Revenge Games (Revenge Games Duet Book 1)

by Sky Corgan

  For me, this dinner was more about showing Willow that she's just a friend. That I have other female friends and that I treat them all equally. Perhaps picking Becky for that task wasn't the best idea, but I knew it would get under Willow's skin. I can tell by the way they interact that Willow isn't fond of her.

  “It's still so early. We should go have a few drinks.” Becky drags me towards our vehicles. The way she clings to me every chance she can get makes me uncomfortable.

  “We have work tomorrow,” I remind her.

  “Oh, don't be a fuddy-duddy. One drink won't kill you.”

  It won't, but it could potentially make things more awkward.

  “I'll meet you at 1919 Bar. You can GPS it if you don't know where it is.” She detaches from me to head to her car without giving me the chance to argue.

  As I watch her climb into her convertible, all I can do is shake my head at her.

  I know the bar she's talking about well. It's one of the few in my weekend rotation. I follow her to it and we go in together. To my surprise, she orders a bottle of wine instead of something on their cocktail menu. The way she takes the reins is amusing, not seeming to want to give me a choice in anything tonight. At the very least, this little outing has been entertaining.

  “Why aren't you married?” she jumps straight into a subject that I typically try to avoid with women.

  “Why aren't you?” I throw the question back at her.

  “I'm barely twenty-one,” she giggles before downing her entire glass of wine in a series of large gulps.

  “Whoa. You're drinking a bit fast, aren't you?” I give her a look of concern.

  “You're not drinking fast enough.” She pushes my wine glass towards me. “You also avoided my question.”

  She's sharp, witty and pretty, a dangerous combination.

  “I did avoid your question.” I smirk.

  “Well, you shall avoid it no longer. Out with it.” She gestures.

  I chuckle at her tenacity. “Lonely people get married. I am not lonely.”

  “Pft.” She snorts. “Being lonely isn't the only reason why people get married.”

  “Enlighten me, then.” I lean back in my chair, waiting for her answer.

  “People who like getting laid regularly get married. People who want to combine their income so they can afford nice things get married. There are lots of reasons why people get married.” She pours herself another glass.

  “You're too young to be thinking about these things.” I sip my wine.

  “Ha. Girls think about marriage from the time they're children. It comes naturally to us.”

  “Not so much for boys.” I wrinkle my nose at her.

  “So what do you want?” Becky swirls the wine in her glass.

  “To enjoy life,” I answer simply.

  “Life is made to be enjoyed with other people. Even better with one other person.” She lifts her glass to her lips, casting a glance over it that stirs something deep within me. She's just too damn beautiful.

  “To each his or her own.” I look away, wanting to snuff out what I'm beginning to feel. Drinking around her is a bad idea, I decide before setting down my glass and making a conscious effort not to pick it up again.

  “I'm surprised you're not married already...but I'm glad.”

  I'm not sure where to go with that. It seems like a trick statement. If I ask her why, no doubt she'll give me her answer. This is a conversation I had wanted to avoid.

  “If you were married, we probably wouldn't be able to enjoy drinks together like this,” she continues, and I sigh inwardly, grateful she didn't take the conversation somewhere more uncomfortable.

  “This is true,” I agree.

  We make idle chatter while she polishes off the rest of the wine. Part of me feels like I should keep drinking just so that she doesn't feel obligated to finish the bottle. But I need my resolve at full strength if I'm going to continue to resist her. She hasn't exactly thrown herself at me yet, but I can tell she wants to.

  Becky is pretty smashed by the time we leave the bar. I know I should just order her an Uber, but I can't bring myself to pass her off to a stranger. She's too vulnerable right now, and bad things happen to drunk girls all the time.

  “Let me take you home,” I offer as we walk out of the bar.

  “I thought you'd never ask.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me while she clings to my side.

  We climb into my car and I drive her to her apartment. When we arrive, I expect her to thank me and leave, but she makes no attempt to move.

  “This is it, right?” I dip my head to look up at the four-story building.

  “Yes, this is it.” She nods.

  “Are you alright to walk up on your own?” It's a dangerous question to ask, but it's the only thing I can think of to say to get her moving.

  “I think I love you,” she blurts out without warning.

  “What?” My eyes widen as I take in what she just said.

  “I said I think I love you,” she repeats, sounding annoyed.

  I try to laugh it off. “I think you're drunk.”

  Becky kicks at the floorboard, pouting. “I'm serious. Don't make fun of me.”

  “I'm not making fun of you.” My expression goes deadpan. My God, is she ever drunk.

  “I've liked you for a long time, you know.” She tries to scoot closer to me, though the console is in the way.

  “I didn't know that.” I stare out the front windshield, just wanting this awkward conversation to be over.

  “You're powerful and smart...and sexy.” Her eyes rake up and down my body, and I feel my heartbeat quicken.

  She reaches over to trace the lapel of my jacket with her fingertip. My body stiffens, and I instinctively lean away before grabbing her hand. “I think you need to go sleep this off.”

  “I'd sleep much better with you in my bed,” Becky purrs.

  “That's not going to happen.”

