by Wynne Roman
“Sweetness. Baby.” I shouldn’t be saying that kind of shit, but I can’t help myself.
“Listen, Noah, I’m really not up to—”
“Paige!”
Drake comes charging out of the club, shouting, looking from side to side. Not sure she realizes what she’s doing, but she presses herself against me, shoulder to hip. My body responds with a coiled tightness that should surprise me but somehow doesn’t.
Whatever, I’m taking advantage of it.
I tighten my arms around her, my hands at her lower back, and hold her close and secure. I shoot a furious glare at Drake.
“Not now, Drake,” Paige answers finally. She turns only enough to look at him over her shoulder. Her voice comes out stronger than I would have expected, and I swallow a smile. Good for her.
He glares at her, and then at me. “What the fuck are you doing out here with Noah Dexter?”
My arms tighten a fraction; too much more and I’ll crush her. But . . . goddammit. This asshole lost his right to question her the second he stuck his dick into Marlie Davis’s cunt.
“Don’t even, you asshole,” Paige snaps, making me proud of her again. She might be pissed, heartbroken, whatever, but she’s not letting him know it. Not with her words, and not with the way she stands so comfortably in my arms.
“You’ve been fucking Marlie Davis for months,” she adds when Drake doesn’t say anything. “Now you want to be pissed because I ran into Noah and brought him over to say hi?”
“Looks like more than a fucking hi from where I stand.”
I feel something, maybe a rage-fueled tension, race up Paige’s spine, and she turns in my arms. Doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move out of my embrace, just moves until her back is against my chest, her butt tucked tightly against my growing erection.
Fuuuuck.
“He’s being a friend. Comforting me. He isn’t pretending I’m his girlfriend, then calling me his ‘weekend fuck’ to his friends. All the while sticking his dick in the one girl he knows would hurt me the most.”
She pauses, wiggles her ass a little, and I swallow a groan. Then she adds, “Oh, right. That would be you.”
His gaze flickers from Paige to me to the sidewalk and back again. “It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think? Now that’s hilarious,” she snaps. “What I think is that you’re fucking her. When you’re not fucking me, of course.”
“Paige. Goddammit.”
“What?” All that tension has got to be giving her a headache, but I leave her to whatever shit she needs to say. She deserves it.
My gut tightens, kinda rolls, actually. Whatever shit she needs to say.
I bet there was a fuck-ton of that when we broke up in high school. She never said any of it. Not to me, anyway. Maybe she didn’t know how five years ago, or maybe I didn’t give her the chance. Whatever happened back then, she probably swallowed a lot of shit.
That means she’s entitled to her chance to say it now. And I need to hear it.
“C’mere, baby.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s go somewhere private and talk about this.”
She backs against me, not that it’s possible for her to get any closer. It isn’t, but I don’t mind. I tighten my embrace, just so she knows I’ve got her . . . and maybe so dickhead Drake might notice how securely my arms are wrapped around her waist. Clasped low on her belly. Just above her pussy.
“Uh, no.” She shakes her head, and her ponytail brushes across my chest. I wish suddenly I didn’t have a shirt on. “In fact, fuck no, Drake. Fuck. No.”
“Jesus, Paige.” His gaze flashes with renewed irritation, and he drops his hand. “Don’t get all dramatic on me.”
“Dramatic?” she repeats.
“Dude.” I can’t help it. “You’re just making it worse.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dexter,” Drake growls and gives me a shitty look. “This isn’t your business.”
I lift a shoulder. “Not so sure about that. Friend of mine gets humiliated by her douchebag boyfriend, I make it my business.”
His laugh is ugly. “And who humiliated her first?”
Fuck. It’s true, and we all know it. I wanna punch that fucker in the face, break his nose, and knock out a couple of teeth so he can’t spew any more of his ugly reminders. Especially because they’re so goddamn right.
I don’t, but only because I feel a shudder run through Paige’s body. Shit! I tighten my arms around her and hope she takes it as reassurance.
