by S. M. Shade
I don’t want to. I want to pretend it never happened. Somehow, I don’t think Davis will exactly shout it from the rooftops, either. He never thought I was good enough for him when we were young, and I doubt that’s changed.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Kasha encourages.
“I slept with Davis.” The words tumble out, and I rest my forehead on my palm.
“With who?” Lydia asks, straining to hear over the music.
“Davis! I slept with Davis Lane!” If you can consider being fucked against a wall “sleeping with.”
When I look up, I’m greeted by two horrified expressions. Seriously, it isn’t that bad. It’s not like they’ve never screwed someone they shouldn’t.
“No need to shout about it, love. There’s plenty more where that came from.” NO. I didn’t hear that. I especially did not hear that in Davis’s deep voice. And that is not his laugh coming from behind me. Lydia covers her mouth, muffling a laugh, and Kasha shakes her head, trying not to smile.
Alcohol. I need copious amounts of alcohol. Without a word to anyone, I leap to my feet and make a beeline for the bar. I rarely drink and now I’m getting trashed two nights in a row. This man is going to make me an alcoholic. Margaritas just aren’t going to cut it. The bartender nods when I order two shots of tequila and places them in front of me. They last about three seconds. I can sense Davis behind me, his scent unmistakable.
His hands land on my hips as he puts his lips against my ear. “What? You can brag about fucking me, but you won’t talk to me?”
My face heats and it pisses me off. Turning, I plant my hands on his chest and shove. Yeah, that didn’t work. He’s solid muscle. It’s like trying to shove a boulder. “I wasn’t bragging, you narcissistic ass! I was confessing.”
His brows furrow. “Confessing?”
“Yes, so they could tell me it was okay to screw up and sleep with a self-centered dick. I wasn’t bragging and I won’t be telling anyone else. Now, I’m trying to scrounge some kind of dignity, so if you don’t mind.”
He grabs me as I try to shove past him. “I fucking mind,” he growls a second before his lips land on mine. I’d like to be able to say I pushed him away, or stomped his foot, maybe bit him. All of that would be preferable to my real response. I shoved my tongue in his mouth and kissed him like he was hiding winning lottery numbers in his throat.
His hands grip my ass, nearly lifting me off my feet, and I don’t even care that people are watching. Until they start hooting. After a random shout of “fuck her, buddy!” I get control of myself and step away. An insufferable grin tilts his lips, and I’m not sure whether I want to strip him or kick him in the junk. I know I can’t let this happen again.
“I’m not sleeping with you again.”
“Don’t remember us sleeping together. I recall a lot of cries of ‘yes!’ and ‘don’t stop!’ Don’t think I could sleep through that.”
“Ugh!” I stomp my foot in frustration which makes his smile widen. “Just find another victim tonight.” I head back to the table where Kasha and Lydia are trying to act like they weren’t watching.
“Uh… you want to explain?” Lydia asks.
“It was a giant mistake.”
“Sleeping with him or kissing him just now?” Kasha asks, sliding me a drink.
“He kissed me.”
Lydia snorts. “The whole bar watched you try to climb inside his mouth. Try again.”
“I-I don’t know why I did that. He drives me crazy.”
“Maybe because he’s hot as hell. Look around, Henley, the women in here can’t take their eyes off of him.”
Kasha grins and tilts her glass toward the bar where Davis sits. “But he’s too busy eye-fucking you to notice. I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”
Sighing, I shake my head. “He’s been my brother’s best friend since we were kids.”
“And?” Lydia presses.
“And we screwed around for two years… and he might’ve been my first,” I mumble quickly, draining my drink.
“Whoa, back it up. He’s the one who left you right after?” Kasha asks, now glaring in his direction.
“He didn’t leave me. We weren’t really together. I was his friend’s dorky little sister who was willing to take the scraps he threw me, while he made it clear he’d deny it if I ever told anyone. The last time I saw him was just before I left for college. Like I said, we were kids. It’s long over. I’m not going to be his dirty little secret again.”
