Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three)

by Shewanda Pugh

  Edy stood there and drank, buoyed by her own despondency, accepting one cup after another as she sank deep into her own intoxicated abyss. Tamela brought her a beer with a mutter of encouragement. It was too late now for her to be feeling guilt over the delivery of the day’s earlier news. So what if she’d screamed or whispered about Mala, anyway? It all packed the same gut-wrenching punch.

  There was another cup of beer, then another—passed by one or more faceless teammates as Edy spent her time tripping over her own thoughts. Across the room, Hassan drained beer after beer likewise, then something that couldn’t possibly have been beer at all. Their gazes met and it was her who snapped away, unwilling to glimpse even a moment of those conquering green eyes. She couldn’t stand him was what she told herself. Everything was over; that’s what she had to believe. Then Edy wondered at all why she hadn’t believed that already. Suddenly, she was making for the keg herself.

  ***

  Hassan leaned against the wall, something dark and strong in his cup, lids heavy, eyes on the dance floor. In the thick of it he saw his girl, rocking and pitching with the music. And then he remembered: she wasn’t his anymore. Those had been his dumbass words. Maybe they could forget them?

  He tossed back the last of his drink, moved towards her, then behind her, and slid a hand around her waist.

  Fuck. That last drink was… something. Hassan carded a hand through his hair and crushed his cup, surprised when a splash of the dark drink hit his shirt.

  Whatever.

  Pop music tonight. Muted in and out… Edy wasn’t dancing though. Maybe he’d make her dance.

  He took a few steps for her and collided with every damned body in the way. Why were there so many people? One guy he hit so hard he had to grab him on his bounce to the floor. Alcohol had only slowed Hassan’s reflexes some. He was still able to make the rescue. Sort of.

  She wouldn’t look in his direction. Why?

  Oh, this was a good song. Out of one corner of his eye, Hassan spotted his teammates all clustered and hopping as if getting hyped for a game. When an arm shot out to pull him into the fray, he slapped it away, lids lowered and on his goal. Edy.

  Edy.

  She really should have been dancing. She could curl a man’s soul in on himself with the way she moved. Maybe she needed encouragement.

  Hassan went right by her and snorted when she averted her eyes. Like they hadn’t been looking at each other for a lifetime.

  Wait. Did that make sense?

  He was able to squeeze in behind her and start swaying to the music. When she turned on him, fast, he slid an arm around her waist, determined to keep it there until the day he died.

  Edy’s faced wrenched into a horrible expression before it cracked into a peal of giggles.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. But she was laughing and he swore he could get drunk on it. Drunker.

  “Dancing.” He pressed into her. “C’mon. Keep up.”

  He threaded his fingers through hers and forced her arms around his. That felt good. So good that he forgot about moving for a second and pressed into her.

  “You’re sooooo…” Edy paused, speech lazy, lids heavy. For a second, they closed as if she’d drifted off to sleep. “Drunk,” she said.

  Hassan grinned. “Guilty.”

  He ran his hands over her hips, down, up, over her back, swaying like he could seduce her with the grinding of his hips. But everyone else was moving too fast. Or too slow. He couldn’t remember which.

  Just then a tray of Jägerbombs sailed by. Hassan grabbed two, threw one back and offered the other to Edy. When she shyly admitted she’d never had one, he snorted in disbelief, having forgotten that his first taste had been only an hour and a half ago.

  He guided her over to the wall, where she willingly tilted her head back and offered an open mouth to him.

  Fuck. Just… fuck.

  He brought the cup to her mouth, tilting its contents down her throat. His fingers brushed wet lips and lingered, and when he pulled away, she licked at him teasingly and smiled. Then he drank his own, set their emptied cups on a littered end table and missed.

  Somehow, his fingers found those pouty wet lips of hers. When she licked his fingertips, Hassan grunted.

  “Don't,” he whispered and moved in a little closer. “Not unless…” His hand dropped to drag over that oh-so-tight abdomen. She trembled. Shit.

