Despite knowing this, despite being aware that I must stop her, I hesitate. It makes me a very bad person for those suspended seconds.
In that brief time I consider a number of things, such as how this is a messed-up situation. One where I recognize that having sex with my cousin’s brand-new, jilted wife is a colossally bad plan. Because it is. Even if he doesn’t deserve her and never did.
But, for a protracted moment I consider how this would be the most epic fuck-you to Armstrong, ever. And if anyone deserves it, he does. I shake that asshole thought, because as fun as it would be, I’m not like him. I’d never use someone, especially a woman already on the receiving end of his bullshit, as part of a game.
As this blows through my brain, Amalie grasps my chin, fingernails biting into the skin, and her mouth descends on mine. Her lips are soft, warm, but her mouth is hard, aggressive. Jesus. It appears she’s actually serious about fucking me. She does this thing with her tongue that makes my cock kick . . . and then her free hand edges between our bodies again, gliding down until she’s palming my desperately excited erection through my pants.
That’s when I take action to stop this madness. Clamping an arm around her waist I flip her onto her back. The floor is hardwood and slippery, making it difficult to find any traction.
I fight to get her hand away from my cock, which works, but then she hooks her legs around my waist.
“Amalie, stop!” I groan around her tongue. It’s not the most convincing of attempts. It’s actually pretty poor. She’s like a koala, with the way she’s wrapped around me. Flipping her over may have made it worse.
“You don’t want me to stop. I can feel how much you want to fuck me.” She rolls her hips, as if to prove her point.
She’s right. But if I do this I’m just as bad as Armstrong. I might want her, but I don’t want to hurt her in a bid for the revenge he seems to seek on me endlessly.
I push up with the intention of righting myself, turning my head when she goes for my mouth again. She latches onto my neck instead, bites me, and sucks. That’s definitely going to leave a mark. Probably a big one.
She scrambles to maintain her hold, legs tightening on my waist. She could crack nuts with her inner thighs. “Goddammit! You have to! You want to! Why won’t you just take me?” Her rage melts in to a broken sob. “Please, Lexington. I hate him. I don’t understand. Make it stop.”
And that’s the moment the door slams open.
Three: OMG
Amie
“Holy mother of what the fuckicles! Bane, do not let anyone in here,” Ruby pushes him back through the door, then slams it shut, throwing the lock. Her eyes are saucers. It’s understandable.
I’m still wrapped around Lexington. Still trying to get him to have sex with me, and he’s desperately trying not to. And now I’m crying. Sobbing actually. I’m positive I’m having some kind of mental breakdown. On my best friend’s boyfriend’s brother of all people. And I thought Armstrong getting a blow job from not-me was as bad as it could get. Obviously I was wrong.
Ruby stalks across the room, hissing in an angry whisper. “What in the ever-loving hell are you doing, Lex!” She punches him in the back and shoulder, aiming for places where my body parts are not latched onto him.
“It’s not how it looks.” He scrambles to get up, but I’m still clinging like plastic wrap. I can feel his hard-on—thick and ready against me. It’s clear he likes what he sees, if he’d just given me what I wanted then maybe I wouldn’t feel so empty of everything.
Even as I think it I know it doesn’t make any sense. That my actions come from a place of devastation and desperation. I’m so angry and hurt. I feel broken and lost, stupid and embarrassed. There isn’t any one emotion I can hold on to that fits right now.
“Amie, you need to let go of Lex,” Ruby says softly. As if she’s talking to someone teetering on the edge of reason. Which is about right.
I shake my head even though I know I should do what she says. I’m just humiliating myself even more right now, but letting go means seeing his reaction to my loss of sanity and I’m not ready for that yet. Lexington shifts until he’s on his knees. He’s stopped trying to pry me off. In all honesty, he might need a crowbar. If I hold on to him long enough maybe he’ll just absorb me and I’ll disappear. Yet another strange and implausible thought, proving all rationality has completely evaporated. They’re whispering back and forth, the words not really registering through the haze of pain and anger that’s consuming me.
“Oh my God. Amie, honey, what happened to your dress?” Ruby asks.
“She cut herself out of it.” One hand leaves my body for a second, so I assume he’s gesturing to the pile of satin, lace, and beads I left behind in my transformation from bride to mostly naked crazy person.
There’s a deep inhale followed by a beat of silence, during which Lex’s palm moves up and down my back. It feels nice. Calming. I want it to go on forever and ever. I want him to reach inside my heart and have the same effect on the ache in there.
“Right. Wow. I’m not sure how I missed that. Okay. I guess a robe will have to do for now. She can change on the way home.”
Soft fabric is draped over my shoulders and I shudder at the sensation.
“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” Lex murmurs as he pushes to his feet.
When I bury my face in his neck he cups my cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb, which makes me cry even harder. Why does he have to be so tender? And sweet. I don’t want tender and sweet. I want revenge. I want what Armstrong did to me to be erased. I want Lex to forget everything I’ve just said and done and pretend it never happened and I want to be able do the same.
It’s loud on the other side of the door, banging and yelling muffled by the thin wooden barrier. I can hear Armstrong calling my name and what sounds like my father shouting. I just want all of it to stop. I don’t know how to manage any of this.
