by Amber Rides
I slid my hand down to her waist, then underneath her shirt and up her back. I squeezed the clasp of her bra, springing it open. When I moved my hand forward, the feel of her bare skin under my fingers was almost unbearable. I reached her breast once more. I bit back a moan, afraid that any sound would break the spell.
Under my other hand, the pulse in Brenna’s throat increased again, and with it, the hardness between my legs.
Was there a matching wetness between hers? I had to know.
I drew my hand away from her top and ran it along the hem of her skirt.
Dear God. It was so far up her thigh that a little push would take me to her underwear. Had it been that short all along? Unwillingly, I wondered if Ian had noticed and wanted to put his hand where mine was right now.
I tried to shove aside the jealousy and failed. I knew the alcohol was letting it win. I knew I couldn’t fight it.
So I channeled it instead.
I took the heat of my anger and used it to pull Brenna into my lap, legs straddling my hips. She sat still like that, a startled look on her face. I growled and forced her knees apart.
The scant few inches of skirt that had been covering her ass were meaningless now. I pushed the edge of it up, giving me a perfect view of the white satin between her thighs.
In less than a breath, my hand followed my gaze. It teased aside the slick fabric and found her wet and waiting. I didn’t waste any time. I stroked her clit sweetly in a circular motion while I drove my index finger into her.
And at last she moved. Really moved.
Up and down and against my hand. Gasping and panting and rocking along with my ever-increasing tempo.
I was already rock-hard and ready, and each of her little thrusts brought me closer to release. My finger was hot and slippery and I knew she was close too. I pushed a little hard, a little further. She pulsed and shuddered as she came.
“Ridley!”
She exhaled my name in a pleasure-filled gasp.
My name. Not Ian’s name. Not a meaningless endearment.
My. Name.
And that’s what undid me. My hips went forward and my mind went black and the only thing I was aware of was Brenna’s sweetness, all around me. Gradually, our breathing evened out and I slid my arms around her waist to pull her as close as possible. She stiffened against my attempt.
“Oh my God. Ridley.” This time, her voice was miserable and my name sounded like it pained her.
Shit. What did I do?
I reached for her face, but before my hand could get near enough, she jerked away.
“What’s wrong?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were the wrong ones.
Brenna leaped from my lap like it was on fire.
“Everything is wrong! I’m dating your cousin and we just – Well, you know what just happened. And you’re drunk and I’m—”
There was something about the way she cut herself off, eyes wide and frantic and her hands over her mouth, which made me want to press her to finish her sentence.
“You’re what, Brenna?”
“I’m dating Ian.”
“You already said that,” I pointed out.
“Did I?” Her voice rose unnaturally.
“You did.”
“Do you still want to know what my dumbest drunk move was?”
For some reason, my blood went cold. “No. I don’t think I do.”
“I think you need to hear it,” she told me.
“It’s fine, Brenna.”
She shook her head. “It’s not fine, Ridley. It relates to now and what just happened and…And I really want you to know it was a mistake, no matter what comes next. Six weeks ago, I got drunk and made a mistake. I’m sorry. I need to give Ian a chance.”
The ice in my blood moved to my heart. “What makes you so sure it was a mistake?”
“Because it was just sex! And I want something more.”
“I feel exactly the same way,” I replied icily, then paused and shook my head angrily, unable to say exactly what I wanted to. “And yet…”
Tears formed in her eyes and I made myself ignore them. I built a wall around my heart, then fortified it with the idea of her and my cousin, together. I told myself I didn’t care.
“You know what, Brenna? Guys like Ian cheapen sex and ruin any chance at romance for the rest of us. Enjoy your life.”
I came to my feet and turned to go. At the door, I paused.
“One more thing,” I said. “You were right. You’re a far worse drunk that I am. I’ve never fucked somebody the way you did. I’ve never had to live with the regret, and I refuse to start now.”
Without looking back, I spun on my heel and stalked out.
***
My front door was locked.
Fucking Ian.
I rang the doorbell once.
No answer.
I rang the doorbell a second time and added a light knock.
Nothing.
I gave the door a violent kick at the same second my cousin swung it open. My foot connected with his balls and he collapsed.
On any other day, at any other given moment, my guy-instinct would’ve kicked in. I would’ve sympathized. At that moment though, all I felt was satisfaction that the world had aligned in such a way that I could take out my frustration at him directly on him. Without being directly responsible.
“Ridley,” my cousin wheezed. “What the hell.”
“You brought her home covered in scrapes and dirt.”
He rolled to his back but kept his legs tucked up high. “Did you want me to clean her up? Take her and give her a sponge bath?”
“I wanted to you to bring her home undamaged!”
“Undamaged, Rid? We had a hike, not a fist fight.”
“I don’t care! You took her to a make-out spot for fucking teenagers. And true to the teenager mentality, you ran out of gas and had to walk ten miles? How the hell is that okay?”
