by Anna Cruise
“You did that for me?”
“Get the files?” I pressed my lips together, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
It had been easier to explain to West than it was to Stuart. I didn't feel vulnerable or exposed when it came to my brother-in-law. Because I didn't care about him.
“Because I wanted to help.”
There was more silence. He looked down at the keyboard of his screen, then back up at me. “Thank you,” he finally said.
“If you don't want them, it's fine,” I said quickly. “And I don't know if it will even amount to anything.”
“I want them,” he said softly.
“Are you sure? You don't seem sure.”
“I'm sure,” he said. “I'm just...surprised.”
“Why? That I stole stuff? You know I don't care about rules.”
He chuckled. “No, not that part of it. I'm surprised that you did it. For me.”
A rush of heat flooded my cheeks. I didn't want to admit that I'd done it for him. Not to him.
“It's for the kids,” I said. “I believe in what you do.”
He gave me an amused look. “Oh, right. Of course. For the kids.” He cleared his throat and his expression grew serious. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you. I'll be happy to send out letters to them and see if we can make something happen with it.”
“Fine,” I said irritably. “I didn't just do it for the kids.” I swallowed. “I did it for you, too.”
Stuart grinned. “Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“Just say it again. I want to hear you say it.”
He wasn't mocking me like West had done earlier. He didn't pull out a phone to record me and he didn't raise his eyebrows in disbelief. He just smiled that smile of his that always seemed to disarm me.
“I did it for you,” I repeated.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
I started to say something else but a knock on his hotel room door startled him. He glanced at the door, then back at the computer screen.
“I need to go,” he said, his voice apologetic.
I swallowed my disappointment. Now that the initial hurdle of telling him was over, I wanted to chat. Not just about ideas for reaching people and the future of his organization, but about us, too. And, with Skype, there was always the small possibility that we could end up without clothes on.
“That's okay,” I said. “More meetings?”
“Yeah,” he said. “A lot more. I'll find you as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay.” I hesitated, then decided what the hell. I'd been slowly dropping my guard with him for days. Might as well lower the whole shield. “I'll be waiting.”
He hung up and the screen reverted to the list of names and addresses. I stared at the unfamiliar names, wondering if one of those people would be a future contributor to Stuart's organization. A tiny thrill ran through me at the thought. I wanted to help. Badly.
“You're on your computer? During summer?”
I looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Jules Cordova, one of my sorority sisters, stood in my doorway. I hadn't seen her in weeks.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don't know. I grabbed lunch at Tony's.” Tony's was a pizza place a few blocks from the sorority house. “Figured I'd swing by and see who was around.”
“Just me,” I told her.
She looked at the empty bed across the room. “Where's Sheridan? Didn't she stick around for the summer?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but she went to Cabo for a couple of days.”
Jules face registered a look of disbelief. “And you're by yourself?”
I knew what she'd expected to find. Me in bed with some guy. Or me trying to hide some guy, since we weren't exactly encouraged to bring members of the opposite sex into the house. But the room was neat, the closet door open, zero evidence that I was anything other than by myself.
“Yes,” I said pointedly. “I'm by myself.”
“Huh.” She sounded genuinely surprised. She motioned to the laptop. “What are you doing?”
I shifted on my bed, more to get comfortable than to hide the screen from her. I didn't want to go into a lengthy explanation about what I was doing. “Just some research. For a friend.”
She nodded and her mousy brown hair bounced a little on her shoulders. She wasn't ugly but there was nothing notable about her appearance. Average height, average weight. Average brown hair and average green eyes, even average tits. The only thing she excelled at was academics and guys really didn't seem to give a shit about that. She was a junior and I could count the number of dates she'd had on one hand.
“Alright, well...” Her voice trailed off. “I was gonna see if you and Sheridan wanted to go out. Maybe head down to the beach? Grab a drink or something.”
I stifled a laugh. Jules Cordova was not someone I'd hang around with, even at a sorority function. I'd never understood how she'd managed to earn a bid but she had, and she'd been voted in unanimously. Because I'd caved.
My phone saved me from having to answer her. I glanced at the unfamiliar number blinking on the screen. Immediately, I wondered if it was Stuart. Even though we'd just talked on Skype, maybe he was calling back. Maybe from his hotel room phone or maybe from some conference room where he was meeting.
“Annika?” It was a woman's voice on the other end. A scratchy female voice that I immediately recognized.
“Aunt Barb?” I said.
“Hello?”
I practically yelled into the phone. “Aunt Barb? Yes, this is Annika.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding relieved. “Hello, dear.”
I didn't ask how she'd gotten my number. Maybe Stuart had given it to her, or maybe she'd simply looked me up. Not that I believed she could figure out how to run a search for a cell phone number via the internet, but it was a possibility. But I didn't ask because I didn't care how she got it. I was more concerned with why the hell she would be calling me.
I frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything's fine, dear,” she said. “Tom hurt his knee playing pickleball and my roses have rust, but other than that, things are good.”
