I suck in a deep breath and push through the crowds on my way outside. My steps are quick as I make my way out of the building. I’ve already scheduled an Uber to pick me up and much to my surprise, the driver is there as soon as I push through the front door. He’s an older man, wrinkled around the eyes, with an exceptionally bright smile.
I slip into the back seat of his Camry and whisper a quick ‘hello’ before hiding behind the screen of my cellphone. The first thing that pops up is a message from Maverick. I click and open it.
Please tell me you didn’t just disappear like that.
Fuck. Guilt is a chokehold and I feel deservedly strangled.
Sorry : (. I wanted to get things set up for the party before you made your way back home.
You gonna bail on that too?
You’re not being fair.
I wait. A minute. Two minutes. I watch three little dots indicate that he’s typing. I watch those three little dots disappear. Another two minutes. And then five. Maverick doesn’t reply.
I feel like an ass. I really do. But he has to understand. We’re lucky that Jessica didn’t mention what she found out to anyone. Instead of throwing the fraudulence of our relationship in everyone’s face, Maverick should be counting his blessings. Not to mention the fact that I really don’t need to paint a damn bullseye on my forehead. I still get my chair kicked and gum stuck between my textbooks. I don’t need the bitches at our high school to have the fuel they need to up the Ante.
The Uber pulls up in front of Maverick’s building and I thank the driver, tipping him a few extra dollars before exiting the car. The fresh air feels crisp against my skin, so crisp that its chill is almost menacing. I stay outside a little longer than necessary, perhaps to punish myself, though I know I’m doing nothing wrong.
I care about Maverick. Maybe even more than I dare to admit. But what we have can flourish behind closed doors. In fact, it flourishes better without everyone watching. I’m doing the right thing. Not just for me. Not just for him. But for us.
After a few minutes have gone by, I enter the building and make my way to the elevator. The ride up to Maverick’s suite is smooth and undisturbed and I’m feeling a little more settled now than I was before.
I’m running through the list of things that still need to be put together for tonight. Knowing the kind of chaos that ensues with late preparation, I’d used last night to take care of the decorations. Maverick went ahead and stocked up on alcohol and I’ve put a few bottles in the fridge. I spent hours slaving over the appetizers, but still need to add a few finishing touches and plate them before they’re good to go. Outside of that, everything is pretty much in order. Maverick might be pissed now, but he’ll thank me later.
I push open the front door and my jaw just about hits the floor. In front of me is not a Maverick that looks like he’s anywhere close to being okay. Anger marks every inch of his face and he glares at me as I step in.
With trembling shoulders, I push the door shut, but don’t take my eyes off of him. He’s still wearing his jersey. It’s wet and sweaty and even though I don’t press my hand against it, I know that it’s cold. He’s parked a chair in front of the front door and I can’t help but wonder just how long he’s been sitting here like this. Or how he got here so fast?
“Hey,” I say. My lips are still parted even after the word has left, but I can’t find anything to follow up.
“You’re being a bitch.” I flinch. That was to the point. And mean.
“Maverick!”
He stands up from his chair and takes a step closer to me. Just one step. One small step as though the idea of coming closer scorches his soul.
“I never wanted you until I had you,” he hisses. “But you have to understand how much it fucking sucks to have you act like-”
“Act like what, Maverick? Act like we are a secret? We agreed to being a secret.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I know that it’s better this way.”
He puts a finger up, shushing me. “I know you’re just being selfish as fuck,” he grunts. “That you can’t forget the fucking past and allow me to love you. That you’re afraid of what people will think. And I get it, I put you through crap for years. I can understand how it’s embarrassing to go prancing around with the dude who dumped soup over your freshly pressed uniform, but for fucks sake, Beth-”
“You really think this is why I don’t want to display our relationship to all your friends?”
“Can’t think of any other reason that makes sense.”
“I’m not embarrassed about our relationship.”
“You’d just rather not be seen with me.”
I shake my head at him. His anger is boiling at five-hundred degrees right now and I know that nothing I do or say will calm him down.
“Congratulations on the game, Maverick. You have every reason in the world to celebrate-”
“But not enough reason for you to celebrate with me.”
Even if I wanted to change my mind. Even if I thought, okay, I’ll suck it up and put on a metal shield for all the bullying that certainly will come if Maverick and I broadcast that we’re an item, now is not the time to do this. Our relationship is like a pot of hot fucking oil and I’m not about to have him throw us in freezing cold water. I step past him and make my way into the kitchen. He doesn’t follow me, but I can feel his eye on me, nonetheless.
I open the cupboards and collect the serving plates and then pull the food from the fridge. It takes me no more than twenty minutes to get everything prepped to perfection which makes me feel guilty because I left after the game under the pretense that I needed to set things up. Evidently, there wasn’t much setting up left to be done. Maverick has been staring daggers into me the entire time ,making those twenty minutes feel like a thousand forevers.
