Bound Together: a New Adult Reverse Harem Romance (Torn and Bound Duet Book 2)

by K Webster

  “Are you the guy from the club?” Sasha asks, quickly putting the pieces together.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I say to Drew, practically pushing him out the door, while pulling Sasha inside, so she can’t berate him with questions.

  The second the door closes, she says, “You and the hockey coach?”

  Shit, I was hoping she wouldn’t recognize him as anything other than the guy from the club. “Nothing happened between us,” I tell her point-blank. The last thing we need is for Sasha to start gossiping.

  “Sure didn’t look that way on the dance floor…” She hits me with an accusatory stare.

  “Sasha,” I groan. “Don’t make something out of nothing, please. He’s the coach and I’m a student and once we knew that, we both walked away.”

  “So, then what’s he doing here?”

  “He’s roommates with Ashton.” I don’t want to give her anything more, but if I want to get her off the Drew train, I’m going to have to distract her with something else. “Ashton and I kissed and then… he kissed someone else.” There, that ought to do it.

  “What a slime ball. I’ve told you before he’s a bad egg.” She lifts her chin so her nose is pointed up, all too ready to step on her high horse. “Did you know he was caught with drugs on campus?”

  “It was weed,” I say in his defense. “And it was planted.”

  Sasha harrumphs. “He’s bad news. My mother says his father can’t control him. Plus…” She leans in, like we’re not alone, and she has a secret to tell me. “I heard he’s gay.”

  “Nooooo.” I mock gasp, mentally rolling my eyes. Everyone knows Ashton is gay. He’s never made it out to be a secret. And only your dumb ass would think he would suddenly switch teams for you…

  “Yep.” She pops the P. “Looks like you dodged a bullet with that one.” My chest constricts. It feels more like I was hit by said bullet, right in the center of my heart.

  “We’re going out tonight,” she transitions. “It looks like you can use some fresh air. Take a shower, get dressed…” Her eyes land on my hair, and her face contorts into a pained expression, like it’s personally offending her. “And please, do something with your hair.” She saunters over to the door. “I’ll text you the name of the lounge and the address. We’re meeting there at nine o’clock.” And then she disappears out the door.

  For the next couple hours, while I watch reruns of crappy television that I’m not even paying attention to, I consider whether I should go out tonight. Sasha’s annoying, but she’s right, I need some fresh air. I haven’t left this apartment in days. Ashton, Drew, and Brayden are all continuing with their lives while I’m here, wallowing alone. It wouldn’t hurt to take a shower, get dressed, and get drunk. If nothing else, maybe it will help me forget. Because clearly sitting in this apartment, crying and sulking, isn’t working.

  After I’m showered and dressed in a sexy little black number—I might not have my shit together, but at least I can look like I do—I turn my phone on so I can call for an Uber. The second my phone lights up, it’s overcome with texts and missed alerts. I spot Ashton’s and Brayden’s names but quickly swipe them away. Not going there… I pull my Uber app up and request a car, and then, after putting my phone on silent, I shove it into the front of my dress.

  As I step out of my apartment and walk past Ashton’s, I slow down slightly, hoping maybe, like he always does, he’ll hear me and come out. But he doesn’t.

  Fifteen minutes later, I arrive downtown at an upscale lounge called The Brasserie, one I’ve always thought was too uppity for me to ever step inside. There’s a line of people waiting to get inside, and since we’re experiencing a rare early winter, it’s chilly outside. I consider just telling the driver to take me back home, since I didn’t bring a jacket, and I’m not in the mood for freezing to death, but I don’t want to waste actually showering and getting dressed.

  After thanking the driver, I pull my phone out and shoot a text to Sasha, who immediately replies that my name is at the door. Thank God!

  Once I’m in, I make a beeline straight for the bar.

  “What can I get you?” the good-looking bartender asks, blatantly checking me out.

  “Umm… A martini, please. Any flavor is fine.” I should probably find Sasha and her posse, but I’m not in the mood yet. I’ll need a little bit of alcohol in my system to deal with her tonight.