I can’t let it go completely, though.
“Yeah, well, that was years ago, asshole.” I bite the words off. “And let’s just say . . . I grew up. I learned some things since then. Looks like you got your own shit to clean up right now. You might wanna think about that.”
“This isn’t about Noah, Drake.” Paige’s tight voice comes out strong. Firm. Uncompromising.
Impressive.
“Oh, no?”
His voice is a sneer, and I can tell he’d like to make it about me. Or anyone—anything—else besides his screw up. Easiest way would be to turn her attention back to high school and the ways I fucked up instead of what he’s got going on.
Jesus, does he know Paige at all?
“No,” she snaps. “It’s about you and your . . .” She shakes her head. “No. You know what? I don’t even want to go there. Bottom line is you cheated. You lied. Nothing else to say.”
“C’mon, babe. It didn’t mean anything. You know that. It was just sex. You know?”
“Just sex,” she repeats.
“Yeah, you know,” he says again, sounding a little anxious. “I was alone a lot.”
“You were alone a lot.”
She repeats that, too. Slow. Like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. I sure as hell can’t. Is he stupid enough to thinks she’s buying it?
“Yeah. You know.” Does this dude really have the balls to smile? “You were busy at work a lot. I ran into Marlie one night and . . .” He shrugs. “Shit happened.”
“Shit happened.”
Fuck. I know a few things about women—had enough of ‘em in my lifetime—and one thing I learned early on is when they repeat everything you say, you’re in trouble. Big fucking trouble. Like bend-over-and-cover-your-balls trouble.
“C’mon, Paige. Don’t make such a big fucking deal about this.”
“A big deal? A big deal? It is a big deal, Drake. It’s a big fucking deal to me.”
The door swings open with Paige’s words, and Marlie steps out onto the sidewalk. Paige notices; I can feel her muscles tighten with renewed tension. Drake doesn’t seem aware of anything but himself. At least that’s how his words make it sound.
“I don’t know why you say that, babe. I mean, I know you have a hard-on against Marlie, that you think she fucked you over. And maybe she did, I don’t know. But, Jesus. She’s just a piece of ass! She gives great head, you know? She’ll suck you off in a heartbeat.” He snaps his fingers.
A gasp comes from Marlie, but either Drake doesn’t hear it or thinks Paige made the sound. If he knew, he wouldn’t keep talking.
“You know what I mean, Dexter,” he says to me. “She said she went down on you at one of my parties in high school. Back when you were fucking both her and Paige. So what’s the big deal?”
“Just a piece of ass?”
Marlie’s screech tears into the conversation, and I swallow a grin. Drake looks surprised—and pissed.
“What the fuck, Marlie?” he demands.
“Just a piece of ass,” she repeats. “I’m just a piece of ass? You say that about me, after the shit you told me about Miss Perfect over there? Let’s see, what was it?”
“Marlie.” His voice is a warning nobody can miss.
“I remember now!” She points to her head a couple of times and then snaps her fingers. “Paraphrasing, but the gist was, ‘She’s a worthless lay who can’t suck dick for shit and just lays there when I fuck her.’”
It feels like the air around
us goes still, and there isn’t a sound to be heard. Not sure I can see straight, either, because red fucking anger clouds my vision.
I am going to kill that motherfucker. What I did was bad enough. It’s one of my biggest regrets in life. But for Drake to say shit like that? About his girlfriend? And to spout off to Marlie? She pulled all kinds of bad shit against Paige in high school—not all of it having to do with that stupid fucking threesome.
Rage pours through me. Maybe at me, maybe at him. Definitely at Marlie. Doesn’t matter. Drake’s the one who’s going to pay tonight. He’s the one—
The sharp sting of Paige’s fingernails digging into the backs of my hands cuts off my rolling anger. Don’t know when she brought her hands up to clench mine, but she’s gripping me like I’m all that’s keeping her on her feet. A tremor shudders through her, and I know it’s true.
