“No, I’m not ready to leave,” she whined, her wobbly limbs bumping against mine.
I rolled my eyes and looped my arm through hers. “Maybe you’re not,” I told Frankie. “But I am,” I continued in a whisper as I glanced back to look at Jake one final time… but he had already gone.
“Can we just stay a little while longer? Please?” she sang, very childlike.
I shook my head. “I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I’ve got to work, Frank. How else am I going to pay for all these heels of mine you keep breaking?”
“You know what I mean,” she mumbled.
I looked at Frankie and frowned. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said she was pissed at me. I hoped she wasn’t. I hated to leave on bad terms. Even though I was moving away, I still wanted Frankie as a friend. As quickly as I had that thought, Frankie’s expression changed and she smiled up at me, allowing me to pull her the rest of the way home.
It took longer than usual to get her back to the apartment. I almost wished we had a man in our lives just so he could have carried her home and up the three flights of stairs.
Frankie finally made it into bed, fully clothed with my shoes still on her feet.
“I love you, Mel,” she whispered through a hiccup.
I unbuckled the clasp on one of the shoes and dropped it to the floor before I started on the next one. “I love you too, Frank,” I returned with a smile. And I did. I loved her. I knew I would never find anyone so accepting as Frankie. Friends like her didn’t come along too often. Or they did, but ended up shitting on you. A few hours on the plane, I reminded myself as I forced the last shoe off.
Frankie attempted to sit back up but failed. In a half sat up, half laid down position, she frowned. “He’ll never want you, you know. He’ll use you and he’ll ruin you. But he’ll never love you.”
“Okay. I think you've had way too much to drink,” I said, dropping her foot.
“True, but you know I’m right.” She hiccupped again. “It doesn't matter how much you try to change who you are; you’ll never be good enough for him.”
I frowned, wondering where the hell that had come from. Frankie had always been a lousy drunk, but this time she had gone too far.
I could barely even look at her as I stormed out of the bedroom and made my way to the bathroom. I switched on the tap and cupped my hands under the water, letting the cool liquid hit my face. Lifting my head, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, Frankie was right. It didn't matter what I did. I would never be enough for Jake. I guess hearing Frankie say it aloud made the sting of knowing that all the more painful.
When I eventually left the confines of the bathroom, Frankie was already fast asleep and snoring. Pulling her door shut, I sighed and made my way to the living room, knowing there was no way I’d be getting any sleep that night.
8
I awoke to a dull, heavy ache in my head. Birds chirped on the branches of the willow tree that shadowed the window just outside my bedroom. I’d yet to fully open my eyes to the new day as visions of the night before came back to haunt me.
My first mistake had been going to the bar when I knew damn well she was there. It had been a dick move and I didn’t even know what had come over me. All I knew at the time was that the stupid in me couldn’t stay away. So I didn’t. When I’d left the store yesterday with Leanne in tow, it was clear Melanie wasn’t happy about it. In fact, she appeared to be pissed about me going out with Leanne. As much as I’d tried not to think about it and enjoy the time with Leanne, Melanie was all I could fucking think about. When Mum texted me midway through our first drink asking how the date was going, I hadn’t replied. Instead, I made out to Leanne that something had come up and left her at the restaurant. I hadn’t promised to see her again and I didn’t want to. Everything about Leanne irritated me. She was nice enough, which made no fucking sense. Even as I questioned whether I was doing the right thing by not giving the girl a chance, I left, sans the promise of another date, saying I was too busy. I met up with Rye for a beer instead and left shortly after. I hadn’t mentioned my failed date with Leanne to him. He wouldn’t have understood why I hadn’t just hooked up with her. And when he found out it was because of Melanie, he would have chucked me a lectured I could do without. So I kept quiet.
I hadn’t counted on running into her on the way home. In fact, I had been certain I wouldn’t see her again. Then I’d walked past Tucker’s and saw her standing at the bar, and my feet had made the decision for me, carrying me inside like I was a damn puppet and she was the master pulling at my strings. All the times I walked by that bar on my way home, I had never once seen her inside. And the one night I desperately needed to avoid her, there she was, looking more beautiful than I’d remembered. Even with darker hair, I recognised her immediately.
I could’ve just stood on the opposite side of the bar, watching from afar. That would’ve been the more sensible option. But no, I went right over. I knew being that close to her would be dangerous, but I never expected those feelings I’d once felt to come flooding back.
The way her skin felt beneath my fingertips was something I could never forget. The vulnerability in her eyes when I’d traced the indent on her hip last night was new to me. Mel was a lot of things. Vicious. Tenacious. Sexy as hell. But vulnerable had never been one of them. It made me question what had happened to make her that way. Had someone hurt her? Was she scared of me? That thought pissed me off, bringing with it a whole bunch of other mistakes that were so out of my control I hadn’t tried to fight them. And then her friend had come out steaming drunk, and I’d known the moment between us was over. It didn’t stop me reeling over whether or not Mel would have taken me up on my offer to go home with me, though. And something inside of me sensed that she would have. Alright, she may have said no… more than once, but her words were lost through the hum of her body as she leaned into me without intent. Her breathing was shallow as she fought to stay the hell away from me. The sane part of her may not have wanted me, but there were other parts of her—parts I knew all too well—that had wanted nothing more than for me to take her home, bend her over and fuck the sensible right out of her. Then she’d left, taking with her every possibility of either of us finding a release. I wished I could say that having her body pressed against mine did nothing for me in the slightest, but that would be a fucking lie. I’d had a raging hard-on the whole taxi ride home.