  He couldn’t look away from her lips, moist from dark liquor.

  “Cake,” Hassan said and gripped her by the button of her jeans. He used the leverage to pull her flush against him so his lips could travel the length of her throat. She quivered and he quivered and when he nipped, then tugged, at the lobe of her ear, she whimpered like a wounded kitten and squirmed.

  “Don’t tease me,” she gasped. “I—oh.”

  He moved to her mouth and it fell open for him, leaving him plummeting, drowning. “I love you, Cake. I want you.”

  She mewled against his mouth. Closed her eyes. Slipped an arm around his shoulders.

  That was good enough for him.

  Hassan grabbed her wrist, weaved them through the crowd, and stumbled towards a room upstairs. Halfway there, he glanced back idiotically, as if to make sure Edy was still with him and the swerve of the movement had him pawing for the bannister.

  Edy bleated in laughter. He tugged her along.

  They ducked into a room partway down the hall and Hassan had the presence of mind to lock the door. The second after, he went for her, capturing her face in both hands and crushing her mouth under his. He was suddenly all out of time and backing her to the bed. They were hands and tongue and pressing bodies, with him clamoring on top of her and her pulling him in tight. Dressed, they moved as one, compact, desperate, trembling in need. He shoved up her shirt and grinned when he saw the front snap bra, before her hand buried in his hair and pulled his face down hard to hers. Hassan gripped and kneaded, then pulled at her jeans, pausing long enough to fumble out of his.

  He couldn’t move fast enough to get back to her. With his help, she got rid of her jeans and panties in one go. Then he clamored up, grabbing her leg as he went, and thrust in harder than he ever had. They both cried out in a tortured sort of pleasure. He drove in again, fiercer still, and she gripped him to her with a shuddering cry. There was no way he could last like this, but he was so greedy for her, so desperate, that he couldn’t hope to stand it.

  He pounded her into the mattress with relentlessly thrusting, savage strokes, half-crazy from her stuttering his name, moaning and shouting, mixing it all with mindless ‘pleases’ that he kissed, open-mouthed, away.

  There was no one else but this girl for him. There was nothing else but this moment. Sweat pricked his brow and he picked up even more speed, brutal, slapping, grunting with need. And her, her thrusting up and into him, taking him, accepting him.

  He was losing it. He was losing his fucking mind, his soul to this girl. Distantly, he heard the drudging breaths he took and the wild pound of his heart between his ears. He drew back, flipped her over, pulled her up by the waist.

  He drove into her, punishing, grinding, slamming until she jabbered, until she shook and took up the begging. He gripped her hips possessively, pressed kisses to her back, and drove into her with harsh, punctuating thrusts. She was his. She was his, she swore. And he, he said something that made no damned sense.

  Edy bucked beneath him, signaling her finish, and jerked hard enough to trigger one in him.

  He shot on a cry of pleasure and gripped her tight, certain he wasn’t ready to let go.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The curtains came into view first: lilac monstrosities slightly parted to let in a gruesome beam of sunlight. Edy squinted at it, briefly wondering when Naomi had picked up such ugly window dressing. Then the sunlight assaulted her skull and she threw up a hand and groaned.

  Behind her, a body shifted in bed. For one brief, horrible moment, Edy froze, un
sure of who she’d find. Silas? No, she wouldn’t. Not even drunk at a party. She wasn’t ready for that. Not now. Maybe not ever. But did her drunk mind know that?

  She turned, hesitant, unwilling to see, and exhaled audibly at the sight of Hassan. She could deal with this. She could deal with having slept with him, though it complicated things considerably. He stared back at her, studying critically, thoughts creasing his face. When his features twisted belatedly into a grimace, Edy recoiled.

  “What?” she whispered, not sure she wanted to know.

  “You,” he spat. “You’ve slept with him, didn’t you? You fucking slept with him!” He practically tumbled from the bed in his rush to get up.

  He could not be serious right now. Not when he was spending weekends with Mala. Not when it was him that dumped her.