I realize then that Drake is shouting.
“Shut the fuck up, Marlie!” He takes a step toward her. “I never said that, and you’re a liar. A fucking cunt. Cum whore.”
“You asshole!” Marlie screeches, but I miss the rest of the spewing garbage when Paige turns in my arms.
The pain in her eyes slays me, and I’m too stunned to react at first when she pulls away. Skirts around me. Stalks a couple of steps away but then stops and turns back.
“Fuck you, Drake,” she says very distinctly. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t contact me in any way. I never want to see you again.”
Her words get me moving. I stride up to her, wrap one arm around her shoulders, and guide her away from the disaster behind us.
“C’mon, sweetness. I’ve got you now.”
Surprised when she leans into me, I tighten my hold. I’ll do anything to protect this girl tonight.
I give her a little squeeze. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Three
Paige
What the hell am I doing?
I’ve been staring out the side window for . . . I don’t know, five minutes. Ten? Maybe longer. Enough to notice the silence, feel it press down on me. I turn to watch the man next to me. He guides his Range Rover through traffic, calm and relaxed, and so I ask the easiest question I have.
“Where are we going?”
Noah spares me a quick side-eye glance. “Where do you want to go?”
I think for a minute. Shrug. Shake my head. “I don’t care.”
“Okay.”
That’s enough for now. I turn back to look out the window, and he keeps driving. My mind’s blessedly blank. It’s not really my doing; I just can’t seem to think. Like, literally no thoughts settle down enough for me to make sense of them. To be honest, I kind of like it that way.
We go with traffic through a green light, another, and the ride begins to soothe me. I lean back against the headrest, close my eyes, and give myself over to the smooth motion of the vehicle. I take a breath—and my cell phone rings.
I open one eye but don’t move. I don’t need to. It’s Drake’s ringtone. I ignore it.
The ringing finally stops, starts again, and I ignore it this time, too. When it rings a third time, Noah flips his palm in my direction.
“What?”
“Your phone.”
“Why?”
“I’m assuming that’s Drake. The choice is either I answer it, or you turn it off.”
I shrug. What do I care? I pull my phone from my purse and turn it off. I don’t know why, but after that, I hand it over to him.
Noah looks from the phone to me, then twists his hips so he can shove it in his pocket. I stare, wanting him to move that way again. Because I like the movement. I like the reminder that he’s a man. I like—
Fuck it. I don’t like anything.
“Jungle Boogie?” Noah asks, and I’m glad for the distraction.
“What?”
“Your ringtone. Jungle Boogie by Kool and the Gang.”
“You know it?”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “It’s my job to know that kind of shit. Plus . . .” He settles a steady gaze on me. “My grandparents are sixties and seventies music enthusiasts. Remember?”
“Oh, right.” I blink. “I forgot.”
“So, you into funk now?”
I shake my head. “Drake.” I say his name like it’s synonymous with Satan. Right now, it is.
“He wanted it to be his ringtone,” I add a second later. “From Pulp Fiction. He loves that movie.”
Noah nods but doesn’t say anything. It’s kind of a relief, and so I look out the windshield at the traffic around us. I have a general idea where we are, somewhere around downtown Austin near the Colorado River, but that’s as close as I can come. It doesn’t matter, and I don’t care enough to figure it out.
We slow, make a turn, and eventually make another. A few minutes later, and we’re pulling up a ramp and into a parking garage.
“Where are we?”
“My condo.”
“Your place?”
He shrugs. “You didn’t know where you wanted to go. I didn’t have anywhere in mind. Figured this is as good as any.”
He’s probably right. What do I care?
I look around me. It’s a high rise condo, secure building, and definitely not cheap. Then again, I’m pretty sure Noah can afford it these days.
He parks and circles to my side of the Range Rover before I can do anything more than open the door. He helps me down, leads me to the elevator, and punches the button for the twenty-third floor.