When I finally found the strength to leave my bed, I made my way to the bathroom and into the shower with thoughts of Melanie still lingering at the back of my mind, slowly edging their way closer to the front again. It wasn’t long before her face appeared, her big brown eyes shining with that vulnerability that made me want her even more. Damn, just the thought of her lips quivering against mine again was enough to get me hard.
I angled my head upwards, allowing the cold spray of the water to pour down on me. As I shook away the droplets of water that clung to my face, my mind drifted back in time. Melanie’s face was all I could see as the memories of our time together hit me with a feeling all too real. So deep and raw that I found myself gripping the base of my dick, allowing those memories to swim to the forefront of my mind and tear away the last ounce of sanity I had left.
We’d been meeting up for a few weeks. I couldn’t even pinpoint when it all started. It just did. One minute we hated each other and the next, it was as if we couldn’t get enough of one another. It was as if we’d been thrown together for a purpose. To make the other feel something more than the emptiness that shadowed our lives. After the first time I knelt between her thighs, I knew right there and then that I wouldn’t be able to walk away from her. Once would never be enough.
It wasn’t just the sex that had me craving her every touch. Although, she knew better than most how to use the assets that God had given her. Her mouth. That hot little mouth of hers worked
over me in ways I’d never experienced before, always so tentative, right up until the final stroke of her tongue. Slow, yet firm. What always followed was a mixture of moans and frequent pants as our bodies promised each other another day.
It wasn’t long before those reminders stirred something deep and powerful inside of me. An urgent desire that I was only capable of feeling when I was with her.
I pressed a hand against the cool, tiled wall for balance as I fisted my dick with the other, sliding from base to tip, each thrust harder than the last as my hips tried to match the movement of my hand.
I gripped harder as I pictured Melanie’s curves. I imagined her chest pressed flush against the wall as I pushed my dick inside of her, her back arching as I pounded my hips against hers. Her smooth skin, so flawless as beads of water trickled down her back, collecting at the two dimples that sat just above her arse.
When I felt the familiar burn creep in, I slowed my movements, my eyes closing involuntarily as I straightened my back and stilled my hand before moving again. Slow, purposeful strokes sent the first wave of pleasure through me, causing my hips to jerk as hot spurts of come coated my hand. I released a groan, her name falling from my lips over and over again until I could no longer form a single coherent word.
“Fuck,” I gritted out once I’d finished cleaning myself up.
Running my fingers through my slick, wet hair, I shook out the droplets of water and palmed my face in frustration. What the fuck was wrong with me? Coming back had been a mistake. This place wasn’t good for me. Bad shit always happened in Winslow.
I spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the house, frustrated and angry. I’d only been back a few days, and already I couldn’t escape the memories I fought hard to forget. As soon as I came back home, it was all right there, taunting me. My dad, Taylor, Melanie. I needed out of the place… to get away from it all. But that was easier said than done. I still had no clue where I’d be heading after the summer. If I was headed anywhere at all. I hadn’t heard from my agent and I had a feeling I wouldn’t any time soon. Still, it didn’t stop me from reaching for my phone and shooting him a message. Just a simple question mark. That was all that I needed to put before sending it. Then it was more waiting. And hoping. Hope was really all I had left.
9
I was dressed and out of the house before Frankie woke up the following morning. I wasn’t ready to confront her about her words from the night before, so I slipped quietly out of the apartment and jumped in my car. I didn’t stop until I made it through the gates of the old abandoned warehouse that sat on the very outskirts of town.
I was still trying to work out for myself what the hell had happened to make her say the things she’d said as I slipped the rusty key from my back pocket and opened the front door to the building. Reaching out to the side, I flipped the light switch on and glanced around the spacious area.
It wasn’t much to look at. Simple, quiet, yet somehow it always seemed to make me feel like I wasn’t alone. Silly, really, because I was. At least until Bessy came by at noon, or until Harry decided to make an appearance, which I knew he wouldn’t because it wasn’t dark outside.
Bessy had worked here when I was just a kid. Back then, the place was filled to the brim with shelving that housed various different fabrics in all colours and sizes, rows of tables showcasing the most beautiful sewing machines I had ever seen, and cotton reels at every station. I’d been just a child, but even so, I was fascinated and more than a little curious. While most of my friends were spending their summer holidays abroad with their families enjoying the rare sunshine or playing on the swings at the local park, I could be found at the warehouse, watching with awe as my mum flittered to and fro between the sewing machine and the mannequin that sat in the far corner of the warehouse. I thought she only agreed to take me with her because she was tired of my constant whining, but I was happy all the same.
