Almost.
Because then she was just an addictive challenge I had to conquer and now … now she’s part of my fucking world. I’m a man with something to lose and that’s not a good place to be.
“What business is it of yours?” she sneers as my eyes keep flickering back and forth to her hand on his knee.
And I can’t help it, need to take it off of him, so I reach out to grab her arm and she yanks it away from me. I know why she did it, but the look she gives me mixed with the action flashes me back to my other hurt. When I fought away from any touch at all because of what would come next. The calling to my superheroes.
I’m staggered.
And fucking furious.
At her for fighting me and at me for making her feel that way. It takes a moment to pull me from the thought, to separate the two events that just melded when one has nothing to do with the other and fucked up my head even further.
I look in her eyes—see the hurt, the defiance, the sadness—and use what I see there to gain my bearings again.
“I don’t like games, Rylee. I won’t tell you that again.”
“You don’t like games?” she says, her tone laced with disgust. “But it’s okay for you to play them?”
Fuck yes I played them, but that’s not the point. The point is right here, right now. At the Merit party she gave me the choice: go or stay. Now it’s my turn to ask.
“Why don’t you tell your little boy toy he can run along now before things get even more interesting.”
Watcha gonna do, Ryles?
Pick me.
Go with me.
Fix this shitstorm I started and get us back.
She shoves against me as hard as she can. “You. Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac!” spewing from her lips as she falls into me.
And every part of me stands at attention at the feel of her against me, wanting and needing but knowing I can’t have, because she sure as fuck didn’t give me the answer I wanted.
“What the fuck are you trying to prove?” I ask, wanting her to say she wants me, wants to fix this, believe I didn’t cheat on her.
But she doesn’t. Not even fucking close.
“I’m just testing your theory,” she says with a smirk.
“My theory?” What the fuck is she talking about?
“Yeah, if losing yourself in someone helps get rid of the pain.”
Ah fuck. In a single second I rein in everything that tumbles inside of me at the thought of her being with someone else, everything but my anger. I sure as shit hold onto that.
“How’s that working for you?” It’s all I can think to say because her rejection stings something fierce.
“Not sure.” She shrugs with a smirk. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”
And I’m so focused on that look on her face when she pushes away from me that I don’t even notice the fucker’s hand in hers.
When I see it, anger turns to motherfucking fury. “Don’t you walk away from me, Rylee!”
“You lost the right to tell me what to do the minute you slept with her.” She says, her voice breaking through the haze of my colliding emotions. “Besides, you said you like my ass … enjoy the view as I walk away because that’s the last you’ll be seeing of it.”
I snap. No excuses, no regrets. My fist is clenched, fury ready to unleash on bar-boy.
But none of it fucking matters because I feel the steel grip of Sammy on my arm before I get my chance. And then the melee ensues.
Rylee is screaming at me, insults and names. Sticks and stones, baby. Sticks and stones.
You got to me.
You beat me at my own game.
At least it’s Becks leading her away from me and not the fucking bar-boy. I’ll take any kind of victory I can get at this point.
The crowd’s buzzing seeps through my rage, drowns out her voice as it fades. And then Sammy’s arm is around my shoulders leading me out of the bar and down a hallway.
“Calm the fuck down, Wood.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, my head all over the place, and my chest hurts even worse. “Just let me the fuck go, Sam,” I grit out, my only thought is: Fuck the race tomorrow, I need to visit with Jack and Jim for a bit.
“Nope,” he says, ushering me into an elevator in this damn maze of a resort. All I want to do is walk, run, pound out this anger then get fucking plastered so I can’t feel the emptiness inside of me right now.
We’re done.
She just made it clear as day and I don’t want us to be done.
But it really doesn’t fucking matter what I want or don’t want because she doesn’t fucking believe me. And why the fuck should she, Donavan, when you go kissing bimbos to spite her?
I groan, run a hand through my hair fucking beside myself as Sammy pushes me out of the elevator car and down the hall.
“She’s irrational and fuck she was going to sleep with that asshole and … motherfucker!” I shout into the hallway, not caring who the hell is asleep or if anyone is listening. I’m feeling everything all at once when I’m so fucking used to feeling nothing that I can’t concentrate.
Anger vibrates through me.
My teeth grind. My hands fisted. My blood pounding.
Fucking Rylee.
Sammy points to the door to his right and when I stop he puts both hands on my shoulders. “Get your fucking hands off of me, Sammy!”
He just laughs and at me in that snarky way he has, and I’ve just added him to the list of people I want to punch. Right after that fucking bar-boy he prevented me from plowing. I try to jerk my shoulders from his hands as he steers me down the hall, but I should know better by now. He’s stronger than a fucking ox.