  The bartender nods and goes about making my drink. While I’m waiting, my phone vibrates against my breast. It’s probably Sasha… I pull it out to let her know I’m grabbing a drink and I’ll find her soon, but when I swipe up to check the message, I freeze. It’s not Sasha… It’s Ashton. And before I can demand my brain to abort, I’m reading his text.

  Ashy C: This is my daily message to remind you that I love you and I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

  The bartender sets my drink down and I swallow the entire thing in one fell swoop.

  “Want another one?” he asks, his brows knitted together in confusion.

  “Actually, I’ll take a double shot of whatever you have that’s the strongest,” I shout over the blaring music.

  I love you.

  The bartender raises a brow but doesn’t argue, grabbing the shot glass and setting it in front of me. He pours the liquor, and I down it before he’s even had time to put the bottle back. The liquor stings its way down my esophagus and when it reaches my belly, it feels like it’s on fire. My throat and stomach burn, but I welcome the pain. Craving it.

  I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

  “Another one?” he asks, holding up the bottle.

  “Yep, keep ’em coming.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Bad week,” I tell him, downing the shot. “You know what, can I just keep the bottle?”

  He laughs. “This is a two-thousand-dollar bottle of liquor.”

  I pull my credit card out and drop it onto the bar. “I’m good for it.”

  He nods with a smirk. “It’s all yours.”

  After I pour another shot and swallow it back, I glance at my phone.

  This is my daily message…

  I already knew there were more, but I haven’t read them. I close my eyes, refusing to go there. If I read them, I’m going to want to respond. And then I’ll have to deal with everything.

  I open my eyes, and the phone is still there, lying on the bar top, beckoning me.

  Pick me up. Read me.

  Oh, great, Mia, in your drunken state, your phone is talking to you. I roll my eyes, and just as I’m about to pour myself another shot, my phone lights up with another message.

  Ashy C: I miss you more than Skittles and gummy bears.

  His words are my breaking point, and before I can stop myself, my fingers are firing off a text.

  Me: You don’t love me! If you did, you wouldn’t have hurt me. Now stop messaging me. I’m at The Brasserie having a good time without you. I hope your Skittles and gummy bears keep you warm at night.

  There, take that!

  He certainly doesn’t need me to keep him warm.

  And I don’t need him either.

  I have a two-thousand-dollar bottle of gin and bartender eye-candy to do that for me.

  I’m okay.

  I may not be enough for anyone else, but I’m enough for me.

  “Fuck fuck-boys!” I call out to the bartender, raising my bottle.

  He laughs and tips his head in agreement.

  I’m doing fine and dandy all by myself, thank you very much.

  The Brasserie.

  One of Mom’s favorite hoity-toity hangouts. I know exactly where this place is and I’ll be damned if I let this opportunity pass me up. I take the world’s fastest shower and dress in something that’ll grant me access into that rich bitch martini lounge. Black slacks, a black button-up, and a slate-colored tie. I hate dressing up, but if I want to go get the girl, I need to actually be able to get in to get her. I break the rules with my black Doc Marten lace-up
combat boots because if I have to crawl into society’s box, at least I can leave the lid off.

  I shove my wallet in my pocket, grab my leather jacket from the closet, and snag my keys in record time. It’s cold as fuck outside, so I’m glad I wore a jacket. I’m thrumming with pent-up energy, though, too wired to be cold.

  I’m going to see her.

  Mia.

  My Mia.

  I’ll make this right. I know I can. I just need her in my arms so I can hold her. Our severed connection has left me hemorrhaging without her. Mia needs to know that I can’t exist without her in my life. I’ll take her any way I can get her.

  This week, I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m a player. Worse than I gave Brayden shit for when I first met him. I use people for my own entertainment. It’s sick and fucked up. Hell, I even called my damn therapist this week to ask why I’m that way. It led to a surprisingly eye-opening session that helped me realize I’m a self-destructive shithead. That explosive behavior of mine draws people close enough that when I detonate, they’re all destroyed along with me.

  Mia.