  She pulls away from me, looking hurt, though I only see a glimpse of it before she reverts back to being sexual. “What's wrong? Do you not like what you see?” She runs her hands over her breasts and down her body.

  I swallow hard, feeling a tightness in my pants. “That's not it.”

  “Perhaps you'd like to see more.” Becky begins unbuttoning her shirt.

  I want to tear my eyes away from her, but I just can't. She's so seductive and wanton. It wouldn't take much for me to have her. All I'd have to do is reach for her, and she'd fall right into my arms. I could be inside of her within a matter of minutes if I just took her upstairs to her apartment.

  But it's wrong. It's wrong, and I know it. It goes against all of the rules that I've set to protect my company and my integrity. I'm not going to throw that all away for a quick fuck.

  I watch the pink lace of her bra come into view. My dick is screaming at me to go for it, but my resolve is stronger.

  I suck in a breath before quickly exiting the vehicle and coming around to her side to open the door. I can't even look at her as I point to the asphalt, not even sure about direction anymore. “Get out.”

  “What?” her voice is full of confusion.

  “You're drunk. You need to sleep this off. Go home.”

  I'm startled as hands grip the front of my belt. Becky hangs her head low as she supports herself with my pants. I can feel my pulse in every part of my body, and I know that if she touches me inappropriately, I'm probably going to lose the battle against my arousal.

  She exhales deeply before raising her head finally. There's exhaustion behind her eyes, and something between disappointment and disgust that I just can't place.

  “You're right.” She nods, letting me go and pulling herself from the car. “I need to sleep. Thanks for driving me home, Peter.”

  Becky grabs her purse from the floorboard, and I watch her shuffle dejectedly towards the building. The gentleman in me wants to follow her to make sure she gets to her unit okay. That's bullshit. There's nothing gentlemanly about
me wanting to follow her. The odds of her not making it the rest of the way by herself are slim to none. I know that I secretly want to cast my resolve to the wind. It would be so easy to invite myself in and fuck her bowlegged.

  But then we'd have to see each other at work the next day, and it would all go to shit. Even worse, I'm sure she'd talk about it. She'd tell Willow, and the poor girl would be far more hurt than she was by the fact we went to dinner together.

  I don't want that. Willow doesn't deserve to be hurt just because I decided to be a selfish prick only thinking with my selfish prick.

  Why does that even matter? I think as I return to my side of the car. I climb inside and lock the doors, staring down at my erection straining painfully against my slacks.

  It's not too late to go to a bar and pick up some strange. To bury all of my sexual frustration into a woman who doesn't mean shit to me. That's not what I'm craving, though. I'm starting to crave something that I never thought I'd crave—something that I don't even want to admit to myself.

  Having Willow show up at my place when I was sick with soup and medicine was nice. It's something that I'm not used to. Something that I could easily get used to. She's wholesome and sweet and not like anyone else I've met in a long while.

  I laugh at myself, shaking the thought away. “You must have had too much wine, too. Seems like Becky isn't the only one who has feelings that need to be slept off.”

  18

  Caleb

  It's been a long day at the gym. As soon as I finish walking Max and get back to my apartment, I strip my clothes off on the way to the bathroom. Then I take a nice long hot shower. By the time I step outside and am toweling off my hair, Max is scratching at the balcony door. He likes to go outside and just sit and watch the people and other dogs below at and around the pool.

  “Alright. Alright.” I tell him, scowling at the scratch marks on the door from his claws. I'm definitely going to have to do some repair work if I want any hope of getting my deposit back when I move out.

  As soon as the door is cracked open an inch, Max wiggles his nose in to push it the rest of the way and slip outside, going straight to the balcony railing to peer down over it. I follow him out while toweling my hair, not that there's anything to see. I pretty much only come out here when he does, and I never linger for long.

  There's a slight breeze that's drawing the summer heat away. It would be a good night for a swim if I had any energy left.

  I peer down at the two swimming pools, one for adults and the other for children. The one for adults is Olympic size. The one for children is much smaller, and the tiling inside is a dark blue, making the water look especially inviting.

  There's no one in either pool tonight, but there is someone sitting on one of the loungers. Max stares at the girl as if she's the most interesting thing about the scenery. I can't help but smirk at how intently he's watching her, even though she's not doing anything but sitting slumped over with her head in her hands, her short dark hair cascading over her face.

  Max stomps his feet a few times, making a noise somewhere between a bark and a whine as he glances up at me before looking back down at the girl.

  “What is it, boy?” I smile at him, scratching behind his ear.

  He looks at me again before returning his attention to the girl, and I follow his gaze. The girl tosses her head back, looking up at the moon. And then I realize that it's Willow, and she seems upset.

  My smile falters, and concern takes its place.

  I throw on a shirt and some sweatpants before heading downstairs. Since I just took Max to the bathroom not long ago, I leave him on the balcony. Hopefully, he doesn't start barking because he sees me but can't get to me.

  The pool gate screeches on its hinges, but Willow doesn't even turn until I say her name. Almost as soon as she does, she shies away from me, hiding her face. It's too late, though. I've seen the tear stains. She's been crying, and I'm willing to bet this has something to do with Peter.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask as I approach her.