When I’m done, I make my way over to him and attempt to pull his hand into mine. He pulls away.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” I tell him. My voice is soft, pleading. I don’t want to end this night on a fight. I want him to have fun, to celebrate like he deserves to celebrate. Just because I’m a hermit, doesn’t mean he needs to be a hermit too. He’s already avoided his friends a mass of times in favor of spending his nights in with me. Tonight doesn’t need to be one of those nights. Afterall, we’ve got enough alcohol to feed all the zombies in an apocalypse.
I look at Maverick again. He’s washing his hands over his face in frustration, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. Even then, there’s no missing the fury in them.
I brush a hand down his arm, flinching as he pulls away from me.
“Have fun tonight, Maverick.”
His gaze shifts to mine. Intense. Brutal. “Fuck you, Beth,” he says in the most serious tone I’ve ever heard pass his full pink lips.
46
She fucked up. I think even she knows it, but in true Beth fashion, she walks out the door, likely banking on fixing things later. Screw that! Later I’ll still be pissed. And drunk. It’s not a combination that makes for a lot of fun. It won’t make it easy for her to poke through the hole she’s gradually opening up in my heart, either.
My fist crashes against the front door as she shuts it behind her. After the game, she disappeared. That hurt. The one person I gave a damn about, the person I played the fucking game for, she wasn’t even there to throw a ‘congratulations’ over her shoulder. And now, she’s just upped and left again. I wonder just how many times this’ll happen. I wonder if this will be the rhythm of my life with Beth. Some might think I deserve it – that karma has twisted round and set its sights on me. Fuck that.
Fuck her!
I’ve been good to her.
I have every intention of continuing to be fucking good to her, despite the fact that sometimes she makes it really fucking hard.
I’m still standing by the door. Somehow, there’s a part of me that thinks she’ll change her mind – that the pull that links me to her will be just as stron
g as the one that links her to me and she won’t be able to book it back to her parent’s house. When that doesn’t happen, I can’t say that I’m surprised.
Still standing in front of the door, I pick up my phone and pound out a text.
Is this really what you’re gonna do?
Five minutes go by and there’s no answer. I know that she read the message, she just doesn’t know what the fuck to say. Good, because there are no right words. Just right actions. And I know for certain she’s not planning on coming back here.
Better to get this thing started, if I’m being honest about it. The earlier I get fucked up, the easier it’ll be entertaining people who know how the fuck to entertain themselves. I spin the top off a bottle of Vodka and eye the stack of red cups for a short moment before tipping the bottle to my head. The swig is rich and harsh and burns the corners of my mouth before scorching my throat. This is what happens when you bring a prissy miss right-foot into your life. Once upon a time, I used to chug so much Vodka that it used to taste like water. Now, it just tastes like ass.
Thanks, Beth.
Thanks a fucking lot.
Not gonna stop me though and so I move over to the sofa and tip the bottle to my head again. It doesn’t take long for my head to start swirling and when I stand in anticipation of changing out of my wet hockey gear, my feet feel light and unstable beneath me.
At least there’s one benefit to not drinking like a horse.
On my way to the bedroom I check my phone again, still no message from Beth and so I send her another one.
I hope you’re happy. I hope being the kind of wife who can’t celebrate her husband’s wins makes you happy.
I smile at that, knowing the message ought to at least sting a little. Maybe she’ll even squeeze a tear out. Maybe she’ll come back. Nay, I’m pretty sure that last one isn’t going to fucking happen. She’s too stuck in her ways. Too stubborn for her own damn good.
I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower. I’m so used to having her in here with me that I almost forget how big and lonely it feels when it’s just me. Fucking hell. This girl has imprinted herself into every damn inch of my life. At least I’ve got my bottle of Vodka with me. It still burns with each swig, so much so that I get the brilliant idea of filling the empty space in the bottle with water. If anything, that makes my feat to get drunk even harder. The burn is lessened, yes. But now the Vodka doesn’t just taste like ass, it tastes like actually shit.
I press my finger to the center of the bottle, vouching to stop when I get to the halfway point and put my taste buds of out of their misery. I’ll be drunk enough then.
I scrub up my body real good. Wash my hair. My back. Stroke my cock. Harder. Faster. Pulling images of Beth fast asleep with one leg thrown to the side, her pussy on full display. So pink. So wet. So ready. But Beth’s pussy isn’t here right now, and she’s made it that I don’t have the option of being picky. Mad at her as I am, it doesn’t take long for me to shoot a load against the shower floor. A load that I almost bust my ass in as the doorbell rings. Slipped on his own cum and cracked his skull open. What a way to die that would be.
I decide that the incessant knocking on the door is not that urgent and give myself enough time to get decent before budging to open it. When I’m out of the shower, I towel dry my hair and slip into a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The knocking is heavier now and it might be the alcohol but I’m at least half-way convinced that there’s scratching accompanying it.
I pull the door open, lazily, annoyed and am about to turn my back on the entrants when silk, brown fur comes into view. I might be drunk, but there’s no questioning what’s in front of me. I’m standing face to face with a bear. A fucking bear. He’s growling now, throwing himself at me. My fist balls tight and without so much as a second thought, I’m in attack mode. My punches find purchase coming to effect as the bear groans. “What the fuck, Maverick?” I hear the words, but they don’t stop my attack. Not until I’ve knocked the bear’s head from his body to reveal a perfectly shocked human face.