“Are you drunk, man?”
“Why the fuck does it matter?”
“Because you’re out of control!” Ian yelled.
“You want to see out of control?” I snarled. “I’ll show you out of control!”
I lunged for him even though he was already down. He managed to roll out of the way. Barely. I landed on the ground myself.
Ian attempted to get to his feet and with a wild throw of my elbow, I knocked him down again. He clambered across the hardwood. I didn’t let him get far. My hand closed over his ankle, dragging him back.
I rolled him over and held him down as I snapped up a long, pointed umbrella from the stand beside the door.
“Whoa!” Ian hollered.
I pulled the umbrella back and speared it into the wall with all my strength. The sight of it hanging there, an inch from my cousin’s head, finally deflated me. I collapsed to the floor.
My whole body shook in something that was pretty damned close to a sob.
Ian’s palm closed on my shoulder. “What the fuck is going on, Rid? I haven’t seen that kind of crazy in your eyes in five years.”
Five years.
Ian was right. The last time my temper had been so dangerously close to the surface was the day the lawyers read my Aunt Penelope’s will, telling us that the bulk of her small estate was coming to me.
Ian and I fought then, too, and not because his mom’s will pissed him off, but because it upset me.
I couldn’t wrap my head around why she thought the proceeds from her little house and all its contents should be mine, while Ian got to keep nothing more than her car.
Ian had shrugged it off. He would just waste the money he said, while I would put it to good use. He’d tried to give me her car, too. He couldn’t afford the gas, or the insurance, or the maintenance, he said.
It was all true.
Even now, I paid those things on his behalf the majority of the time.
With the exception of the money I put aside for the down payment of my first apartment,
I’d carefully invested every penny of my aunt’s money and it was all accounted for.
At the time, though, I didn’t understand it. I didn’t think I deserved it. Everything came crashing down. The devastation at losing my beloved aunt. The anger at myself for not being able to do more to make her last days comfortable. I couldn’t take the pain.
I drove my truck into a neighbor’s fence and I broke my hand on a stranger’s face in a bar fight. When Ian tried to intervene, I destroyed his room and lit the front yard on fire. I spent two nights in jail – the first time since my last stint in a juvenile detention center four or so years earlier – and the result was a black mark on my permanent record.
And yes. I’d felt just like this.
Restless. Pained. Dangerous.
My cousin was watching me, waiting for an explanation I couldn’t make myself give him.
“Is it the girl, Rid?” he asked. “Because I can walk away, right now. I don’t care about the money.”
I closed my eyes. In spite of my anger, I’d made Brenna a promise and I’d committed to Ian, too.
“No,” I made myself say. “Take her out one more time. Do your thing. Once it’s over, you and I are even and neither of us will have to do more than say hello to her when we’re taking out the trash.”
***
The only hitch in my plan came eighteen hours later, when her small and pleading voice called to ask me for a favor, and I couldn’t help but say yes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brenna
The stiff set of Ridley’s jaw was hard for me to look at. Mostly because I knew it was there as a result of my behavior.
“I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t have to,” I said weakly.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“You made it pretty clear you don’t want anything to do with me.”
“That’s not true,” I protested.
He turned toward me, hurt, anger, and disbelief clear on his face.
“What the fuck was last night about then?”
“I…” My breath caught in my throat and I had to start again. “I told you already.”
“That you’re going out with Ian? Yeah, I heard you. I just don’t believe you’re being honest with me. Either that…Or you’re not being honest with yourself.”
Ridley jammed the truck into park and hopped out. He strode to the parking meter, shoved his credit card into it, and pulled the receipt out. Before I could even get my finger onto the handle, he yanked the door open, reached across me, and slammed the payment confirmation onto the dash.
“Let’s go,” he commanded.
“What are you doing?”
He grabbed my wrist. “Taking you to class.”
I felt too guilty to pull away, but I did argue. “You can’t come with me!”
“Well I’m sure as hell not waiting out here and if I leave you’ll have no way to get home.”
“I’ll find a way.”
He rolled his eyes. “Is your car going to magically repair itself while you’re sitting in class taking notes?”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll sit behind you. You won’t even know I’m there. I brought a book.”
“Ridley, there’s only twenty-eight people in the class. The prof is going to notice an extra student. Especially if that extra student is you, reading a book while he tries to teach.”
He let go of my arm. But it was only so he could slam the truck door in my face.
“Hey!” I shouted.
Ridley turned away and leaned against the door with his back to the window. I grabbed the handle and pulled. It was locked. I unlocked it manually, but the second my hand released the lock, Ridley locked it again using the remote. I shuffled to the driver’s side door and tried that one. Ridley pulled the same trick again.
My irritation still didn’t overwhelm my guilt and I had to fight back tears.
I tapped on the window and called out, “Fine.”
The locks slid up.
