Fail Me (Florida Flowers Book 1)

by Elodie Colt

  A pity they all pale in comparison to the guy who deceived me six ways from Sunday.

  “That’s your plan to cheer me up?” I grimace, veering my sour gaze over to Skyla. “To get me sloshed and hook me up with one of your hotties?”

  Skyla shares a pointed look with Ruby before she drags her gaze back to me. “You don’t want to stay here tonight.”

  “Uh, yes, I do, actually.”

  Ruby shakes her head before she stands to open the window, motioning for me to get up and have a look myself. Despite Kendra’s stereo still thumping haunting beats through the house, distinct laughter floats from the neighbor’s garden up to my room.

  My heart runs riot in my chest when I drag my butt over to the window and follow Ruby’s gaze. From the looks of it, Christina is throwing a cocktail party. Dozens of people are gathered on her porch, slurping drinks from sleek Martini glasses and barking out laughs to inaudible jokes.

  My fingers claw into the window sill when I spot Jillian parading her athletic body in a white mini dress and snuggles up to Matthew. He has his back to me, so I can’t see his face, but the giggle coming from Jillian as she shoves some finger food into his mouth is enough to tear my gaze away.

  You don’t want this guy. You hate him. You loathe him. You want to see him dead for all the humiliation he put you under.

  Skyla is right. Staying here tonight is not an option. Come to think of it, I’d rather get myself a one-way ticket to my parents’ place in Kenya and board the plane before sunrise.

  Lips pressed into a thin slash, I backpedal from the window and slam it shut. “Alright, let’s go, girls.”

  While Ruby attacks my hair with a curling iron, and Skyla gets me tipsy with two glasses of Gin and Tonic, Kendra gingers me up with funny stories about her ‘first time’ until my spirits move past the dangerous I’m-ready-to-commit-suicide zone to enter the You’re-better-off-without-Matthew-Mallory terrain.

  I keep my gaze on my strappy heels when we leave the house, resolute not to steal another glance up to Matthew’s window, only to wonder if he will share his bed with Jillian tonight or not. Skyla hops into my Chevy and starts the engine, as usual the one on driving duty. I grab the door frame, ready to slide in when a deep, hissing voice freezes me mid-movement.

  “Sam!”

  We all whirl around to search for the source to find Matthew leaning out of his window. He sneaks a glance over his shoulder as if double-checking that no one is near before he reaches for a branch from the tree growing up the wall. Not wasting a second, he suddenly crawls out of the window.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Ruby whisper-yells as we all gape at Matthew climbing down the tree, covering the impressive height of almost thirty feet with astounding speed.

  “Sam, wait!” he calls again when his feet hit the ground.

  Kendra hooks an arm underneath my elbow and hustles the others into the car. By the time Ruby and Leo have slipped inside, Matthew has reached the fence, panting.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I repeat Ruby’s question, only with more bite.

  “Listen, I’m sorry that Jillian butted into our conversation earlier, okay?” He grabs the fence as if ready to jump over it, but to my relief, this one at the front is about twice as high as mine with deadly spikes on top. “It was a bitch-move. I told her I—”

  “Are you kidding me?” I cut in, squeezing Kendra’s hand so hard, her rings almost pierce my palm. She doesn’t complain, though. “There’s only one bitch here, Matthew, and that’s you. Do me a favor and fuck off.”

  The street lamp illuminates his face as he blinks at me with his jaw agape. “Uh, did I miss something here? What—”

  “Let’s go, Kendra.” I tug at her arm, before I hiss back at him, “Oh, and congratulations.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He throws his hands in the air, but I rip my gaze away. “Sam, dammit, wait!”

  But I’m already gliding onto the backseat after Kendra, shutting the door.

  A few minutes after leaving him behind, my phone beeps with five text messages. I ignore them, but Kendra senses I’m going to break sooner or later and silently makes a come-hither motion with her hand. Scowling, I fish out the device and slap it into her palm.

