by Jamie Howard
“On the rocks would be great,” Blaire finally answers, throwing a nasty look my way.
When he goes to get our drinks, Blaire punches me in the arm. “Stop being such a bitch.”
I was going to say that I wasn’t, but I kind of was. I run a hand down my arm. I feel so at odds with myself, like I’m wearing someone else’s skin and it’s too tight.
She grabs me by both shoulders and gives me a little shake. “He’s not Nick.”
I clench my teeth together so hard that the muscle in my jaw bunches.
“Here you go, ladies.” He slides our drinks toward us but seems taken aback when he spies the look of blatant rage on my face.
Blaire tries to cover it over with a winning smile and shoves a wad of bills in his direction. He barely glances down at them as he tucks them in his pocket.
Taking my water, I shrug off Blaire’s arm. “Go enjoy yourself and let me be. Find me when you’re ready to go home, and if you’re not coming home, just send me a text.”
I can tell by the look in her eyes she doesn’t want me to go off anywhere by myself, but I’m not really leaving her a choice. I don’t go far, just to the corner stool where I can sit unobtrusively against the wall. With the dim lighting I doubt anyone will even notice me.
And they don’t. From my perch on the stool, it’s like I don’t exist.
Blaire flits from group to group, always surrounded by admirers. She has a smile for all of them, even the unattractive ones. She’d never go for them, but she’s way too nice to treat them like crap. It’s one of the few things we have in common.
Unfortunately, my decision to stay at the bar puts me in fairly close proximity to Luke, and I get more than my fair share of watching him, whether I want to or not. At first I’d tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that the rumors about him were clearly exaggerated. They’re not. I’m not sure which is more disgusting—him or the boatloads of women who throw themselves at him knowing he’s probably dipped his stick in every single one of their friends.
More than one person leans across the bar to grab at his ass or hook their finger through his belt loop to pull him closer. He never objects, never seems to be bothered by the way they touch him. It’s like he’s a communal sex toy that everyone passes around and plays with. When I can’t stand to watch anymore, I leave my empty glass and its resulting ring of condensation behind and make my way outside.
The deck is shaped like an upside-down T, with the long part extending out across the sand and toward the water. For the most part, the action is contained in the bar area, and the farther away I walk, the fewer people I encounter.
The farthest table away is empty and blessedly quiet. Actually, the surrounding three tables are empty as well. Tiny lights sit atop every other railing post, illuminating the small space around it in a warm yellow light. I can just make out the waves in the night, their whitecaps rising before crashing into the sand. The wind is coated in salt and makes my skin feel sticky just from being outside in it.
Boosting myself up into the bar-high chair, I tuck my feet up on the rung, enveloping myself in the surrounding shadows. I manage almost an hour before I hear footsteps approaching in my direction.
A familiar face pokes into my vision before he takes the seat opposite me. “So, you don’t drink and you like to hide away at the end of the deck.”
This guy cannot take a hint. Maybe if I make a sign that says, “Leave me alone. Yes, this means you, Luke Evans,” he’d go away. Or maybe not. I’m still not positive he can read.
“I do drink.”
He quirks a brow at me.
“Just because I’m not drinking now doesn’t mean I don’t drink.”
He rests his forearms on the table, lacing his fingers together. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m not exactly sure why.”
I echo his gesture. “Look, Luke, let me make this really simple for you. I’m not interested.”
“In what, exactly?”
“I’m not going to sleep with you. Not now, not ever. And please, please, don’t take that as some sort of challenge.”
He looks … shocked almost. “Who said I wanted to sleep with you?”
I surprise myself by laughing. “You want to sleep with anything that’s breathing and has a vagina. Given those very broad parameters, even I fall into them.”
The wind ruffles his hair as he leans back in the chair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looked hurt. But I do know better than that. “You don’t know me,” he says, his voice harsh and quiet.
“Go ahead then.” I spread my hands out. “Tell me I’m wrong about you.”
I’m waiting to hear his lie so I can drive the final nail home in his coffin, when footsteps rush toward us, and some girl, bouncing boobs and all, inserts herself between Luke’s legs.
“What the hell are you doing out here Luke?” She trails a hand up his leg until its resting on his crotch. “I thought you were going to meet me out front, but I guess out here will do.”
She’s so consumed with him that she’s oblivious to the fact that I’m sitting here. I try not to watch as her hand rubs him through his pants, but I can’t seem to drag my eyes away.
When I finally do, I find his eyes locked onto mine. He still hasn’t said a word or even moved. Her mouth captures his, and he doesn’t resist, but he still won’t stop looking at me. It’s unnerving.
As his pupils dilate and his eyes darken, I can’t watch anymore. I shouldn’t have been watching for this long to begin with. I slip out of my chair, careful not to draw the bimbo’s notice. The wooden boards of the deck are quiet beneath my feet, and I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of … disappointment.
They’re all the same.
Chapter 5
Luke
She’s looking at me like I’m the lowliest piece of shit she’s ever seen. Worse than that, she’s looking at me like I’ve confirmed the worst things she’s ever thought about men. For some reason I can’t understand, it makes me feel like crap.
