by J. C. Reed
Vicky Sullivan
Chapter Seventeen
Vicky
I bury my head between my hands. My breath becomes labored. My head is pounding. This day has officially turned into one of the worst days of my life.
“Can I buy you a drink?” A guy in his forties slides into the seat next to me.
I raise my head and nod my head in agreement. “Sure, why not.”
“Another drink for the lady.” He gestures to the barman, probably mentally high-fiving himself at the prospect of a sure thing.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asks as the barman slides a glass of vodka on the rocks across the counter.
At home, drooling over a Victoria’s Secret model who doesn’t even know he exists.
“Not here,” I mutter and bring the glass to my lips, readying myself to take a generous, numbing gulp when a strong grip holds my hand in place. “What the—” I turn around angrily and see Kade leaning over me.
His breath is close to my face—warm, moist, and deliciously sexy. I stare at his lips, wondering what he’d do if I just pressed my mouth against his.
“What the fuck are you doing, Vicky?” Kade’s voice is sharp, menacing. And holy hell, he’s angry. “I’ve just spent the last half hour looking for you. When the bouncer said you left the office, I thought you had run away. Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”
I laugh. “Why would I want to run away?”
“That’s the question I kept asking myself when I couldn’t find you.” He yanks the glass out of my hand, spilling a few drops in the process, and places it on the counter with a little too much force.
“You shouldn’t have worried.” I peer at my vodka, wondering how much of it it’d take to push Bruce into the proverbial filing cabinet of my mind.
Or force him into complete oblivion.
“Hey, back off, dude. She’s with me,” the guy says, his fingers wrapping around mine.
“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Kade roars.
“Is he your boyfriend?” the guy asks.
I know I should be lying for the sake of getting rid of him and returning the peace. But I can’t. It’s clear Bruce would rather be with someone else. This stranger’s attention is like a balm to my wounded soul.
I shake my head. “No. He’s my roommate.”
“Let’s head to my place, then.” The guy’s grip on my hand tightens, and I realize I should have lied.
Kade’s jaw sets. Before I can tell the guy that I’m not interested, Kade slams his fist into his face, sending him flying backwards. “I said get your fucking fingers off of her before I break them.”
“Kade.” I step in front of him as I watch the guy stumble to his feet, his hand pressed against his nose. “He was just buying me a drink.”
“And you decided to thank him by fucking him?” Kade almost spits out the words.
He’s so angry I almost laugh. The hypocrisy is ridiculous. Wasn’t he planning on fucking the blonde dancer when he hadn’t even bought her a drink?
“Why not?” I yell at him. “I’m not exactly a virgin.”
“What about Bruce? I thought you were going to be faithful to him.”
“Bruce.” I let out a laugh. “You mean the guy who wants to fuck a stick?” I laugh again at his confused expression, my veins boiling from the two glasses of vodka and the adrenaline coursing through them. “Relax, dude. We’re all adults here. Why don’t you go fuck your hot little dancer who you pretend isn’t a stripper? What? You thought I didn’t see you eyeing her up and down?”
“I barely noticed her, Vicky,” Kade says, his tone suddenly calm and sincere.
Oh, he’s a good liar, this one. He might just give Bruce a run for his money.
Out of my periphery, I notice two bouncers guiding my unwanted admirer through the gathering crowd.
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Why do men always feel the need to lie? Do you think women are stupid? We always know when you’re lying. For once, stick to the truth.” I turn back to the barman who pretends to be busy rearranging bottles, but in reality he’s staring just like everyone else in the vicinity. “Three more drinks of what I just had.” The barman glances at me, then at Kade as though to get his permission. I’m so angry I could crawl up a wall. “Don’t ask the prick. I’m the one buying,” I mumble.
Kade sighs, sliding into the seat next to me. “Vicky, what are you doing? This is vodka.”
“Good eye, Sherlock Holmes.” I take a sip of my glass and grimace. This stuff is so bad, I can’t believe people are paying good money to drink it. “I’m having fun, Kade. Join the party.”
“This isn’t fun.” His hand stops me from taking another sip. “You’re going to make yourself very sick.”
Scoffing, I stab my finger in his chest, emphasizing every word as I say, “That’s. Not. Your. Fucking. Business. Now, let me have my drink.”
He lets go of my hand but doesn’t back off. “You have to stop.”
“I can’t.” Does my voice sound a bit slurred? Or is it this music that’s made my head spin—and not in a good way.
“Fuck, Vicky. How many drinks have you had?” Kade asks.
I try to remember…and fail. “Two? Three? Four? Who’s counting?”
“You’re drunk.” His statement makes me all defensive.
“I’m not. See, I can still walk straight.” I jump up from my seat, and everything begins to shift and sway.
Kade’s arms wrap around me just as I’m losing my balance. “That’s it. I’m taking you home.”
“Home?” I laugh so loud heads are turning to stare. “I don’t have a home, but thanks for offering.”
We’re back in the limousine, and my head’s resting against the cold glass. But the coldness seeping into my skin does nothing to soothe the loud thumping sound hammering inside my head. Everything is spinning, and not in a rollercoaster fun kind of way.