“We have to get her out of here. Armstrong is going batshit and so is everyone else. I think Bane wants to beat the crap out of him, if he hasn’t already, and Armstrong’s mother is having a complete breakdown. Amie can’t and shouldn’t have to deal with this right now.” Ruby’s hand is on my shoulder, gentle, as if I might shatter. I feel like I could.
“How’re we going to make that happen when they’re all outside the door?” Lex shifts his hold and grips my thigh. Not that it’s necessary, my legs are like a vice around him, thanks to my endless hours of Pilates in preparation for this farce of a wedding.
I try to tell them that I’m right here and they can talk directly to me, but all that comes out is a craggy sob. I get some more shushing from Lex and a few strokes over my hair.
“There’s a car waiting at the back entrance.”
“We’re getting you out of here,” Lex whispers in my hair.
I’m shocked by frigid air as Lex steps out into the winter night. Loud pounding along with Armstrong begging me to let him in is cut off by the slam of the door Lex just carried me through.
Moments later my butt hits cool leather and Lex’s voice is in my ear, deep, mollifying. “Come on, sweetheart, you gotta let go now.”
He’s right, but I’m so embarrassed. Not only has my husband humiliated me in front of everyone we know, and about three hundred people I don’t, I’ve thrown myself at Lex and he turned me down, and now I’ve cried all over him. This is the worst night of my entire life. Even the interrogation room in Mexico has nothing on this.
He strokes my hair again, then gently unhooks my legs from his waist. “It’s okay, baby, I get it. I know I’m irresistible.” My laugh comes out a sob. His lips touch my cheek. “No was the very last thing I wanted to say to you.”
I shiver at the admission, and wonder how much of it is meant to mend my battered ego and broken heart. I have no idea how I’m going to recover from this.
It takes effort to pry my own fingers from his neck. I can’t look at him, my mortification over my own actions final
ly sinking in. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Hey.” Lexington’s fingers rest under my chin. He tips my head up until I have no choice but to look at him. “I mean it. I’m going to regret this forever.”
Commotion behind him has him straightening quickly. I get a glimpse of him fastening his belt as he closes the car door and then he’s moving toward the hotel as the door bursts open. Armstrong storms out, yelling my name. I don’t know what he could possibly want to say to me. He’s done all the damage he can. His plea for me to come back is cut off when Lex’s fist connects with his face.
I watch what was supposed to be my future fall to his knees, hands cupping his face, and I wonder if his physical pain can in any way match my emotional agony. I don’t think it’s possible.
Four: Fuck You, Motherfucker
Lexington
The first hit sends a shock of pain through my fist and up my arm. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a fight. It feels unbelievably good to make Armstrong suffer in some way, even if it’s only temporary. When he drops to his knees, cupping his face, I make a grab for his lapels to haul him back up.
“You stupid fuck.” Before I can plant another fist in his face, one that will inevitably result in the necessity for some serious plastic surgery, I’m yanked back.
“Get a handle on yourself,” my brother Bane barks.
Armstrong is carried back into the hotel through the door he just came out of by a couple of his douche friends, screaming his stupid head off while I fight my brother’s hold. It’s pointless. He might be two years younger than I am, but he played professional rugby for seven years and he’s massive. Once the witnesses are gone he spins me around and shoves me, setting me off balance. I land on my ass on the asphalt and then he’s on top of me, his knee pressing into my chest.
“What the—”
He shifts his weight, his knee perilously close to my throat, significantly decreasing my air supply. “You wanna tell me what the hell you were doing?”
“What? I—” I have no clue what he saw, but I’m assuming it doesn’t look good from his point of view.
“Don’t bullshit me. I saw you, Lex. I fucking saw you. You were on her.”
“Get off and let me explain.” I punch him in the side of the leg. I could go for his knee, the one he’s had surgery on, but I don’t want to actually hurt him. I just want his weight off my chest.
He pushes to his feet, then holds out a hand as if he’s going to help me up. I slap it away and roll to the side. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. I’m still pretty drunk and now I’m winded.
Gripping the back of his neck, he paces the lot. “You better not’ve had a hand in what when down tonight.”
I glare at him. “Seriously?”
“Do you have any idea how bad this looks, Lex? Your date blows the groom. You end up in the bridal suite, on top of the mostly naked, crying bride. Look at you.” He gestures to my attire.
My belt is still half-undone, my shirt untucked, my tie hanging askew. I can see his point. “I wouldn’t try to sabotage a goddamn wedding to get back at Armstrong for being a cocksucker, Bane.”
“You sure about that? You and Armstrong have a long history of fucking with each other.”
“I would never do something like that.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Really? ’Cause as long as I’ve known you, it’s been exactly like that.”
He has a point. Armstrong and I have spent a lot of time screwing each other over since we were teens. When we were kids he was my best friend. He was like another brother—my mother called us Mischief and Malice. I was Mischief, and I didn’t really understand the negative connotations of Malice until I was older. Where I was the kid who lit the firecrackers in a backyard that wasn’t mine, Armstrong was the one who would aim them toward the house instead of away from it. When we got into trouble my mom would gently remind me that I knew better. So my role had been to channel that side into harmless competitions, practical jokes that didn’t damage property or other people.