  That night, I play a dangerous though very effective game. Whenever the urge overcomes me to drill Kendra how many texts have landed in my inbox, I swallow down the temptation with a gulp of Gin and Tonic. An hour later, I’m already juiced, giggling like a five-year-old and pressing sloppy kisses onto Leo’s cheek until she threatens to run around butt-naked through the house for the remainder of the year.

  When Austin and the rest of his guys join our gang, I use the moment to get some fresh air and clear my head with a bottle of water. Kendra comes out to check on me at some point, ambling over to me where I’m leaning against the brick wall of the club.

  “Oh good, you’re still standing.” She perches against the wall next to me. “Already feared I’d have to hold your hair while you’re puking out your last five drinks.”

  “Four,” I correct her. “And the last doesn’t count because Ruby told the bartender to go easy on me.”

  My words slur a little at the end, and Kendra chuckles. We watch the Florida midnight traffic for a while before she drops the inevitable question that has been sitting on her tongue since we set off.

  “What did you congratulate Matthew for?”

  A sardonic grin tugs at my lips. “His engagement with Jillian.”

  Kendra stiffens, her earrings jingling with the movement. “He proposed to her? When?”

  “You mean, did he propose to her before or after he screwed me?” I shrug, nibbling on my water bottle. “Who the fuck knows…”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Jillian showed me the ring.”

  I can feel Kendra’s worried gaze on me when I rub a finger over my healing palm, trying not to think of the staples Matthew shot into my skin that first day we got close. I don’t want her pity. It takes two to tango, right? Matthew isn’t the villain. He was just playing with the tools I threw at him.

  “I knew this was coming. He told me he was promised to her before we…” I end the sentence with a smack of my lips.

  “Promised?” She scoffs. “This isn’t the eighteenth century, girl.”

  “Long story…”

  “He doesn’t love her,” she says with audible conviction.

  “Her ring tells a different story.”

  Kendra pushes away from the wall, retrieving my phone from her clutch. “Do you want to know how many texts he sent you?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “Good.” She runs her teeth over her glossy lips. “Because the only thing you’d find is twenty-two reasons that prove the guy fell head over heels in love with you.”

  I deserve a medal for my undefeatable, steel-hard volition. Matthew has indeed sent me twenty-two messages, but I just slide the phone into my bag and vow not to touch it for the remainder of the evening.

  I need to make a statement, rise to the occasion. That guy took me for a ride in every way that counts, and if his sudden engagement with my neighbor isn’t enough to convince me he’s not just trouble but severe danger, then the fact that he took a secret picture in a secret moment should teach me better.

  Maybe Kendra is right, and he fell in love with me. Maybe he’d rather take me over Jillian, and Kendra wants me to give him a second chance. Well, she’d certainly bust his chops if she knew he shot a filthy picture of me that could very well have hit a Pornhub server by now. Or worse, a few numbers in his contact list. In fact, I’m pretty sure she would be the first to climb up that tree in front of Matthew’s room, smash his window, and poke a knife into his throat until he’s deleted the evidence from all devices, drops to his knees, and begs for mercy.

  Not to forget—he told my parents about my real profession. Chances are he’s ruined my already dilapidated relationship with my mother for good. She might pull the
plug on the monthly grants, and considering my book business is still barely profitable, and I haven’t heard from my agent yet, I depend on every fucking cent she’s willing to give me.

  “There’s the pretty girl with the broken heart.”

  Setting my empty glass down on the bar counter, I veer my head to the bright smile bursting over the lips from the guy next to me. Cornflower blue eyes connect with mine, peeking through a set of bleached-blond, curly hair.

  “Austin,” I say in a way of greeting, throwing a dark glance back at our table to see Skyla and Kendra talking to each other with their eyes on me. I steer my gaze back to his incredibly tan face. “Skyla is chatty tonight, it seems.”

  Smirking, he rubs a hand over his shaved chin. “Skyla hasn’t said a thing, actually. By the way you chugged that drink, I just figured you either wanted to kill your liver or a guy.”