I stand still, suddenly realizing that I’m alone with this man. As alone as we’ve been in years. I knew it all along but didn’t really process the reality of it until now.
Here with Noah. Again. After all this time. I’m not afraid of him or anything, but it feels really strange.
“Have you lived here long?” I ask, because I can’t think of anything else.
“No. Just moved in a couple weeks ago.”
“Oh. Uh . . . do you like it?”
He shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s a sublet for a few months. Got some things to figure out before I decide where I want to live permanently.”
“Oh.”
Does he mean deciding where he wants to live in Austin? Or maybe somewhere else, like L.A. or . . . I don’t know. Nashville? No, that’s country music, isn’t it?
Where do successful rock stars live these days? Austin’s known for being cutting edge on the music scene, so maybe he will stay here. And what’s with all these stupid questions?
I’d laugh at myself if I didn’t understand what I was doing. Thinking of something—anything—besides seeing Drake stick his tongue down Marlie’s throat, of hearing him call me his weekend fuck, of hearing her scream, “You and I are fucking, and we have been for months.”
Goddammit! Again? Another cheater?
What the hell is wrong with me? There must be something, because Drake has just proved himself to be just another guy who thinks it’s okay to make a fool of me and my stupid dream of finding a man I can trust.
Clearly that’s never going to happen. So, what hurts worse? That, or knowing that—again—Marlie had her hand in ruining another relationship?
You can’t blame it all on her!
I hate that voice of my conscience. Stubbornly, I don’t want to give her an out, but there’s that one stupid part of me that insists I have to be fair. It’s in my DNA or something.
The truth is, she might be right there, mouth open and legs spread, but nobody forced Drake or Noah or anybody else to give her their dick. They made a choice, too, and they have to own that.
Angry, frustrated, and hurt, I glance over at Noah standing next to me. He’s nine or ten inches taller than I am, and he makes me feel tiny. Almost insignificant. Pretty sure I don’t like that.
God, what am I doing here with him?
The elevator dings, the doors swipe open, and Noah holds out his hand. “This way.”
I hesitate, but only for a second or two. I can’t just stand there in the e
levator, thinking and feeling sorry for myself. I know I have to move.
I won’t take his hand, but I step out. He follows, and then his hand is at the small of my back. He leads me about halfway down the hall and opens a door to a spacious open-concept apartment decorated in shades of gray and navy blue. Temporary or not, it suits him.
“Sit down. Let me get you something to drink.”
“Like what?”
“I got beer, tequila, brand new bottle of Crown Royal. No wine or anything like that. Sorry.”
Not much of a choice, but . . . whiskey. I think about it for a second. Maybe that’s what I need to get me through this crap.
“Crown. Neat.”
He smiles like he expected me to say that and gestures around the room. “Sit. I’ll bring it to you.”
“A lot of it.”
I hear his chuckle behind me as I wander to the other side of the room. There’s a wall of windows, and streetlights shining in the evening darkness reflect off the skyline of downtown Austin. I see it, maybe even appreciate it on some level, but it doesn’t move me. It simply provides a backdrop for me to stare and think of nothing.
“Here you go, sweetness.”
He’s behind me, close enough for that wholly masculine, almost nutty scent to waft through me. I want to take a deep breath, draw it all the way in, and maybe even turn around so I can press my nose against his chest, his neck. Breathe him all the way to my soul. Maybe that will make me feel better.
I don’t do it, of course. Instead, I turn, take the glass from him—careful not to touch him skin-to-skin—and then slip around his big body to take a seat on one side of the L-shaped sofa. He follows, sits at an angle with his knees almost touching mine. His legs look especially long and muscular in those tight jeans, and the way they cup his package—
Oh, no you don’t! Do not look, I tell myself and squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, I look anywhere but at him.
I’m not still attracted to him. Especially after tonight’s fiasco. He has such a masculine presence, though. How can any woman be around him and not think about being with him?
About having sex with him.