  She sniffles before wiping her cheek with the back of her arm. “Just reflecting on how everything I've done up to now has been pointless.”

  “What do you mean?” I stop in front of her, and she keeps her head low.

  “Peter doesn't like me.” Her tone sounds almost pouty.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He went out with Becky.” Willow huffs. “They had dinner together.”

  This news surprises me, though I'm not sure why. He did tell Becky that he'd go out with her to talk about business.

  I think about bringing that up, but it's probably best not to let the farce go on any longer. Willow is already hurt. There's no point in her going through this twice when she realizes that Peter really isn't interested in her.

  I sigh. “I wondered how long it would take for you to figure it out.”

  “What do you mean?” She looks up at me finally. “Were Peter and Becky already dating, and I just didn't know about it?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “But I already talked to Peter about you.”

  Anger flashes across her face. “What did you say about me?”

  Guilt assaults me for spilling her secret, but it's too late to take it back now. “I told him that you like him. It just kind of slipped out the other day when we were talking.”

  I expect her to pitch a fit, but instead, her expression softens in surrender to the situation. “So he doesn't like me?”

  I suck in a breath, knowing that my next words might be a little harsh but feeling that I need to say them to make sure that she sticks to abandoning her pursuit of Peter. “To be exact, he says he feels nothing for you.”

  Willow visibly slumps, and I think I feel the weight of my words as much as she does. Seeing her like this hurts me more than it should. I know she tried so hard to be with Peter. To hear something like what I just said, it must be incredibly painful.

  I sit beside her, just wanting to make things better. “He just wasn't the right guy for you,” I tell her softly. “There are far better guys out there, and I'll help you find one. I'll still help you get hitched if that's what you really want.” I bump shoulders with her, trying to lighten the mood.

  She doesn't respond. She doesn't even move or look at me, completely lost in her own little miserable world.

  “Hey.” I try to get her attention. “How about I take you out to dinner? You could use the distraction.”

  Willow hugs herself. “I don't feel like going out.”

  “Alright. Then I'll order a pizza, and we'll watch movies at my place.” I stand, offering her my hand.

  She looks at it for several moments, though I can't tell what she's thinking. No one has ever worn a blanker expression.

  Willow stands without my assistance, brushing past me to head back to our building. For a while, I think she's silently rejecting my offer, but when we go upstairs, she stops in front of my apartment.

  I open the door and let her in before ordering a pizza. Then I sit beside her to flip through the channels. “What do you want to watch?”

  “I don't care.” She stares at the screen as if she's not even seeing what's on it.

  Since I know she doesn't want to put much thought into anything, I flip through the channels until I land on an action movie. Almost as soon as it starts playing, she leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder.

  A deep part of me yearns to comfort her, to brush her hair away from her face and tell her that everything will be okay. I know she doesn't want that right now, though. She just wants to sit and marinate in her own thoughts and feelings. If I'm lucky, the movie will distract her. If not, at least she's not sitting outside alone. At least, she'll know that someone cares. That I care.

  Unable to resist, I put my arm around her, drawing her closer. I expect her to push me away, but she doesn't. Instead, she cuddles against me, getting comfortable.

  It's not long before I realize that I can't
get into the movie either. There's a sick pit in my stomach as I think about everything that's happened. I feel guilt for allowing things to drag on this long, not that I probably could have stopped it. Willow is as stubborn as they come, and she wouldn't have listened to anything I said. She needed to see Peter's disinterest for it to really sink in.

  More than that, though, I feel guilty because I'm enjoying this vulnerable side of her. Having her nestled against my side feels almost right. It reminds me of things that have been missing in my life for a while now—things that I've been avoiding because I didn't think I was ready for them.

  “I'm going to call in tomorrow,” Willow mumbles against my side. “I can't stand to face Peter. I think I might even quit.”

  “You can't quit.” I rub her arm gently. “You just need to take a day to recover and think about things. Call in tomorrow. But don't quit.”

  She grunts, and I can't tell if it's in agreement or if she's just blowing off what I said.

  When the pizza arrives, I'm happy to see that her appetite hasn't dwindled. Willow's a stress-eater if I've ever seen one, consuming half of the pizza on her own. I dare not say anything about it, wanting her to do whatever she needs to do to get over this.

  All the while, I think about how to help, going over the list of guys I know who are single. A rebound would probably do her some good. Willow needs to feel like she's desirable. But most importantly, she needs someone in her life who will make her completely forget about Peter.

  I don't see Willow again for several days. It seems like she only comes out of her apartment to go to work. She's shut herself off from the rest of the world.

  I go to check on her once, but it's obvious she doesn't want to be bothered. She looks like the walking dead with bags under her eyes, a pale complexion, and a seemingly permanent frown on her face. She tells me that she's fine and then practically shuts the door in my face.

  Seeing her like this is killing me, and though I keep reminding myself that it's not my fault that this happened, I can't help but feel responsible in some way. I also can't help but be pissed off at Peter for being so heartless. I told him that Willow liked him, and he used that information to purposely hurt her. Or maybe it wasn't on purpose. Maybe he's just so jaded by girls liking him that he doesn't even think about their feelings anymore. Whatever the case, it was a dick move.