  I chuckle. “The latter. The first would only land me in the hospital.”

  “But the second could land you behind bars, so not sure if you made a wise choice.”

  I point to my empty drink. “Hence why I decided to play it safe and just wash away all the bad memories.”

  “And the good ones, too, unfortunately,” he points out.

  “Haven’t collected any of them tonight, yet.”

  “Yet,” he repeats with a coy grin, taking my hand and dragging me over to the dance floor.

  Austin is a player. A skirt-chaser and a heartbreaker with an easy swagger, a charming smile, and a shark-tooth necklace dangling over his Billabong shirts. The type of handsome surfer guy that teen magazines print in poster size so fourteen-year-olds can stick it to the ceiling right above their pillow and swoon over him every day they go to bed.

  He offers you temporary at best. Love and affection for a few hours.

  Perfect.

  I only need him for tonight.

  Twenty-Two

  Matthew

  The more hours pass without a word from Sam, the bigger the urge becomes to drive my fist into the wall. Hell, every minute my phone doesn’t make a peep pushes me into doing some serious damage.

  ‘Do me a favor and fuck off.’

  That time I fell from the ladder and almost cut off my ear felt like a tiny needle prick in comparison to the pain she inflicted on me with those spiteful words. And I can’t even blame her, not after Jillian pulled that fucking happy girlfriend move right in front of her.

  I scratch the cut on my neck, my feet bouncing on the bed as I lock my hard stare on the TV. Some documentary about panda bears is playing on Discovery Channel, but the images flickering on the screen don’t even make it into my ultra-short-term memory. Might also have to do with the fact that I’ve muted the sound system so I don’t miss the rumble of Sam’s Chevy.

  My gaze flicks from my non-responsive phone back over my shoulder to the window. The lights in Sam’s house are still off. No one is home yet. Then I side-eye the bottles of cognac stashed in my bag, the ones I haven’t touched since I returned from Tampa.

  Huffing through my nose, I grab my phone to check the time. One a.m. sharp. They left four hours ago. Four fucking hours, and Sam still hasn’t replied to any of my two dozen messages.

  Maybe something happened to her, the worried part in my brain panics. No, she just wants you to leave her alone, the cruel, honest part fires back.

  The five of them left dressed up to the nines. Even Leo wore pants without fifty baggies, but I only saw Sam. An angel with golden locks and a blue, strappy number hugging the same legs I had anchored around my hips two days ago. Legs that could very well be in the hands of another guy right now, and the thought alone creates the itch to set Christina’s villa on fire.

  I swing my legs over the bed and launch to my feet to pace my room for the millionth time.

  ‘Oh, and congratulations.’

  What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Congratulations for what? I haven’t proposed to Jillian yet, haven’t made any commitments to anyone even though Christina transferred another 5K to my account this morning.

  My phone vibrates on my bed, and the sensation of my heart imploding makes my head spin for a moment before I lunge forward and grab it. However, my anticipation turns to full-blown disappointment when another name blinks on the screen.

  Jillian: Everything alright? You left the party in a hurry…

  Something snaps inside me. A lock clicking open that I’d sworn to keep sealed for the time being. But now I’m unstoppable and fetch the bottle winking at me from my bag. Latching it onto my lips, I take enough swigs to knock out a cow. God only knows when Sam will return. If she returns tonight at all. Fuck!

  I look down at Jillian’s text before I toss my phone onto the bed, not bothering to send her a reply. I needed that fucking dinner party as much as an upper arm amputation. Christina just wanted to make sure I stayed attached to her daughter instead of jumping over the neighbor’s fence and taking another girl into my arms.

  The girl that belongs into my arms.

  I stop my manic pacing, staring at a spot on the floor where I imagine dropping to my knees and opening the lid of the ring box in front of Jillian.

  “I can’t marry her…” I mutter to myself in bewilderment, as if the realization just struck me, whereas I’ve known it in my heart since the day Christina slapped that deal into my face.