  Dad.

  So many others.

  I hurt people because I like to hurt myself. They become casualties of my destruction. I need to learn to stop wrecking my own heart, and as a result, saving those around me.

  Baby steps.

  It only solidifies my desire to pursue my degree in psychology. If people like me could figure out how to handle ourselves, imagine how many others like us we could also help. For the first time since I started therapy all those years ago, I had respect for the person trying to help me.

  I’m not delusional enough to think I’m going to magically be a better person, but this is the first time I wanted to be better. I had someone I needed desperately to be better for.

  Mia.

  She deserves to have a best friend who will keep trying to do right by her, even when he fucks up. And if it leads to something more, then so be it. If it doesn’t, I’ll be perfectly content seeing her smile directed at me and to have my gamer buddy back.

  Mia is like the sun.

  Bright and hot and penetrating.

  She gets inside you and lights up all the shadowed corners of the darkest parts of you.

  For some strange-ass reason, she decided to walk into my life and shine her sparkly light on me. When you’re used to being a cold-hearted dick, it’s a little alarming to grow so warm just by being exposed to another person.

  Mia is my world.

  A huge piece that completes the puzzle that is me, pulling all the fragmented, jagged parts together and making them somehow fit and make sense.

  I’m not whole without her.

  In no time, I’m pulling my Audi up to the curb in front of a long-ass line. I fling open the door, cringing against the biting cold, and then pull out my wallet to meet the approaching valet guy.

  “Keep it running or drive it around the block a couple of times. I’ll be out in a few,” I tell him as I flip open my wallet. “Here. Keep it warm.”

  He smiles at the handful of hundreds I thrust at him. “Sure, man. It can stay for a few.”

  I hand him my keys and then trot to the front of the line. A man dressed in a suit arches a brow at me, daring me to try and enter.

  “Wendy Worthington-Carter. She’s my mom,” I bark at him. “I’m just going in to fetch my girl and I’ll be out of here.”

  The guy’s face curls into a devious smirk. “Tell your mom Bo says hi.” He winks in a way that makes my skin crawl.

  Fucking gross.

  “Yeah, dude. I’ll tell her.”

  He waves me inside. I scan my gaze across the room, looking for the hottest brunette in this place. Eventually, I settle my stare on the saddest girl to ever drink expensive-ass gin straight from a bottle.

  My girl.

  I stalk through the crowd, a man on a mission. I’m almost to her when a snobby bitch steps right in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?” Sasha sneers, curling her lip up at me.

  I hate this bitch.

  “I’m taking my girl home.” I grit my teeth. “Move, princess.”

  “You’re gay,” Sasha spits at me as though I’m supposed to fucking recoil or some shit.

  “And you’re a bitch, but here we are. Move or I’ll do it for you.” I crack my neck, leveling her with a hard glare. I didn’t come all this way to be sidelined by a stuck-up sorority brat.

  “How did you even get in here?” Sasha demands. “You’re… you.”

  Gripping her dainty shoulders, I move her aside, ignoring her snarling. I prowl the rest of the way up to Mia, crowding her from behind. She stiffens her body when I wrap my arms around her.

  “Missed you, MiMi,” I murmur, nuzzling my nose in her hair near her ear, inhaling her sweet scent I’ve craved so badly.

  “Ashton.” Her choked out word slices my already butchered heart.

  “I’m here,” I say, hugging her tight.

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  She’s drunk. There’s a slur in her words and her dumb friend isn’t exactly the nurturing type. It’s a good thing I arrived because based on the way she falls against me, her head lolling to the side, it was only a matter of time before some douchebag took advantage of her.

  “I know,” I croon, “but I’m here anyway. Let’s get you home.”

  The bartender shoots me a worried look. “Want me to call her an Uber?”

  “I’m her best friend,” I snap at him. “She’s going home with me where I can keep her safe. Next time, look at the fucking ID before you sell a college freshman the whole damn bottle.”

  His face pales. Fuck him.

  I slide Mia’s arm over my shoulders and wrap an arm around her waist, holding her up. Sasha steps in front of me again, her face bright red with anger.