  “You think you get a right to question what I have or haven’t done?” Edy said. “You broke up with me, Hassan. We’re done, remember?”

  For some reason, it was this declaration that flared his nostrils and had him baring his teeth like some brazen bull.

  “Done, huh?” Hassan said. “Yeah, well, we looked pretty done last night, didn’t we? Can we be done again in a few minutes?”

  “Fuck you, Hassan!” Edy’s cheeks heated with the memory of how desperately their bodies had met only hours ago. “I’m not yours and you’re not mine, and it was you that made sure of that.”

  “Yeah, because I can’t trust you and clearly your new friend can’t trust you either!” Hassan roared.

  She could kill him. She would kill him. For him to throw everything back in her face like that?

  Edy didn’t know how or when she made it across the room, only that she was thrashing him with an open hand that he swept away. It freed her other hand though, and distracted him, which she used to ball into a fist and pop him in the cheek.

  Hassan cursed. “Ow! Will you fucking stop?”

  He fumbled with her arms before grabbing her firmly by the wrists and forcing them down by her side. Edy huffed and struggled in vain. He pushed her back and the two fell atop the bed.

  She was distinctly aware of their nakedness now and reminded of the night before.

  “Get off me,” Edy hissed. “You don’t get to screw me then say I’m a slut afterwards.”

  “And you don’t get to beat the shit out of me!” he said.

  They stared at each other for one defiant moment, neither willing to bend to the other’s will. Then Edy shifted and his manhood slipped from its resting place against her thigh to the spot between them. He responded by hardening immediately.

  “Edy…” Hassan said.

  “Get the hell off me,” Edy said.

  He pulled back, coloring visibly, and clamored away.

  “There is nothing you can say to me,” Edy said, “when you had a fiancée the entire time we dated. When you started seeing her yourself the second you got away from me. Maybe you’ve been seeing her the whole time. Maybe I was just too stupid to know.”

  A knock sounded at the door, rescuing him from whatever nonsense response he could come up with. Simultaneously, they glanced at it. Edy rushed for her clothes. He went to block the door.

  “What is it?” Hassan said into the crack.

  “Party’s over,” sang a girl sweetly. “Time to go.”

  He nodded as if she could see him. “Yeah, sure. Already getting dressed.”

  He looked down at the lock and jiggled the knob to be sure it was secure. Edy, now in her bra and panties, went for the rest of her party ensemble.

  Hassan turned back to her. “Edy, listen to me. Me and Mala are through. I’m not—”

  “You’re through, you bastard? I just saw her at the game! And you have the nerve to talk about me. Everyone talks at this school, you know. They’ve told me about how she comes to see you every weekend. About you and your friends hanging out with her and her friends. Sounds very cozy. Sounds like something special is happening.”

  His silence poured on. Eventually, another knock sounded at the door. Still, he didn’t move. In his eyes was the conversation Edy didn’t want to have: one full of hurts and accusations and way too much emotion. There was too much between them and never enough time. They could never get the words right and they were addicted to hurting each other now.

  “Edy, you can’t think—”

  “Don’t tell me what I can’t think when you just accused me of sleeping with Silas!”

  At the mere mention of the other boy’s name, raw fury stiffened his features, deadening then dulling his eyes to the coldest shade of moss. The bedroom door rattled as if it might lose every last hinge, but Hassan didn’t so much as glance in its direction.

  “Well?” he said. “Have you?”

  Edy clamped down on her next thought. She made up her mind not to give a damn about him and Mala. Like she’d told him, they were done. He wasn’t hers and she wasn’t his. They were free to do or be with who they liked.

  She ignored the awful tug at her heart.

  “Tell you what,” she said, and pulled her fitted tee down over her bra. When the tears came, she ignored them. “Why don’t we agree to never do or go through all this again? Why don’t we agree that you and I are a nightmare and can’t even be in the same room together?”