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I pictured the memory before me. Blues, greens, yellows and reds. Shiny material all folded neatly in piles, just waiting to be chosen. The warehouse would be full of life, seamstresses going about their day, filling orders while Mum designed new garments that would later be pieced together.
My mum had her first job here as a trainee designer until she graduated university. Her parents then bought her the warehouse during a bankruptcy scandal that, at the time, had been the topic of most conversations. My grandparents had bought it cheap, but that wasn’t why they had picked it up. Mum had always had a dream of becoming a famous designer right here in Winslow. And when she graduated and the warehouse went up for sale, there was no way she could let it go. It had been a huge part of her life for many years. It was the same place she’d made her first dress, which still hung in the overflow wardrobe, gathering dust.
Mum got to work setting up the warehouse once the sale was finalised and worked day and night to bring her designs to life. It wasn’t too long before she hit the big time. Her designs were released in every magazine, stretching out as far as New York. Everyone knew who Jessica Livingston was and if they didn’t a simple Google search would clear up any confusion. But fame brought options, and it wasn’t too long before she turned her back on this old place. Apparently, having an office and warehouse in both Paris and New York was far more appealing than owning a grungy old warehouse in Winslow. One that, unless you lived there, you would never even know existed.
Sighing, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat down behind the only table. It appeared to look lost within the large room. I brushed my fingertips against the grey stained surface as I released a tired yawn and picked up the heavy satin material in front me.
I had spent most of the night tossing and turning, wondering how I would approach Frankie. I wondered if there was an underlying issue that I wasn't aware of. Like she’d been hurt in the past and couldn’t get over that pain. It would make sense, I guess. Considering her firm refusal to commit to any man. But even knowing that, it still didn’t make sense. Frankie wasn’t mean. She would never set out to purposely hurt me like she’d done last night. Maybe she’d just had an off day. Hell, we all had those. And besides, she’d been going through so much lately and with the amount of drink she’d knocked back, it was no wonder her brain was mashed. It had been a mistake. She hadn’t meant it. She’d likely already forgotten she’d even said anything.
I blew out a breath, hoping I was right, and hung my latest piece on the rack with the others, smoothing out the gold, satin material as I did.
A mistake.
She made one lousy mistake. It wasn’t like I hadn’t made one of those before. I had been prone to making mistakes and bad choices. In college that tendency of mine became a sport. And because I wasn’t discreet about my actions, they soon became who and what I was known for. I was practically the queen of bad behaviour, acting out to get whatever the hell I wanted, parading my bitchiness around like a crown on my head as though every wretched thing I ever did should have been adored. And for some time, people did adore me. Or maybe they just feared getting on the wrong side of me so they played along. It wasn’t until I set my sights on Lola that my reign came crashing to an end. Others no longer participated in or encouraged my behaviour. They saw it, and me, as absurd. Wrong. Absolutely nothing to be proud of. And maybe they were right. Who was I kidding? Of course they were. But that crown had protected me. From what, I wasn’t sure, but I felt the difference when I was stripped of it—a vulnerability I had fought so hard to keep locked away. After all of that, with all the time in the world to evaluate, I saw all of my choices, my bad behaviour, for what they really were: mistakes. Horrible mistakes that hurt others, and in the end, me. Everything I’d done, who I’d allowed myself to become since Shawn died, they were all mistakes. It was a mistake to treat others badly, a mistake to be selfish, a mistake to chase Taylor around knowing he wasn’t interested in me, and it was a mistake to try to destroy Lola. It was an even bigger mistake to believe that my so-called ento
urage were really my friends. Too late, I’d realised that I’d let bad choices poison every part of my life.
College… Check.
Friendships… Check.
Guys… Check.
Abandoned by my supposed friends, dumped by the boy I’d wanted since we were kids, I’d felt completely alone. Used and unwanted. I was ready to stomp on that crown of mine and try my hand at being the real me for a change. The one who didn’t hide behind selfishness and manipulations. It was during that time that Jake and I had gotten together. It was true that he was pretty much the only person around the halls who still spoke to me. But it was so much more than that. He would sit beside me on the bench and open up about his plans for after college, and how he was struggling to deal with the realisation that Taylor was his brother. All stuff he didn’t need to talk about but did. Jake made me laugh when I didn’t feel as though I would ever laugh again. More than that, he made me feel special. Wanted, even. I had wanted to believe so badly that what was happening between us was because he saw the real me, the one I had slowly been returning to. I knew I was probably making another mistake, but I couldn’t stop myself. It would seem that old habits really did die hard. Or maybe they didn’t with exception. Jake Knight had been that exception. Until he wound up leaving me more broken than I’d been to begin with.
The last few months of college were tough as I tried to focus on my studies while ignoring the ugly stares and snide comments from my classmates. Although I did my best to get over what Jake had done to me, no matter how much I wanted to act out, I remained committed to changing back to the person I once was. Someone I liked. Someone I could look at in the mirror. The person Shawn was proud to call his sister. I was relieved when college was over and I could leave my mistakes behind me. But they stayed. And last night only proved that.
A Different Game: A Wrong Game Novel Page 6