  “Move,” I growl.

  “Come on,” Sasha says to Mia, holding her hand out. “I’ll take you home.”

  “I don’t feel good,” Mia groans.

  Sasha’s nose scrunches. “I’ll call an Uber.”

  “I’m taking her home,” I snarl. “Get the fuck over it.”

  She gasps in shock at my words. Unlike Sasha, I don’t give a goddamn about pretenses. My girl is wasted and sick and heartbroken. I’m the only one who will take care of her like she needs to be cared for.

  I walk Mia almost to the doors when the cold draft rushes in as more patrons do, making her shiver. Pulling away from her and leaning her against the wall beside the door, I peel off my jacket and then set to putting it on her. Her brown eyes are shimmering with sadness and her bottom lip pokes out, wobbling.

  Fuck.

  I broke her damn heart.

  Threading my fingers into her soft hair, I tilt her head up so I can see her pretty, distraught face up close. Her eyes flutter closed when I lean in. I press a soft kiss to her lips.

  “I’ve got you, MiMi.”

  When I pull away, a tear is streaking down her cheek. I quickly wipe it away with my thumb and tuck her under my protective embrace once more. We step outside, both of us flinching against the cold. I make my way back over to my Audi and retrieve my keys from the valet. Once I have the passenger side door open, I assist Mia into the seat before closing her inside.

  Finally.

  I won’t lose her again.

  Once I’m inside the still-warm car, I reach over and take her hand. I expect resistance, but my girl threads her fingers with mine. Like old times.

  She leans her forehead against the glass side window, groaning as I take off. My heart is pounding out of my chest, overcome with elation that I managed to not only talk to her, but to finally touch her again.

  The drive home is quiet, but my mind is loud. I want to tell her I love her. Apologize. Beg for forgiveness. Instead, I opt for silence, afraid to disrupt the moment.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she mumbles again. “Ashton, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  I pull into a parking spot in fr
ont of our building and shut off the car just as she flings open the door. Something splatters on the pavement. I don’t do puke. At all. But this is Mia. I’ll swim through a pool of it if that means I get to have her on the other side.

  “Yuck, MiMi,” I grumble as I reach her. Vomit drips from her chin and her eyes are teary. “How much did you pay for that bottle of regret?”

  “Two thousand dollars.”

  I chuckle as I help her step over the mess. “Let’s go wash that fifty bucks off your chin.”

  We barely make it to the building before she wretches another two Benjamins out of her system. Once inside the building, I scoop up her tiny body and carry her through the halls. She presses her face against my neck, groaning like she might puke some more. The stench makes me want to gag, but I’ll endure it for her.

  Eventually, we make it inside my apartment. She doesn’t protest, so I consider it a win. I carry her right to my room and into the bathroom. Once I set her on the counter and peel my jacket off her that’ll need dry cleaning, I start the shower. Her eyes are closed, and she’s a mess with puke in her hair and down the front of her dress.

  “Can you shower?” I ask, frowning at her. “You need to. I’m not letting you in my bed like this.”

  A crazed laugh bubbles out of her and then she starts to cry. “You want me in your bed?”

  “I want you everywhere, Mia.”

  I yank off my tie and toss it to the floor as steam begins to fill the bathroom. “Do you need my help?”

  Her teary eyes roam up my chest to my face and she nods.

  “Okay,” I say, sucking in a breath. “Try not to get dazzled by my dick. It’s so pretty, it hurts to look at. It’s best if you avert your eyes.”

  She laughs but then starts to gag again. I scoop her up and carry her over to the toilet, gripping her messy, sticky hair as she heaves into the toilet. Her chokes turn into sobs.

  “Shh, baby, shh. I’m going to take care of you,” I assure her. “Get it all out so we can clean you up.”

  She grips the bowl, no longer puking, just shaking. I release her hair so I can strip out of my fancy shit. Then, I crouch to unzip her dress. I help her stand up and something clatters to the floor. Her phone, ID, and credit card.