucking did it!

  “The only time I cheapened myself was with you, Drew Cavendish. Don’t think so highly of yourself.” His pedestal needed some knocking down.

  He clenched and unclenched his jaw while sending me a cutting look that tore me apart. “Then it’s a blessing there was no repetition after that night. We found better pastures,” he grunted out. “It’s good of you to clarify your low opinion of me. It proved I made the right decision by leaving you that night.” His fathomless eyes darted into mine before he gave me that look that told me he was done, as if he had fully dismissed me in his mind. Then he spun on his heels and slammed the door as he left.

  If his intentions were to hurt me where it pained the most, well, he had just hit a bull’s-eye.

  Chapter 40

  I hadn’t felt this bereft in quite a while, but I had intentionally provoked the situation, terrified Drew would do something to jeopardize what I had accomplished with my self-preservation. Had he done so, I wouldn’t have enough wherewithal to stop him, so I did what most people would have done in a precarious position.

  When Jackson invited me to party with him again the next night, I declined, not feeling sociable. And if I really delved deep down, Spencer would be the last person I wanted to see after that bizarre evening.

  Guilt aside, I kept to myself the next day. It wasn’t much of a blessing when Drew chose not to come back that night or the night after. To top it off, it was becoming apparent that Drew and Jackson weren’t spending as much time together as they had before. In fact, they rarely saw each other. I wondered, if they didn’t live in the same place, would they even go out of their way to see each other? They had been so close. What had happened since then?

  It had been a few days since my arrival, and the drama that had followed was too much for my liking. I supposed it was a given since Drew and I weren’t in an amicable state, partly due to him and maybe a bit by me; I hadn’t been all that warm and smiles, either. Could anyone really blame me, though? The man evoked emotions I wished were nonexistent, and the undeniable chemistry that teetered over the edge made him all the more of a triple threat to my sanity.

  As much as I loathed the way I had been toward him, it was the only way I could keep him at bay. All it would take was a mistake, and I would be where I had left off—waiting and hoping for him to love me the way I had loved him. Nevertheless, that wishful thinking didn’t do me any good. I’d had to get rid of it by letting it die, by burying it so deep I would never hear it again. All of that relentless perseverance would be greatly at stake if I kept playing with fire. Even admiring its beautiful blaze from afar could be blinding. That was why engaging in direct eye contact should be sparse. It was either that or fall into the trap that he only could cast upon me, and I chose to be free of it.

  I shook off those thoughts, deciding it was a good idea to stay at home and unwind so I would be refreshed and jazzed up to start my big day tomorrow. The class schedule would be released, so I would be spending a lot of time on campus, hopefully getting all the books I needed. I hadn’t particularly decided on what I would major in, but I was leaning toward journalism. For now, however, I was settling on finishing all of my general courses.

  It was still odd to wake up in a bedroom that wasn’t in my parents’ house in Newport Beach. It would take some getting used to. Without the safety net of the familiarity of my surroundings, the people and the city alike, I was sure homesickness was going to hit sooner than expected, which reminded me that I never made the call I had promised my grandmother I’d make on my first night in the Big Apple.

  Without preamble, I took my phone and called my grandmother’s beachside cottage, but was unfortunately greeted with her answering machine.

  “Hi, Grams. It’s me … Chloe. I know I promised to call the moment I landed, but things became hectic. How are you? School starts tomorrow, so wish me luck. Jacks and Drew are great. They’re busy doing their thing. I’m not sure yet, but I think your prayers are answered. Jackson finally found someone to date, but it’s still too early to tell yet, so I’ll keep you updated if there’s any news on that front.”

  I finished my voicemail message, wishing her good health and letting her know how much I loved her with a promise that I would call her when I got a chance.

  Since I had the apartment all to myself, I decided to do some cleaning in the kitchen and living room. The dishes were all in the dishwasher, but they hadn’t had the decency to simply put the soap in, press a single button to let it run itself, and be done with it. Boys would be boys and I didn’t expect anything less.