I’ve got this hot chick’s tongue in my mouth, her hand down my pants, and the only thing I can think about is that I’ve disappointed Sloane. Why the fuck do I even care?
Nothing she’s said is wrong. I don’t discriminate when it comes to having a good time. I’ve gotten used to the way women treat me like a piece of meat, because it’s exactly the way I treat them. They’re all expendable.
Except … Sloane hasn’t looked at me that way once.
When she walks away, I can’t blame her. She asked me to prove her wrong, and I’ve done the exact opposite. As she disappears into the night, I try to focus on the task at hand, but the mind-numbing sensation that I so look forward to eludes me.
All I keep seeing are those aqua-blue eyes brimming with resignation and something that I swear looked like hurt. I certainly don’t have the power to put that there, but someone did.
At some point, my pants get unzipped, and the girl wraps her lips around my dick—licking, sucking, and swirling her tongue. When she moans, I run a hand through my hair. It might be a turn-on if it wasn’t so obviously fake and manufactured for my benefit. She’s sucking me off and she’s moaning? Give me a break.
I grab her underneath the arms and deposit her swiftly into my lap. Reaching underneath her skirt, I flick her panties aside. She’s already digging in my wallet, and when she rolls the condom down, I shift her on top of me and let her go to town. I lay one hand across the small of her back to balance her. She bounces up and down, her tits nearly smacking me in the face, and I try to concentrate on how good she feels, how tight and warm she is. As she loses herself, my body finally gives in and joins her. It’s hard not to enjoy the physical release, but my mind is still spinning itself in circles.
She lifts herself off me and hops down onto the ground, straightening her skirt. For my part, I toss the used condom and zip my pants back up. She trails a hand down my flat stomach. “Thanks for the good time as always, Luk
e. I’ll have to come back for a repeat performance sometime.”
Up until this very moment it never even bothered me that I was a living breathing pogo stick for women to get their jollies off. Hell, I’m only doing the same in return. But this time, I can’t help hearing Sloane’s words on repeat and seeing the resigned look on her face.
* * *
I must be a masochist. I waited three whole days, trying to shake what she said to me. I still can’t figure out why I care what she thinks. Maybe it’s that it’s the first time anyone’s ever said it to my face. Or maybe it’s because when she looks at me, I think she actually sees me and not the bullshit exterior I put up for everyone else. Maybe it’s something else entirely. All I know is that, for once, I’d like to prove to someone that I’m more than just my dick.
Leaning against the wall outside Gran’s Diner, I wait for Sloane to finish her shift. The rough brick picks at my cotton shirt as I fidget, scratching against it. It’s another hot day, but at least I’ve found some shade underneath the red awning that stretches out from the building. I’m still not quite sure what I’m doing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I might be the dumbest person on the planet. She couldn’t be any clearer about how she feels about me if she tattooed it on her forehead.
Fifteen minutes later, Sloane finally makes an appearance. She looks exhausted and she’s got syrup in her hair. “Sloane,” I say.
She jumps and clasps a hand to her chest. There are dark smudges underneath her eyes that aren’t the remnants of last night’s mascara.
“Do I need to take out a billboard?” she asks.
As she starts to walk away, I fall into step beside her. She gives me an exasperated glance.
“I’d like to call a truce.”
“I didn’t realize we were at war,” she mutters under her breath.
I wrap my fingers around her arm and pull her to a stop. She physically unwinds herself as she looks at me, like a cobra uncoiling from the strike position. “I’m serious about the truce,” I say. “I’d like to be your friend.” Her eyes narrow to slits, and I hold up my hands in surrender. “I won’t try to sleep with you, I promise.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Why would you want to be my friend?”
I fold my arms across my chest and ignore the few familiar faces that stare at us as they pass. “Because it doesn’t look like you have any.”
Shit, that was the wrong thing to say. I hurry to catch up with her as she stalks away, her sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk. “Wait—that’s not what I meant.”
Reaching her car, she tosses her bag into the passenger seat and leans a hip against the door. “Go ahead. If you’d like to dig this hole a little deeper, be my guest.”
“What I meant to say is that I don’t have any. Well, other than Archer.”
She sighs. A real, deep, heartfelt sigh. There’s some major battle going on behind her eyes and then she sighs again. “I wouldn’t be a good friend for you, Luke.”
I lean my hip against the car, too, although I’m a little afraid to touch it. This car is worth more than my life. It’s a sexy piece of machinery. “Why not?”
“Honestly?” she asks, and I nod. “I can’t stand you. Not even you exactly, but the kind of person you are. And I’m not saying this because I’m trying to hurt you or I’m trying to be mean. That’s not who I am. I’m just trying to make you understand.”
“You don’t even know me,” I say, trying to put a leash on my anger.
She covers her face with her hands, those small hands that disappeared in mine. “Are we really going to do this again?” She glances behind me and then around to the other side. “Well, where is she?”
My fists clench at my side as I try to reign in my temper. This girl is unbelievable. Here I am extending an olive branch, for God knows what reason, and she’s throwing it right back in my face. No, not just throwing it, she’s lit it on fire first.