There’s a long pause as Kade opens the cabinet and pours himself a drink.
I stretch out my hand. “Can you get me one, too?”
“You’ve had enough for today,” he says decisively.
“What’s one more? I’m an adult. I can have as many drinks as I want.”
“You’re going to make yourself sick.” His tone is still authoritative, but I can hear his resolve crumbling. I am an adult, and he can’t tell me what to do.
I stretch out my hand again.
With a sigh, he hands me his drink.
“What’s going on?” I feel his weight as he settles in the seat inches from me.
“I’m fine,” I mumble.
“You don’t look fine. You look upset, and I’ve had enough of not knowing what’s going on.”
“It’s Bruce,” I say after a drawn-out breath. “I think he’s back with his ex.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just have this feeling.” I shrug my shoulders and look up, expecting him to start ridiculing my ‘feelings’ the way guys always do.
“Why don’t you tell me about him?” Kade says. He looks tired, the way you do after a long night out, but his expression is earnest, interested.
I shake my head, not willing to talk about him.
“It’s not my business,” Kade says. “But I think this is a question you should ask yourself, and you obviously haven’t done it yet. So, I’ll ask it for you. What’s so special about him?”
“He’s an ice hockey player.”
He doesn’t even blink. “And?”
“And he’s going to be famous,” I say in one breath.
I expect him to be impressed. Maybe even a little jealous, but Kade still doesn’t even blink.
Eventually he says, “That’s a hobby or a profession, Vicky. While being a celebrity may only apply to a fragment of the population, it certainly doesn’t make him more special than the rest of us.” I open my mouth to dispute his statement when he holds up a finger, silencing me. “I’ll put it the other way around. It’s like you
asking me what’s my profession and me telling you that I’m a good person. Get it?”
I stare at him as I let his words sink in. I never saw it this way.
“His profession is all that’s special about him?” Kade prompts.
“No, he’s also hot and I love him,” I stammer.
His brows shoot up. “And?”
“And nothing.” My temper’s flaring at his inquisition, which doesn’t seem to go anywhere.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he says. “He treats you the way only a jerk would do.”
“How do you know? Have you gone through my search history?” I can’t help but sound accusatory.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.” Kade pours himself another glass. I watch him take a few sips.
“Do you think I’m attractive?” I ask as he puts his glass on the table.
“What?”
“You heard me.” My voice comes out low but determined. “Am I attractive enough for you to want to fuck me?”
He eyes me warily. “Why are you asking? Is this some kind of test?”
“I’ve just been wondering if there’s something wrong with me, that’s all.”
“There is nothing wrong with you, Vicky. Anyone who says so should get his eyes checked.” His tone is soft, almost intimate. “Did Bruce tell you that you weren’t attractive? Did he?” He doesn’t look at me, but I can tell he’s pissed.
“No.”
He stares at me, his gaze ablaze. “Tell me the truth.”
I shake my head. “No.”
He doesn’t believe me—I can tell from the way his mouth tightens.
I take a sip from my glass and let the alcohol burn its way down my throat.
“He never said that I’m unattractive or anything like that, but…” I stop, grasping at words to communicate the ugly truth.
“But what?” Kade’s voice is soft, encouraging. I feel my inhibitions crumbling.
“We’ve never had sex.” The words are out before I can stop them.
I cringe at how strange it all sounds—two adults in a relationship who’ve never had sex with each other.
“He’s never had sex with you?” he asks in disbelief.
“Nope, we’ve never done it. He’s always been good at finding excuses. He’s never gone down on me, ever. He says it disgusts him, but demands that I be generous with the BJs.” I close my eyes as mortification begins to course through me, making my skin tingle. “So, no, he doesn’t seem to want sex with me.” I close my eyes for a moment to escape his probing gaze. I couldn’t bear to look at him and see the pity he surely feels for me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“Because you trust me.”
He sounds so understanding, I open my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, unable to stop. “And then there’s this woman…I think he really likes her. More than me.”
His eyes narrow. “You suspect he’s cheating on you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. Not with her, anyway.” I meet his questioning glance and decide I’ve told him so much, why not go a step further and spill everything? “I’ve created a fake profile. Now he thinks he’s talking to this model instead of me. But if things were different…if it wasn’t a fake profile…I don’t know if he’d go for it for real. It sure looks like he would.”
I feel ashamed at admitting that, yes, I was insecure enough to set up a trap. At the same time, I don’t regret it.
“Want to show me?” Kade asks.
There’s no judgment, no shock.
I take my time. Finally, I retrieve his phone and pull up the fake account. Kade takes his time reading Bruce’s comments and messages.
I hold my breath as I wait for his reaction. Eventually he says, “This doesn’t sound right.”
“What?” I lean into him to glance at the tiny screen.
“The part where he’s flirting with your fake account. It sounds like he’s playing mind games.” He holds up the cell phone to let me see.