“Didn’t look like he was keeping anything secret,” Kasha scoffs.
“I just want to avoid him. Can we talk about something else?” I look up at Kasha. “Tell us about your stalker.”
“Nope. New subject.”
Lydia’s eyes widen before a sad expression steals over her face as Anderson appears, leading his bride-to-be to a table. “I didn’t think they’d last,” she murmurs. “He dumps me for her, and a year later they’re getting married.”
Kasha reaches over and squeezes her hand. “Once a cheating scum, always a cheating scum. She’ll find out the hard way.”
“Uh… Kasha? Your stalker’s here,” Lydia says, pointing toward the doorway.
At least I’m not the only one with guy issues. This should be interesting.
Chapter Four
Kasha
Instead of being cool and waiting a few minutes to turn around, I jerk around so fast that I fall out of my chair. Really. No joke. Who the hell falls while sitting down? This stupid girl.
My side hits the floor, and the music plays as laughter rings out. Why me?
I can feel my skirt tickle the backs of my legs, letting me know it’s not up and showing off my boy-cut “exit hole only” undies. The front says “one at a time.” I really need to buy adult underwear.
I lift my head and my eyes land on a set of amused ones near the doorway as Mr. Mysterious stares me down. A pretty blonde girl from yesterday is on his arm, looking immaculate and annoyingly sexy. Her warm smile and sympathetic eyes hold no mockery for my current situation, since she’s staring at me too. She doesn’t even seem like a bitch, which sucks. It’d be easier to ignore the pang of jealousy if she was a bitch I could hate and talk shit about.
One song. Lydia acted like he followed me around all night, but it was one fucking song and one drunken dance where I humped his leg like a dachshund going after a stuffed bear. Spiking the punch didn’t work out so well for me, since I kept drinking the damn punch.
It takes me a minute to realize I’m still sprawled on the floor, extending the humiliation for longer than necessary, and I jump to my feet, only to sway and have two large hands settle on my hips in the next second to steady me. I turn my head to see who is holding me, and smirk at what I see.
Tall, dark, and sexy. Just like I like them. And this one hasn’t seen me in a towel, or had me hump his leg like a pro, and he doesn’t have a blonde on his arm. He’s seen me sprawled on the floor, but I can overlook that since he seems fascinated with my robo arm.
He smiles, and I ignore the fact he’s missing one tooth. I can live with one missing tooth for a night. No biggie. I mean, he has plenty of other nice teeth, after all. And how can I be annoyed with one missing tooth when I’m missing half an arm? It sounds like a double standard.
I need to quit with the inner ramble thing.
“You look incredible,” he says in a sweet tone, blushing.
Aw. He’s a sweetheart.
Shit.
“Thank you,” I say with an obligatory tone as I turn to face him fully.
Looking over my shoulder, I cast a glance at Mr. Mysterious, surprised to find him still staring. His eyes move from me to the hand on my hip, and he looks back down at his sexy date. They were together most of the night—dancing, laughing, talking. They didn’t seem too passionate, but that might have been my fault—yes, we’re back to the leg-humping situation.
“You want some fuck?” the guy holding onto me asks, and I choke on air wh
ile whipping my head back in his direction with wide eyes.
“What?” I squeak.
He grins again, and I decide he’s cute without that front tooth.
“You want some luck?” he asks, holding up a napkin.
I settle down a little, feeling a bit flustered. “A napkin is lucky?” I ask him, confused.
He moves to start twisting the napkin, and after a boringly long amount of time, he finally holds up a U. I think I’m supposed to be impressed. My impressed face isn’t emerging though.
“It’s a whore’s shoe.”
Damn this music. “A what?” I yell.
“A horseshoe!” he yells back.
Yeah. No. Can’t do this.
Smiling, I turn and walk away, and I move to the center of the dance floor where my friends are both biting back laughter. I flip them off with my robo hand and pass by, because my bladder demands relief. I really love my smart arm. It’s nice to flip someone off with my left hand again. Yes, it’s the small things that count.