I bit back a smile. “Good. I mean, I'm sorry about your roses. And Tom's knee.”
She clucked her tongue. “Nothing at all to be sorry about. We'll manage. We always do.”
There was a pause in conversation and I tried to think of something to say. Was she really just calling to tell me about her flowers and Tom's ailment? We'd had nice talks when I'd visited but I didn't think she'd suddenly decide to start calling me for mindless conversations.
“Say, I'm trying to get ahold of Stuart,” she said.
Now we were getting somewhere.
“He's in New York,” I reminded her.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “I've tried his cell phone but he isn't answering.”
“I just talked to him a little bit ago,” I said.
“Oh. On his phone?”
“No. On Skype.”
“Skype? What's Skype?”
“It's a video call. On the computer.”
“Video?” She sounded completely confused.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “It's...a new thing.”
“Must be,” she said and I could picture her, a perplexed expression on her face, trying to understand. “Well, he's not answering his phone. And he always answers. So I was a little concerned. He gave me your number as a back-up so I thought I'd give you a call.”
I frowned. I'd just talked to him but I suddenly had ridiculous images of him being hit by a taxi at some busy New York intersection, or being mugged and left for dead like that ridiculous Patrick Swayze movie where he turned into a ghost and haunted the shit out of the woman he left behind. But it was broad daylight, I reminded myself. He was in the middle of Manhattan on a week day. He wasn't going to get mugged or shot. The taxi? I'd never been there but I could imagine that might be a distinct
possibility.
I shook my head, trying to erase the image. “He might be in meetings. That's where he told me he was going. Did you leave him a message?”
“Three,” she said.
“Okay. Well, I'm sure he'll call as soon as he's free.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I need to let him and Kris know that Susan is meeting her at the airport tomorrow.”
My blood suddenly turned ice cold. “What?”
“Kris,” she repeated, her voice louder than normal, as if I was the one who was hard of hearing. “Her mother is flying back to town from New Mexico. Some yoga retreat. She said their flights are coming in within a half hour of each other and that they can share a ride home.”
“Kristen is in New York?” I was having a hard time breathing. I choked out the next words. “With Stuart?”
“Why, yes,” Barb replied. “She flew out yesterday. You didn't know?”
I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. But it was permanently lodged there. I coughed. “No,” I finally managed. “I didn't know.”
“It was rather unexpected,” she told me.
“Apparently.” I closed my eyes for a second, trying to stem the rush of emotions I was feeling.
“Alright, well if you talk to him before I do, can you pass on the message?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She thanked me and I tapped the screen to end the call and resisted the urge to fling my phone across the room.
“Bad news?” Jules asked.
I glared at her. “No.”
She shrank back at both my look and my tone. “Okay.”
I slammed my computer shut and bolted off my bed.
“What are you doing?” Jules asked.
I wanted to hit something. Smash something.
Everything Stuart told me had been a lie. He'd played me. That was the only explanation. I thought back to the first time I'd seen him with Kristen, out in the gazebo at his pseudo-parents' house. About his uncle's comments about an engagement. And about Stuart and his constant, continual quest to get me to admit feelings for him.
It had all been a game to him. I was a prize to be won, a game to be conquered. He'd known the kind of woman I was—a woman who was happy being unattached, a woman who was confident in her sexuality, a woman who was happy to focus on flings instead of relationships. And he'd wanted to prove to me that I was wrong, that I needed something more.
Not because he needed it or wanted it. But because he could.
Tears threatened and I blinked rapidly, pissed with myself. How could I have been so stupid? Why the fuck had I let my guard down? Why had I let him in? Him, of all people? No one had cracked my hard exterior before.
But Stuart Woodcock had found my weakness. Found the hairline fracture and pried it open and wormed his way into my life. Into my heart.
Not because he cared, but to prove that he could.
I whirled to face Jules, wiping at my eyes. She stared at me wide-eyed, like I was someone she didn't know.
“Let's go,” I announced.
Her eyebrows drew together. “What?”
“You said you wanted to go out.” I plastered a smile on my face. “Let's go. Right fucking now.”
I grabbed my phone and stared at it just long enough to make my decision. I tossed it on my nightstand and picked up my purse instead.
Fuck Stuart Woodcock.
I wasn't playing his game any more.
I was back to playing mine.
TWENTY SEVEN
I knocked back my fourth shot of tequila and stared candidly at the guy standing next to me.
“You can drink,” he said with frank admiration.
I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the alcohol that still lingered, and smiled. “I can do lots of things.”
The guy at the bar grinned. He was tall and blond and tan, a surfer who probably wasn't local to Mission. If he was, our paths would have crossed before.
“You new around here?” I asked, shifting on my bar stool so I was closer to him.
“Does it matter?” he asked.
His thigh pressed into mine and I felt nothing. No spark of desire, no flicker of lust. Zero.
“It doesn't matter to me,” I said, ignoring the flat, dead feeling that had settled in my gut.