“Ethan?”
He sheds the rest of the bear costume and hurls it at me. “Damn near knocked my fucking teeth out,” he growls, stepping into my condo and checking his gob in the mirror next to the guest bedroom.
I’m way past apologizing and so I don’t. Serves him right. What the fuck did he think would come of showing up the way he did.
Maybe if I weren’t wasted off my ass I’d have realize that bears don’t knock on fucking doors. They don’t ride elevators either.
The rest of the team files in, dispersing into the open room and immediately making themselves at home. A few of the guys line up to play darts and the girls are already fixed with cups in their hands. I’m about to turn my back on the door and pour myself a drink when a very family face pulls into view.
She’s wearing fuck-me stilettos to match the whorish look in her eyes. I get as far away from her as possible. Selina spells trouble. The kind of trouble that I’m too married to get into. But also the kind of trouble that being drunk makes it easy getting into.
Skipping the chance of downing a decent fucking drink, I slip into my bathroom and retrieve the bottle of Vodka from my shower. I look like a thief in my own house with the way I’m checking behind me the entire time, making sure Selina is nowhere in sight. And I’m kinda successful. At least for the first two hours. But as the night ages like cheap whisky in a dirty barrel, I find that Selina becomes more and more impossible to avoid. Two’s company. Three’s a crowd. And four makes it downright uncomfortable to push boundaries. That’s what I need to do. Make sure she doesn’t catch me alone.
I group myself up, throwing darts with the boys, brushing off the comments Selina sneakily whispers my way. When she’s lost all her shame and the flirtations become unbearable, I strip off my clothes and make use of the freezing cold rooftop pool. The decades it took her to cake makeup onto her face makes me certain she’s not about to follow me for a swim. I’m actually successful in that regard. If success can be claimed when you’ve gotten blue-balls from something other than lack of sex. But that’s just the way this cookie has crumbled and I’m okay with that. Maybe my whole cock will freeze off and Beth will feel hella guilty. She looks like the kind of girl who’d want to have a whole football team of kids. Not gonna get that with a cockless husband, are you, Beth? The thought of it makes me laugh like it’s not my own damn cock that I’m talking about. Somewhere in there, however, is brilliance. So much brilliance that I think the idea’s worth sharing with Beth. It’s the only reason I get out of the pool. First, I call her because who wants evidence that they’re about to put their cock in jeopardy to spite a girl. When she doesn’t pick up, I text.
I’ve frozen all our future kids. And my cock. Simple. To the point.
She doesn’t answer. Her phone’s probably not even on.
Fuck you, Beth!
I slam the phone on the kitchen counter causing Ethan who’s beside me to jump. He claps a hand on my back and gives me a little shake.
“You alright man?”
“Better than ever,” I say, eyeballing the cup in his hands rather than meeting him eye to eye. Everything about his body language tells me that he doesn’t believe me. Seeing as I’m not about to pour my tattered up heart out to him, I do the only damn thing I can to prove that I am indeed A Okay. I turn the fucking music up, sending the partiers wild.
Body’s move and fists pump to the beat. The girls find the center of the living room and shake what their mommas gave them. Selina’s a part of that pack. She’s got her eye on me while she swivels to and swivels fro, bending over so that I can see all the way up to her brains through the space in her thong. If I hadn’t had as much to drink as I had, my cock would’ve probably been harder than a metal rod. Not wanting to even drive down memory lane with how easily I could forget the world with her lips wrapped around my cock, I join the guys on the other end of the living room and bust a few moves of my own.
It’s hours later when things finally die down a little. There are still the night owls hanging around trying to squeeze the last bits of entertainment out of the night. Once upon a time, I used to be just like them. Right now, with the vodka souring the pits of my stomach and my eyes leaning to close, I realize that those days are long gone. I dip the music low enough so that my voice can’t go unheard. “I don’t give a fuck about y’all, but my ass is outta here.” There are moans and a few rebels, but I’ve made up my damn mind. It’s been a long fucking day and I’m more than happy to see it end.
I shuffle over to my bedroom and have my hand on the handle when slim fingers tap at my shoulder. “You’re not really turning in that early?” Selina smiles up at me with every bit of her intentions twinkling in her sapphire blue eyes.
“It’s an open bar and I’m not kicking anyone out.”
She leans in a little closer. “It’s not the bar that I’m interested in having a tall, long, drink of,” she whispers and I cringe.
Not tonight.
Not any other night.
Not anymore.
I push the bedroom door open and push her out, practically slamming the thing in her face. With my back pressed tight against it, I wait for a minute to make sure she’s gets the picture. And then, I allow my bed to hold me and drift off to sleep in the sweet scent of the only woman who has ever come close to damaging me.
Fuck you, Beth.
47
There are moments, when I want to be expressive, to be creative. Moments that require silence, reverence and utter darkness. A silent head and empty heart are no strangers to me. They are the necessary features of my most creative space.
Vile Intentions: A Dark Sports Bully Romance Page 24