The line is short, and I make my way in and out quickly. A few breaths are audible even over the music, and I look back to see a group of guys grinning openly at me. That’s right. I might not be little miss perfect blonde, but I’ve still got a little game. My hips don’t lie, after all.
I wink at them, and they waggle their eyebrows, but when one laughs and turns away, I frown. Deciding not to dwell on it, I move back toward the dance floor, getting a little annoyed with how everyone seems to be staring at me.
They can’t seriously be gawking at me because of my arm? Surely they’ve seen an amputee before…
Ah. That’s right. I’m the chick who fell in the floor. Actually forgot about that since my head was preoccupied with thinking about Mr. Mysterious and Mr. Boring.
Lydia and Henley are dancing, and Davis is boring holes through Henley like he’s seconds away from giving chase. Henley is doing the thing where she’s pretending not to stare, but she’s discreetly glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Lydia is hands-up-in-the-air dancing like a… I don’t know how to describe something that embarrassing.
People are giggling and snickering in our direction because of poor Lydia’s hideous dancing. I try to dance a little sexier, hoping to make them stop pointing and laughing. Apparently I’m not sexy enough, because the laughter and attention only seems to grow.
Suddenly there’s a warm body pressing against the back of mine, and I jerk my head around to see the smirking face of Mr. Mysterious.
“You really are a stalker,” I grumble, looking around at how all eyes are on us. What the hell? Why is he laughing now?
“I think it was you who attacked me on the dance floor last night,” he tells me, smiling and pressing closer against my back.
His hands stay at his sides, and he makes no attempt to actually touch me with anything but his front.
“I didn’t attack you,” I hiss. “I fell on top of your leg and got stuck. All that movement was me trying to free myself.”
He laughs harder, and I actually smile. His smile transforms his face, and he looks a little less arrogant when he’s laughing.
My eyes move to the pretty blonde, but she doesn’t seem to be paying us any attention as she orders drinks from the bar. When I look back, he’s smiling down at me. I start to turn, but his hands shoot out and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him even more.
Heat washes over me, and I bite down on my lip when I feel a little more of him. But his eyes… He doesn’t look like a man who is turned on—even though there’s proof he is against my back. He looks like he’s mocking me…
“You don’t want to do that,” he says, struggling not to laugh again.
“Why?” I ask him.
He leans over, and my breath gets caught in my throat when his lips brush my ear. “Because you have fucking terrible taste in underwear.”
My eyebrows go up in confusion when he leans back and winks, and he steps away. Just as he does, I feel a breeze where no breeze should be, and my eyes widen as he walks away laughing.
My hand that has the ability to feel wraps around and grabs panties. Not skirt.
Oh no.
Panicking, I start struggling, and realize my skirt is tucked into my underwear! No! Everyone sees “exit hole only” right now, and they’re dying laughing as I wildly flail and finally manage to get my skirt shoved down into place.
My cheeks burn, but Lydia and Henley are clueless. Henley is distracted, and Lydia is getting better at dancing—which means she’s halfway drunk now.
Leaning over, I curse as I grab the phone I dropped in my haste to get my skirt lowered, and walk away while texting Henley’s phone. They won’t notice I’m gone for at least a little while, and I don’t feel like explaining why I’m leaving. I just want to die in peace.
When I reach the doorway, I spot the asshole who loves watching me feel like a fool, and I cut my gaze away as he grins at me. Just as I get outside, I hear someone coming up behind me, and it’s him. Of course it’s him.
“Go stalk your date and leave me alone.”
“You mean my sister?” he asks, smirking.
Sister? She’s his sister?
Doesn’t matter. I hate him for real now.
“Why is it you get off on being an ass?” I demand, stepping closer.
His eyes narrow in challenge as he shrugs. “You seriously don’t remember me, do you?”