I was four hours post-phone call. Two bars down. Jules had left an hour earlier, at my insistence.
“How are you going to get home?” she'd asked, her eyes filled with worry.
I'd laughed. “Who says I'm going home?”
“Annika.” Her tone was reproachful. “You're wasted. You need to go home.”
I glared at her. “Don't fucking tell me what to do.”
She flinched but stood her ground. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing's wrong with me,” I told her breezily. “This is who I am. How I roll. You have a fucking problem with that?”
I knew my voice was loud. I knew people were staring at us. And I didn't care. Because I was done with caring. About anything or anyone.
“No,” she said. She ran a hand through her mouse-brown hair. “But I have a problem with leaving a friend stranded at a bar.”
I laughed. “We are not friends, Jules.”
She opened her mouth to speak but I held up my hand.
“We're not,” I told her. “And it's not a jab at you. I don't have friends.” Wests's words came back at that moment. “Because I don't care about anyone but myself.”
She shook her head and frowned. “Well, other people care about you.”
I snorted and picked up my glass. I'd been drinking rum and Coke earlier and I swallowed a mouthful. “Bullshit.”
“They do,” she said firmly. “I do, anyway. And I think I should take you home.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Thanks but no thanks. I'm fine. I'm right where I want to be.”
“Annika...”
I grabbed my glass and stood. “I'll see you around, Jules. Thanks for the ride down.”
Before she could say anything, I turned away. Downed my drink and headed out the door and walked two blocks to the next bar.
She didn't follow me.
I turned my attention back to the pretty surfer boy whose leg was still pressed against mine.
“Tell me your name,” I practically purred.
“Ryder.”
I laughed. “Is that your real name?”
“Maybe.” He grinned. “Maybe not.”
“Well, Ryder,” I said, sliding my hand along his thigh. His board shorts were smooth, almost like satin. “How are you at giving rides?”
“Pretty fucking good.”
“I like long ones.” I inched my hand closer to his crotch. “Hard ones.”
His eyes widened as my hand closed over his dick. Even through the fabric of his shorts, I could tell he was more than ready for me.
“How about multiple?” he asked, his eyes hot. “You good with that?”
I smiled. “Better than good.”
He grabbed my hand and yanked me off the bar stool.
“You have a place around here?” I asked.
He pulled me toward him and grinded his body against mine. “Yeah,” he breathed, his mouth fastening on to my neck. “But I'm not sure I can wait.”
I pushed him playfully. “Can't exactly fuck me here on the bar, sweetheart.” I scanned the broad mahogany counter. It was smooth and shiny, a nice flat service. And something I'd never done. “Not that it wouldn't be fun...”
“Banquet room,” he said, his breath ragged. He took my hand and we started weaving our way through the small crowd of people. “No one's in there.”
“I take it I'm not the first girl you've taken back there?”
He glanced back at me and smiled. “Is that a problem?”
“Nope.” I narrowed my eyes. “I don't care if I'm the first. Only that I'm the best.”
Five minutes later, I was on my back, spread across a table in the darkened banq
uet room at Pete's Paradise. The walls smelled like old beer and the wood beneath me was sticky and rough. Ryder had his hands on my ass, my tit in his mouth. And his dick was pressing up against my panties, grinding insistently into me.
I closed my eyes and moaned and tried to focus on the guy yanking my panties down. The guy who'd pulled away from my breast so he could rip open a condom with his teeth. The guy who was looking at me with a greedy, lustful smile.
The guy who wasn't Stuart Woodcock.
My breath caught in my throat and I squeezed my eyes shut tight. I didn't care. I didn't care about Stuart. I didn't care what he'd done to me, what he'd led me to believe.
My heart thudded and I felt a sob rise up in my chest. Not because of Stuart. But because I didn't care about this douche bag either.
I opened my eyes. Ryder had his hands back on my hips and he was pushing his dick into me. His eyes were closed, his expression harsh with desire.
And I wanted to vomit.
I pushed him off of me. “No.”
His eyes flew open. “What?”
I scrambled into a sitting position, yanking my dress back down. “No,” I repeated.
He stared at me, not comprehending. “No? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I looked at the ground, saw my panties laying on the floor. I leaned down and grabbed them. “I changed my mind.”
He put his hands on his hips. I stared at him, at how ridiculous he looked, his board shorts around his knees, his condom-covered dick quickly deflating.
“You changed your mind?” he repeated. A look of disgust crossed his face. “I was already fucking you!”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I didn't want to hear him say it.
“Whatever, bitch.” His eyes shot daggers at me.
I slipped my panties back on and adjusted my dress. I felt like more than a bitch. I felt like a hoe. A skank. I felt used. Demoralized.
And I'd done it all to myself.
Ryder ripped the condom off and threw it at me. It hit me on the cheek. He laughed. “Plenty of pussy around here. Your loss.” He gave me a once-over. “Definitely not mine.”
He pulled his shorts back up and re-tied them, then turned on his heel and left.
I sat back down on the table and did the only thing I could do.