  My jaw slackens, and I slowly lift my head. There’s no point in denying it any longer. I’d rather lose my plantation, my house, my entire fucking business than vow to be truthful to a girl who has never captured my heart.

  A bright future or a dirty weekend adventure?

  I made my choice the day I kissed Sam in the tree house. Fuck, I think I made my choice that day I watched her from Christina’s porch for the first time, with her slap still stinging on my cheek.

  A soft knock on my door jolts me out of my future-altering awakening. Jillian steps over the threshold, looking gorgeous in a white, slim-cut dress and silver heels. Gorgeous enough for every man on this planet.

  Every man except me.

  “Hey.” She closes the door behind her, biting her lip when she notices the half-empty bottle in my hand. “Are you okay?”

  I drag a hand down my face and set the bottle aside. This whole charade only makes it harder for us the longer I don’t wipe the slate clean. My life will drop into a black, endless pit once I retransfer Christina’s money, but fuck, at least I’ll be able to sleep at night with a clean conscience.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull my gaze up to Jillian’s questioning features. “No, I’m not okay. In fact, nothing is okay, Jillian.”

  The way I speak her name signals that I’m about to open a can of worms. Her gaze finds the floor while she wrings her hands. My eyebrows knit together. I would have expected surprise or confusion, but instead a flicker of guilt cascades over her eyes.

  “That thing between us…” I shake my head. “This isn’t going to work.”

  With a heavy sigh, she heaves her watery gaze back up to me. “It’s because of Sam, isn’t it?”

  My response is a resigned nod. “I’m sorry. I never wanted this to happen. You are an amazing woman, Jillian. Sexy, funny, incredibly smart… But you’re not the woman I can spend the rest of my life with.”

  “But Sam is?” Her voice drops to a murmur. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life with her?”

  “I do,” is my honest reply, and fuck, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to confess.

  She takes a step closer, leering at me. “Does she know that?”

  I frown. What a weird question. “No, I guess not. We somehow left on a bad note today.”

  Her head bops in a nod as if she expected my answer, which only draws my eyebrows tighter together.

  “This was my doing, I guess…” she mumbles.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She stays silent for a moment, her eyes eluding me. Then she takes a deep breath and spills the truth that slams into my gut like a punch deliver
ed by Muhammad Ali.

  “I found the picture, Matthew.”

  “What picture?” I ask cautiously, although I fear I already know the answer.

  She slants her head a little, throwing me a fearful glance from underneath her bangs. “The one you took of Sam. And from the looks of it, one you had absolutely no permission to take, Matthew.”

  The booze-oiled wheels in my brain grind against each other until they click into place. No. Please, God, no.

  “What did you do, Jillian? Please, tell me you didn’t…” I’m unable to end the sentence, so Jillian helps me along.

  “I did.” She straightens her spine, thrusting out her chin. “I showed her the picture I found on your laptop. I wanted her to know that I knew the truth about you two.”

  Dammit. I was careful. I’ve always locked my room.

  Just not that one damn day.

  My hands curl into fists, the veins in my forearms starting to pop from underneath my skin, but before I can hurl all the insults at her that burn on my tongue, she beats me to it with raised hands and a contrite expression.

  “I know I had no right whatsoever to sneak into your room and touch your stuff, and I’m truly sorry for violating your privacy like that.” Her bleary eyes turn into slits, her voice growing sterner when she goes on, “I just couldn’t stand to be groping in the dark anymore. I was sick of this game you were playing with both of us. It just wasn’t fair, Matthew. Not to me, not to her. I had no clue she didn’t know you took that damn picture. Why the fuck did you do this?”

  Frankly, I’m beyond the point of seeing reason right now. The damage she caused could very well be beyond repair.

  “Don’t turn the tables on me now, Jillian. You wanted to drive a wedge between us from the start. What else did you tell her, huh?” I jab a warning finger at her. “That we had sex? That I belong to you and no one else? That I fucking proposed to you?”