“He isn’t playing mind games.” I don’t know why I’m defending Bruce. Kade looks at me dubiously, and I cringe at the way I must look to him. “Here I am, protecting him and taking all that shit for him, and how does he repay me? By trying to hook up with a model and posting photos of him and his ex for everyone to see. Is something wrong with me? Am I not sexy enough? Should I start starving myself so I can compete with whatever it is he likes? I’m so fucking sick of this bullshit. I just want it all to stop. Come on, say it. I’m a pathetic stalker.”
Smiling bitterly, I brace myself for his hard reply, for his judgment. When none comes, I search his face, trying to read the signs that aren’t there. He’s staring at me intently, listening to every word.
“Is that why you were upset back in there?” His question takes me by surprise.
I laugh. “You just won’t drop a topic, will you?”
“Never,” Kade says, returning my smile. “You see, I’m trying to understand your circumstances.”
His fingers brush mine gently. I peer down at our hands and feel the heat rushing to my face.
“I don’t think you’re unattractive at all. I think this guy is a goddamn idiot for not seeing how sexy you are,” Kade says quietly. “No man in his right mind would turn you down. There’s something wrong with him.”
“He probably thinks I’m bad in bed,” I mutter. “That’s what’s going on.”
He frowns. “Don’t take the fucking blame for this motherfucker. Guys like him disgust me.”
“You have no idea what he’s going through, Kade. You don’t know him. He’s had a lot of stress in his life.” I don’t know why I’m back to defending him.
“I almost give a fuck, but only almost.” Kade lets out a laugh. “Is he sick? In prison? Does he have any balls at all?”
“Stop being sarcastic, Kade.” I close my eyes, wishing I had never started. My anger’s returning, but it’s not addressed at Kade. It’s addressed at myself and my inability to stop finding excuses for Bruce’s behavior.
“You know, the more you talk about him, the more he sounds like a motherfucking coward who doesn’t deserve one part of your body, let alone the entire you.” Kade leans forward. “This guy doesn’t deserve you, Vicky.”
“You don’t know him,” I repeat and take a deep, shaky breath.
He sighs. “Alright. We’re going around in circles. You didn’t answer my question. What’s so special about him?”
Ah, why won’t he just drop that stupid question? I want to say “everything,” and yet I can’t because it’s not the truth. When I don’t reply, Kade asks, “How come someone as confident as you fell for this piece of shit? Do you enjoy people treating you like crap?”
His statement makes me feel as though a rug’s just been pulled from under my feet. My hands begin to shake. I press them between my knees to hide it. “Shut up.”
“Vicky,” Kade says, his tone softer as his hands clasp around my chin, forcing me to look at him, “why would you want to be with someone who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated? Just answer the question.”
“I have no idea. I guess I love him.”
His eyes pierce into me, reaching the parts of my heart I don’t want him to see. “Ask yourself. Do you really?”
I meet his questioning gaze with a layer of ice. “What are you getting at?”
“Love isn’t supposed to be this way.”
“Like what?”
“Hurting. Addicting.”
I laugh. Wow. He’s just turned into an expert on the matter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you stick to your own fucking problems? You and your sex addiction.”
He nods his head patiently, ignoring my attempt at delivering a low blow. “Exactly. I’m addicted to sex. You’re addicted to love. Our addictions are our own hell, but we’re here to break them, run from, and free ourselves from them. Does that make us bad people? Does that give others the right to treat us like shit? O
pen your eyes, Vicky. We’re not controlled by our addictions. We can control them. You, only you, have the choice to decide who to love. And if he’s not worthy of that love, then it’s not love at all.”
I stare at him coldly. He has no idea what he’s saying because he doesn’t know what true emotions are. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Addictions do not happen. They are caused,” Kade says slowly. “If you had attended group therapy, you’d know. Somewhere along the way, we cross a line we were never meant to cross.”
My heartbeat spikes and anger surges through me.
That crap theory of his doesn’t apply to me because I’m not addicted to anything. I’ve just had the misfortune of falling in love with someone who isn’t completely honest about his feelings. Or maybe Bruce is just not ready to settle down yet.
“Stop the car,” I shout. “Stop it right now.”
“Where do you want to go?” Kade says, his tone nonchalant but cold.
“I’m going to be sick.” Bile rises in my throat. I press my mouth against my lips, but it’s too late. Before I can help myself, I puke on his shoes.
Shit.
“I’m so sorry.” I wipe my hand over my mouth, feeling disgusted with myself. “So…so sorry.”
Kade peers from me to his shoes, speechless. I expect him to be angry, throw a fit, feel as disgusted as I feel. Instead, he starts to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I can’t help but ask as I fight another surge of mortification.
“Your expression.” He winks at me. “Stop looking so mortified. They’re just shoes, Vicky.” He opens a drawer, revealing tissues, and starts to wipe the vomit off his shoes.
The motion moves me to tears.
Bruce would never have cleaned up for me.
The last time I spilled soda in his car, he got so mad I had to reward him with a good BJ to calm him down.
“Let me help you.” I inch closer and reach for the tissues when I realize he has some on his shirt, too.
“You should get out of your shirt,” I say, my voice low and shaky.
“Why? Because you want to see me naked?” he jokes.
“Yes.” I’m shocked at my honesty.