  Hassan got dressed slowly and made a point of not looking at her now. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

  She was done here. Done with him. Done with hope. “Have a nice life, Hassan. Since I won’t get a chance to tell you later, congratulations on the Heisman.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  By the time Hassan returned to his room, his face had begun to throb. The tightness there told him it was swelling, the tenderness that it was bruised. Edy had given him a damned contusion.

  At least the floor of his dorm was quiet when he returned. With any luck, he could slip into bed without encountering anyone and bury his woes in a few hours of sleep.

  Things had gone bad. Achingly, devastatingly bad. For the whole of his life, he’d had Edy by his side and, because of that, some part of him knew she’d always be there. They’d belonged to each other, right from the start. Two tots stumbling along the beach. Him and her hand-in-hand as kids, gliding along the ice at Frog Pond. Never had he imagined that this part of him would cease to exist, that the them part of his world wouldn’t be populated with new sights, sounds, whims, with the fullness of Edy. Now he had nothing. Bitter emptiness—no, less than emptiness, he had a hollow caving in his soul that beckoned to be filled. It didn’t get better with time like he’d stupidly hoped. No, it whispered day after day in a pain-filled pulse: they were through, they were through, they were through. Some days it was his only thought. And now, now she’d punched him in the face, damnit.

  The door to his room squeaked when it opened and Lawrence’s head snapped up. The flinch was immediate. Hassan chose to ignore it as he made his way to his side of the room and his bed, where he would bury his face from the world.

  “Things went that well, huh?” Lawrence said.

  Hassan didn’t bother to kick off his sneakers before he flopped, face down on the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “I saw you go up,” Lawrence said so quietly Hassan had to strain to hear it. “With Edy.”

  Oh.

  “And since you’re just getting back…”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” Hassan said into the pillow.

  The worst part of ruining it all with Edy was the knowledge that he had pushed her into the arms of the dancer guy, or Wyatt, or someone. Someone who would comfort her and verify that Hassan was an asshole unworthy of her tears. He’d be willing to be there for her. He’d hold her for as long as it took. Then he’d kiss her.

  Hassan looked down to find his hand balled so tight his fingernails drew blood. Great. At the rate he was going, he’d have more injuries than after game day.

  He sighed.

  “Well,” Lawrence said. “Whatever happened, I’m s
ure your mouth got you that mark on your face.”

  He did not need this right now.

  “Thanks,” Hassan murmured into the pillow. “Glad to know whose side you’re on.”

  Lawrence snorted. “Don’t be dramatic. I don’t have a side.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Hassan swore. If it was one of his goddamned teammates stopping by this early in the morning, they’d better have a good reason.

  “There’s something I should tell you,” Lawrence said quickly. “Before they get in.”

  Hassan looked at him, saw Lawrence flinch, then remembered that his own face looked like shit. “What is it?” Hassan said into the bed.

  “It’s about the Heisman,” Lawrence said.

  “I don’t give a shit about the Heisman,” Hassan said. “You guys can get all worked up if you want to, but I know the history of the award and my chances are next to nil of getting the prize.”

  “Fine,” Lawrence said. “Then I’ll get the door.”

  Less than a minute later, the sound of Freight had Hassan wishing he’d gone elsewhere.

  “Hassan back?” Freight said.

  “No,” Hassan answered.

  “We saw you go up with her,” Freight said. “Are you back together?”

  There was shuffling, letting Hassan know that Freight wasn’t alone.

  “I’m telling you, pageant queen just went to get some ass. I don’t think the other girl puts out,” Cash said.

  Hassan couldn’t take it. He was up and shouting at them in an instant. “Would you two shut the fuck—”

  “Shit!” the two cried together. Then, “Who beat your ass?” That was Freight.

  “It wasn’t that pretty boy on the motorcycle, was it? If you let that ballerina kick your ass…” Cash said.

  “Nobody kicked my ass,” Hassan said. “I just… had an accident with some weights.”

  Now they were rolling. Freight and Cash fell all over each other, wild with their laughter.