  My parents had hired a cleaning lady to come in twice a week, but I was sure, between those days, I would be picking up after them. Knowing this would be the case, I determined there must be some ground rules set. I planned on definitely addressing that once I had both of them in the same room.

  After tidying the kitchen before making sure the living room was free of any dried up foreign substance and goo-like anomaly, I made myself a light dinner consisting of baked salmon and a green salad with balsamic vinaigrette while I caught up on last night’s SNL show. By the time I was done with my dinner, it was almost nine at night.

  Glancing around me, I wondered where Drew was. I could have easily sent him a message, but that open, direct communication had long been severed after I had sent him a message—it had been more like a rant—on how he had simply used me and thrown me out the second he had gotten what he wanted. It had deteriorated even further when I hadn’t received a response back, merely cementing my sentiment that he didn’t feel the same way I did. But, that was all in the past.

  With revived vigor, I softly hummed a tune as I cleaned my dish before retreating back into my room where I opted for a lengthy bath complete with candles, a bath bomb from Lush, and Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black tracks playing in the background. I started off the playlist with “Love is a Losing Game” because her profound sadness was so evident in the song and her soulful voice that it never failed to capture my own melancholy.

  A pleasurable, satisfying sigh escaped my lips the moment my body submerged in the bluish-pink water with the intoxicating scent that instantaneously sent me into a full-on relaxed state of mind. It was blissful, and for the time being, I lavished on that temporary serenity I found within this tiny space, basked with the soft warmth of the candles flickering and Amy’s despondent crescendo.

  By the time I was done with my lengthy bath, I was a wink away from deep slumber, so much so that, after I had toweled my body dry and donned my favorite silk cherry blossom robe, I could barely keep my eyes open. I haphazardly threw myself into bed with a soft smile curling upon my lips before finally succumbing into deep sleep.

  Maybe it was the muffled sound of traffic below as New Yorkers began their day or the early break of sunshine suddenly brightening my ro
om, or it might have been the potently robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee that endlessly teased my senses to awaken from coma. The latter was a surefire answer to what had awakened me before my phone had even begun to shrill it’s deafening alarm of “Seven Nation Army.” Yes, I was one of those folks who could not function before coffee was in their system. Anyone advocating the limitation of caffeine intake due to heart disease and yada, yada had never fully experienced the joy of jumpstarting one’s day with an aromatic cup of medium roast blend that perked up one’s senses similar to sexual arousal. And since I very well couldn’t enjoy the morning sex part given the singlehood situation, an excellent coffee should suffice to curb those lecherous cravings.

  Sex and coffee … I was losing it.

  “I need to get a life,” I softly mumbled as slowly rolled out of bed, yawning, and during mid-yawn, my eyes instantly spotted the venti coffee and the small pink box.

  I wouldn’t lie. My heart stammered against my chest as I nervously gazed at the lusciously enticing combo. Whoever was the culprit, they unquestionably knew how to play with my vices.

  Without putting up much of a fight, my shameless hands fastened around the sweet pink token that held something I had ignored ever since I had realized sugar made me a chunky monkey, a term that referenced my once favored ice cream. I was again encountering the same witchery my sweet teeth always cast on me as I slowly lifted the lid of the small box with the words “I’m sorry” written on it.

  Four cupcakes greeted me—two chocolates and two bananas.

  Who in their right mind would be creative enough to apologize through cupcakes? It couldn’t be Jackson since we were fine, so that left one person, the one who had walked out on me, leaving me with words yet a hurt that lasted forever.

  This wasn’t fair. Surely, he couldn’t say such things to me and expect me to forgive me just because he made a cute effort by getting me cupcakes, which he would have had to wake up early to procure with the rest of the millennials in line for their morning dose of addiction. All that effort … Did he know I was heading to school today? Of course he did, that sneaky bastard. The pun was unintentional.