“You know, Sloane, for all you claim to be a “nice” person, you’re not even giving me a chance here. You judged me the moment you laid eyes on me. That first night on the beach, you decided right then and there who I was, and it doesn’t matter what I do or what I say, I’m not gonna change your mind. So you know what? You win. I give up.” I shove both hands deep in my pockets and turn away before I can see the relieved expression that I know will cross her face.
Chapter 6
Sloane
“God, Blaire, I’m such a bitch.” I bury my face in my hands, surrounded by the chugging of the dishwasher and the clatter of plates that fill the kitchen at Gran’s Diner. Every time Luke comes near me, the worst things pop out of my mouth. It’s so unlike me, so out of character, that I don’t know how to handle it. It’s been a week since the last horrific incident, and I’m still agonizing over it.
Blaire stifles a yawn from her spot across the room. She went out again last night but didn’t make it home. I didn’t bother asking where she slept. “I honestly can’t believe you said that. Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”
I thump my head back against the cabinet. “I hate being like this. This isn’t me.”
“I know it isn’t.” She snatches a biscuit from a nearby tray, and nibbles on the corner of it. “Have you heard from Mom or Dad?”
“Yeah, they say hey. Dad’s going nutso about some new sailboat he got, and Mom’s up to her eyeballs in party planning. They chatted my ear off for nearly two hours last night. Why don’t they ever call you?”
She chuckles. “That’s the price you pay for being their favorite.” Her eyes shift to my cheek and they narrow. “I think you’ve got something on your face.”
I wipe at my cheek. “Did I get it?”
Blaire shakes her head. “Nope, it looks like it’s on there pretty good.”
“What is it?” I rub harder.
“How the hell should I know? Just go wash it off.”
Leaving Blaire, I shoulder open the bathroom door. At least it’s still early and the customers haven’t started drifting in yet. Leaning close enough to the mirror that my breath fogs up the glass, I reach for the faucet and freeze.
I spin around, staring at a woman who’s crumpled in the corner. For a minute I think she isn’t breathing, but then I see the telltale rise and fall of a shallow breath. She might be passed out. Her head is slumped forward so that her chin rests on her chest, and her red lipstick is smeared across her face, making her look like a strange approximation of the Joker. Brown hair the color of dark chocolate is tangled in a mess around her shoulders. The jean miniskirt and red tube top give off a youthful impression in direct contrast with the wrinkles that line her eyes and mouth.
Poking my head out the door, I say, “Gran, I’m going to need you to come in here a minute.”
She shoots me a strange look but pushes her reading glasses up into her white hair and heads in my direction. Taking a quick look at the woman in the corner, she gives her head a sad shake.
“Do you know her?” I ask.
She nods. “Let me make a call. See if you can wake her up.”
Fishing a few paper towels from the dispenser, I wet them and try to wipe off her face. She moans and tries to turn away, but I talk quietly to her, trying to make my voice as quiet and soothing as possible.
Several minutes pass before I hear the door open again, and a shadow falls across me. I glance up to find Luke staring down at me. Well, not me, really, but her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shoots me a look that makes me feel about two inches tall. Taking three steps forward, he grabs the woman around the middle and hoists her over his shoulder. Her head hangs upside down, lolling from side to side as she starts to groan again.
His long strides eat up the ground, and he’s already out on the sidewalk before I can catch up with him. When he hears my footsteps, he spins around. He’s furious. Beyond furious, and I want to crawl into the nearest hole and hide.
“What do you want, Sloane? I’m no
t in the mood for your shit this morning.”
I swallow hard, trying not to tremble from the way he’s staring lasers through my face. “I was going to offer you a ride. I wasn’t sure if your car’s still out of commission or not.”
A small muscle jumps underneath his eye, and when he reaches into his pocket and comes up empty, he curses under his breath. He’s debating something, arguing with himself. I have no idea why. I’m just offering him a ride. It’s really not that big of a deal.
“Fine. Where’s your car?”
I point toward the back parking lot and hurry to keep up with him. He dumps her in the backseat, leaving her to lie like a disjointed mannequin. As he slams the passenger door closed behind him, I reach in the back to at least make sure all of her limbs are comfortably lying on the seat.
I turn on the car and wait. His hand curls into a tight fist, clenching and then unclenching, like he’s squeezing an invisible stress ball.
“Well, are you going to drive the damn car?”
I take a deep breath, trying to wade through these shark-infested waters without getting my head bitten off. “I’d be glad to if you’ll tell me where I’m going.”
He blows out a breath. “Take Seabreeze and then make a left on Poplar. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Not the most detailed directions, but I’m familiar enough with the area to have a general idea of where he’s talking about.
We drive for almost five full minutes with only the growl of the engine between us, when curiosity finally gets the better of me. “You know her?”
His fist shifts back into the clenched position. “What are you asking, Sloane? Are you curious if I’m fucking her?”
I flinch at his harsh language, which I realize is probably his intent. “I…”
He glares at me. “No, I’m not fucking her. She’s my mom.”
His mom? I almost glance back over my shoulder to stare at her. This woman is his mother?