I eased the door open, then slipped out of the truck. Without meeting his eyes, I began the walk from the parking lot to the college. I moved quickly and didn’t turn around. But with each step, I could feel Ridley’s gaze on my back, searing into my skin. When we reached the door, he was quick to open it. It wasn’t until we sat down, though, that he spoke again.
True to his word, he’d positioned himself in the seat directly behind me and his low voice carried right into my ear.
“Ian is not the right guy for you.”
I answered without turning around. “You don’t know what’s right for me and what’s not.”
“I know you’re making this choice based on something you think is connected to your mother’s death. I know you’re passionate and smart and deserve all those things you told me you wanted on that first night in the woods.”
“Those things are a fairy tale. You said so yourself.”
“I was wrong.”
The professor stepped to the front of the room, adjusted her notes, and began to talk.
I took my own notes and tried to lose myself in the lesson. It was nearly impossible. I was very conscious of the fact that with the exception of us, everyone else in the room was spread out. And I was hyperaware of every slight move Ridley made. If his legs adjusted, I had to fight to keep mine still. If he breathed a little too deeply, my own chest rose and fell in response. It took all of my willpower to keep focused on my work.
“Please, Brenna.” Ridley’s voice was hushed, but the girl sitting closest to us still looked our way.
“Please what?” I hissed back, embarrassed.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt. I can’t stand the thought of it.”
“Don’t do this, Ridley,” I replied.
“Pancake, I’m sorry. I have to.”
“You’re not going to like how it ends.” My words had a desperate, pleading edge.
He pushed on anyway. “Sometimes, it’s hard to see the thing that’s right in front of your face. Sometimes—”
I cut him off. “What if I can tell you I feel the same? What if I tell you I don’t want to see you hurt either and no matter what you think you know about me, it doesn’t compare to the truth?”
Someone cleared her throat and I realized my voice had climbed louder and louder as I spoke. Most of the class was looking in our direction and the teacher had stopped teaching altogether.
“Excuse me, Pancake,” the prof said. “But would you and your friend kindly either quiet down or step outside?”
My face went red. I shot Ridley a glare and he shrugged it off. There was no way he was going to let it go. I slapped my books shut and slunk from the classroom.
When we hit the hallway, I rounded on him.
I opened my mouth to say something. I don’t know what. Maybe I was going to demand to know what he thought he was doing. Or to know why he was doing it. Two questions I already knew the answer to. Or maybe I was going to beg him to stop. Either way, I didn’t manage to say a thing. Because his beautiful grey eyes were rimmed with red and his perfect, sexy mouth formed a word that ripped an anguished cry from my throat.
“Sweetheart…”
I threw myself into him. It only took a moment for his arms to encircle me and pull me in. His chest was warm and comforting and it felt like coming home.
I’d shared more of myself with Ridley in the last few days than I ever had with anyone.
There was no refuting my feelings. I could try to blame my lust-filled behavior on hormones, or on pure physical attraction; I couldn’t do the same with my emotions. There was no denying things ran deeper.
When will this end?
The desperate question echoed through my mind as I cried into Ridley’s chest.
And I thought I knew the answer, even if I didn’t like it.
It would stop when I told Ridley the truth.
Which I couldn’t make myself do.
He stroked my hair gently. “I know
you’regoing to go out with him again. All I want is for you to think about one thing while you’re on your date.”
“What’s that?”
“It doesn’t have to be me,” Ridley murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, just because Ian isn’t right for you, doesn’t mean I am. I’m not asking you to choose between the two of us.”
It sounded like the words pained him, and they pained me in turn.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Ridley added before I could respond. “You’re going to tell me it’s not a choice.”
“It’s not a choice,” I agreed softly.
“Here’s the thing, Pancake. You wanted me to understand about you and Ian. I tried. You wanted me to listen to you cry while you told me all the terrible things your mother made you feel, not just by what she said, but by how she was. Her bad choices in men. Her bad choices in life. But fuck. Look at what you’re doing.”
I took a step back at the sudden change in his tone. He let me go and ran a hand through his hair violently.
“You’re fulfilling her prophecy by trying so hard to not fulfill it. Ian may not be the worst asshole in the world, but he’s sure as shit still an asshole. Two years from now, or ten years from now, you’re going to wake up and figure out that he is the exact kind of man you’d want to keep away from your daughter if you had one.”
“You don’t know the first thing about it.”
It was a lie. Every word he spoke was the truth. But I just couldn’t deal with it. Ridley met my eyes and for the first time since we met, all I saw was blankness.
“If you can’t see it, Brenna, then I can’t help you.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away at a slow, painful pace.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brenna
“Bren!”
“I’m coming!” I called back, hearing the raw, cried-out tremor in my voice.
I’d spent nearly twenty-four hours locked in my room in a self-pitying huddle. Twenty minutes earlier, my roommate had given me an ultimatum. Eat. Pee. Get out of bed. Or she would force me to do all three in an extremely unpleasant manner.