The hurt barrels through me. Grabs hold and doesn’t let go.
And I don’t allow myself to get hurt. Ever. I lived a lifetime of fucking pain caused by the one that was supposed to care about me the most. I know better now. Know that the minute someone gets too close, I push them away. The minute I feel like I’m going to be hurt, I lash out without regret.
… and I let Rylee in close enough to hurt me …
She senses me, looks up, and our eyes lock. I see defiance, finality, and fuck if I’m going to let that bastard sitting beside her reinforce it being there. She told me she was going to find a guy for the night to see if it helps with her pain. Apparently she was serious.
But this isn’t like her—acting like me, throwing the confession I gave her about how I cope back in my face—so it kills me to see her do this to spite me. To hurt me on purpose.
Bar-boy leans in closer, his mouth near her ear, and she breaks her eyes from mine. And now that ache turns into motherfucking pain.
Defense mechanism locked and loaded. She’s not going to believe me? Going to pull shit like this? I need to get back to every man for his fucking self … well, after I take care of this I’ll get right on that.
I’m ready to lash out and thank God the fucker sitting beside her is the perfect size for a punching bag because my fists are clenched and vision is red.
No one touches what’s mine.
Even when she tells me she’s not.
No one.
Things happen so fast. A shout sounds and I don’t even realize it’s mine until Becks is pushing my chest from the front and Sammy holds my shoulders from behind. It doesn’t fucking matter who’s on me because right now I want blood. I need an excuse to release my anger, at her for not believing me, at me for the stunt I pulled, and because I want to touch her so fucking badly it’s not even funny.
And he’s touching her instead.
“Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to shrug them the fuck off of me. And I don’t care how hard they hold me back because nothing is stopping me. I break free, Becks says something about priorities to which I think I only have one right now and that’s getting this fucking guy away from her.
The crowd is smart and moves apart as I stalk toward her, mind focused, heart armoring up. She says something to the guy and stands as I near. Her eyes meet mine and they make me so fucking angry and so goddamn whipped that I push it away and focus on him.
If I was smart I’d haul her over my shoulder, take her upstairs and show her just exactly how I haven’t cheated. But fuck smart and fuck being reasonable because she’s being neither of those right now either.
Two wrongs don’t make a right but hell if it doesn’t feel good in the process.
I stop in front of her, lips so fucking close I can taste them, and she lifts that chin of hers up in a non-verbal fuck you. That defiance I find so goddamn sexy is in full effect but right now I’m also scared shitless because the hurt I see mixed with it is my doing … and my undoing.
What the fuck am I doing?
My head is such a clusterfuck of emotions and thoughts. The biggest one is hurt her first. Deliver the first blow. And I know it’s not right, know it’s the worst kind of way to be, but my chest hurts so goddamn bad I can’t think straight.
“What the fuck are you trying to pull, Rylee?” I ask. I know the answer, payback’s a bitch, but I don’t care because bar-boy shifts behind her and his eyes lock and then glance away from mine.
Good. At least he knows who’s calling the shots here. Too bad Rylee doesn’t.
And then she reaches back and pats his knee. I have flashbacks of the Merit launch party and Surfer Joe, the déjà vu almost comical.
Almost.
Because then she was just an addictive challenge I had to conquer and now … now she’s part of my fucking world. I’m a man with something to lose and that’s not a good place to be.
“What business is it of yours?” she sneers as my eyes keep flickering back and forth to her hand on his knee.
And I can’t help it, need to take it off of him, so I reach out to grab her arm and she yanks it away from me. I know why she did it, but the look she gives me mixed with the action flashes me back to my other hurt. When I fought away from any touch at all because of what would come next. The calling to my superheroes.
I’m staggered.
And fucking furious.
At her for fighting me and at me for making her feel that way. It takes a moment to pull me from the thought, to separate the two events that just melded when one has nothing to do with the other and fucked up my head even further.
I look in her eyes—see the hurt, the defiance, the sadness—and use what I see there to gain my bearings again.
“I don’t like games, Rylee. I won’t tell you that again.”
“You don’t like games?” she says, her tone laced with disgust. “But it’s okay for you to play them?”
Fuck yes I played them, but that’s not the point. The point is right here, right now. At the Merit party she gave me the choice: go or stay. Now it’s my turn to ask.
“Why don’t you tell your little boy toy he can run along now before things get even more interesting.”
Watcha gonna do, Ryles?
Pick me.
Go with me.
Fix this shitstorm I started and get us back.
She shoves against me as hard as she can. “You. Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac!” spewing from her lips as she falls into me.
And every part of me stands at attention at the feel of her against me, wanting and needing but knowing I can’t have, because she sure as fuck didn’t give me the answer I wanted.
“What the fuck are you trying to prove?” I ask, wanting her to say she wants me, wants to fix this, believe I didn’t cheat on her.
But she doesn’t. Not even fucking close.
“I’m just testing your theory,” she says with a smirk.
“My theory?” What the fuck is she talking about?
“Yeah, if losing yourself in someone helps get rid of the pain.”
Ah fuck. In a single second I rein in everything that tumbles inside of me at the thought of her being with someone else, everything but my anger. I sure as shit hold onto that.
“How’s that working for you?” It’s all I can think to say because her rejection stings something fierce.
“Not sure.” She shrugs with a smirk. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”
And I’m so focused on that look on her face when she pushes away from me that I don’t even notice the fucker’s hand in hers.
When I see it, anger turns to motherfucking fury. “Don’t you walk away from me, Rylee!”
“You lost the right to tell me what to do the minute you slept with her.” She says, her voice breaking through the haze of my colliding emotions. “Besides, you said you like my ass … enjoy the view as I walk away because that’s the last you’ll be seeing of it.”
I snap. No excuses, no regrets. My fist is clenched, fury ready to unleash on bar-boy.
But none of it fucking matters because I feel the steel grip of Sammy on my arm before I get my chance. And then the melee ensues.
Rylee is screaming at me, insults and names. Sticks and stones, baby. Sticks and stones.
You got to me.
You beat me at my own game.
At least it’s Becks leading her away from me and not the fucking bar-boy. I’ll take any kind of victory I can get at this point.
The crowd’s buzzing seeps through my rage, drowns out her voice as it fades. And then Sammy’s arm is around my shoulders leading me out of the bar and down a hallway.