My eyebrows knit in confusion, and the humor vanishes from his face as he takes a step back. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“I have to admit, I didn’t recognize you at first either,” he says, letting his gaze dip down the length of my body. When his eyes come back up, he smirks. “You were way hotter in school.”
That wasn’t a dig at my arm either. That was a dig at me. The hell?
With that, he turns and walks away, but I’m too confused to really give it much thought. Nate, one of Anderson’s friends, walks up just as Mr. Mysterious turns and gives me one last look before disappearing inside.
“You need a lift?” Nate asks me.
I turn to face him, still feeling confused and rattled. “Who was that guy?”
“Who? Roman? He works with Anderson, and I think they were friends in school too. Why?”
“Thanks, Nate. I’ll take that ride, if you’re still offering.”
***
Oh shit. Roman Hunt. The Roman Hunt. And the chick? That’s really his sister. His freaking sister is Sicily Hunt. She was gorgeous and popular, but she’s so much prettier now. Roman was a major star in basketball until his senior year—my sophomore year.
What did I do as soon as I got back? Dug through the study until I happened upon a few yearbooks, then grabbed one I needed.
He looks so much different that it’s insane. His hair was shoulder-length and lighter back then, and his body was stacked with bulky muscle.
Senior year was the year he was hurt, and he lost his place on the team, as well as a chance to play college ball. The injury didn’t happen on the court, though. He picked a fight with a rival team—the whole team. He tried to take them on by himself after a cheap shot they took at one of our guys during the game.
I don’t know the details firsthand, but he ended up with a messed up knee after that night. He also ended up at my stepbrother’s apartment, crashing with him after his parents kicked him out. Basically, they punished him for not being able to be a big college star, due to his injury. And yeah, my stepbrother had his own apartment senior year—spoiled brat.
Anyway, I don’t know what he’s pissed at me about. Is his ego really so inflated that it insulted him I didn’t recognize him right away? It’s not like I went to Anderson’s too often—unless I was too drunk or stoned to know what I was doing.
I only went to Mom’s when she forced the issue, which was more often than I wanted.
I stayed with my father, and I hung out with my unpopular friends. I never even spoke to Roman. Hell, I never even met him
, other than a few accidental brushes in the halls of school.
Sighing, I turn over in the bed and stare up at the ceiling, pushing the yearbook away. This week has been terrible, and it’s only just the beginning.
Oh, and by the way… The peril of boy-cut undies is that you don’t always realize when they’re on backwards, like mine were tonight. Found that out when I got back. Instead of everyone seeing “exit hole only” on my ass, they all saw “one at a time” back there.
Lovely.
I’m totally buying some adult underwear that don’t make me look like an anal whore. This is getting ridiculous, and I mean—
My inner ramble shuts off, and I’m bolting upright in the next second when the light comes on in the bathroom and creeps under the crack of the door on my side.
Lydia and Henley are still at the bar, and I’m here alone. Judging by the silence on the other side of the door when the water comes on, he’s alone too. I have questions, and I want answers.
I move to the door quietly, and I hold my breath as I ease it open, happy to find that he didn’t bother locking it.
Oh… my… uh-oh.
Naked, tan, incredibly firm flesh is in front of me as Roman tosses a towel to the rack, and I watch like a creeper as his ass muscles flex when he walks back toward the shower. He opens the shower door, steps in, and I watch his backside, wondering if he’d notice me creeping on him through the crack if he turned around.
Unfortunately, an unbidden, embarrassingly loud moan leaves me when he bends over, and his entire body goes rigid as he turns and straightens, snapping his head in my direction.
Fuck. My. Life.
My eyes drop, and I sway on my feet as the door opens wider. Shut the door! Walk away! Run and scream an apology! Just stop staring at his penis, you idiot!
My brain continues to scream at me, while I mindlessly gawk at the hard flesh sticking straight out in front of him. Holy big penis. That’s a lot of man.
“Getting an eyeful?” he asks, sounding bored.
He’s as hard as a rock, and I’m… still fucking staring.