I seemed to be able to manage him until we got older and that malicious side of Armstrong began to appear more often. Practical jokes gone wrong turned into the occasional fistfight. But then, that’s just how we dealt with things. He’d push buttons and I’d push back.
We were fourteen when things changed. Suddenly my best friend became my worst enemy. The harmless competition became vicious. After that I saw a side of Armstrong that I hadn’t realized existed, and for a while I was convinced I was the one who brought that horrible part of him to the surface.
Our competitive ball-busting turned into an epic, almost lethal clusterfuck after a dare went too far.
I came away with scars and he came out with a bruised ego. Blame was thrown around by my aunt, and after that the healthy competitive edge we had had turned into malicious backbiting.
For a while I tried to smooth things over. But it was clear that it wasn’t going to work. It became his mission to screw with me. If I was involved in a sport or a club or anything, so was he. Whatever I was good at, he wanted to be better and if he couldn’t be, he’d find a way to sabotage me. The competition between us seeped into every single part of our lives, from sports to school to girls.
Sometimes I just took it, but when he’d take it too far I’d retaliate in kind. He’d come back at me and do something worse. I could deal with it when it didn’t involve other people, but Armstrong’s vindictiveness wasn’t containable, and he’d hurt people in his mission to sabotage me. I’d feel guilt over whoever was caught up in the crossfire, because I made him into this. I pushed a button back when we were kids and fucked him up. So I’d given up years ago on making amends.
Except last year it wasn’t just Armstrong being a dick. It was more than that. I saw Amalie first at that party. He couldn’t have cared less who she was until he overheard me asking about her. I tried to remedy it by introducing myself and offering to get her a drink when I noticed hers was empty. Before I could make a move, in he swooped with his bullshit lines and his pearly white smile. I figured it wouldn’t last long. His relationships never did.
Neither did mine, usually thanks to him, but that wasn’t the point.
Getting back at him wasn’t worth it, not if it put someone else’s emotions at risk.
I blow out a breath, aware our history and tonight’s setup make this look exactly like I was trying to mess with him. “Whatever you think happened, it didn’t.”
Bane remains skeptical. “Enlighten me, then.”
“I told Brittany I was going to the bathroom. You know what she’s like, that chick just talks nonstop about nothing. I couldn’t take it. I sure as hell wasn’t drunk enough to manage listening to her for the rest of the night, so I took a breather.”
“In the bridal suite?”
“Yeah, man. Best hiding spot in the damn place. The bride shouldn’t have been in there at all. I was just going to use the bathroom and take a twenty-minute timeout before I headed back. That way I could miss most of the speeches, but when I came out of the bathroom there was Amalie, hacking her dress apart, freaking the fuck out.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you ended up on top of her on the floor.”
“Like I said. She was freaking out. She came at me with a pair of gardening shears. I wasn’t sure if she’d lost her mind or what. Then she told me she was going to fuck me, like revenge on Armstrong for my date blowing him or whatever, and she pulled some ninja move and we ended up on the floor. I said no. She’s feisty though. And strong.”
Bane’s glare tells me he’s unimpressed. “That’s your story?”
“It’s not a story, it’s the damn truth. I’m not an idiot, Bane. I wouldn’t screw a jilted bride. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not someone who’s already been hurt.” It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to have sex with her. Amalie in that lingerie, all pissed off and desperate? I was serious when I told her I would regret saying no forever.
I try not to let the way she felt under me become more than a whisper of thought. I look at my brother, whose faith in me as a person is sometimes questionable thanks largely to Armstrong and his constant games. “I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m not Armstrong. I wouldn’t manipulate someone that way. He has to be the stupidest man alive to screw around on Amalie. I don’t get it. She’s damn well perfect. He had it all and he just threw it away. She’s devastated. He gutted her. She cut herself out of her goddamn dress with gardening shears, Bane.” I run a hand down my face and meet his shocked gaze. “He ruined her for a fucking blow job. Who even does that?”
“Our cousin, that’s who. I’m sorry I thought you had something to do with it. Logically I know that’s not how you work, just the whole thing is a fucking mess.” Bane rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but the fallout from this going to be bad, and you’re right in the middle of it.”
* * *
I should’ve expected that this shit storm wasn’t going to end with punching Armstrong in the face. Half an hour later my cousin has been taken to the hospital to set his broken nose and I’m sitting in one of the penthouse suites. Across from me, my very distraught mother is tucked into my very angry father’s side. He keeps asking if she needs anything, tissues, water, wine, a blanket.
Bane has gone in search of Ruby and the runaway bride. My other brother, Griffin, is tending to his distressed fiancée, who can’t believe that something like this could actually happen. This whole debacle has upset the entire status quo in this community. And apparently I’m in the center of it all because it was my date who “ruined” the wedding. Not Armstrong, who put his dick in someone else’s mouth, but the girl who opened her mouth and me, because I brought her along.
Hooking Up Page 3