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The fingers of his hand around my waist curl inside the slit of my dress that runs from hip to ribs. Sliding up to brush along the underside of my breast.
“Stop it,” I whisper yell, slapping his hand. “You chose to not go there, so you better stop now.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it; you look so fucking tempting in that dress. It hugs every fucking curve and shows off just the right amount of skin.” He pulls me in tight to his body and bends down to whisper in my ear, “I want to push you up against the side of this building and bury my face between your thighs and have some dessert first.”
Fuck me six ways to Sunday. I’m starting to think maybe I made a mistake teasing him with this dress after he left me so frustrated earlier.
“Ahem,” someone’s awkward fake cough from behind us has me nearly jumping out of my skin and Otis’s arms.
Spinning around, I come face to face with a living, breathing, walking, talking nightmare. Leggy brunette. But not just any leggy brunette. Oh no, this is the leggy brunette from Club Rapture and she’s not alone, no, she’s hanging off the arm of Cole Spencer, and he’s not doing a damned thing to shake her off.
“Fuck. My. Life.”
“Excuse me?” Cole asks, his brows pinching together, and lips twisted with disgust.
“Fuck, I said that out loud,” I mutter, ready to spin back around—to run—but Otis’ arm around me squeezes tighter, pinning me in place.
“Yea, you said that out loud, too,” the witch from long ago comments, a condescending look on her face.
“Enough, Amber,” Cole snaps, his eyes doing a slow perusal of my body. Heat burns inside of me, following the trail of his eyes. His gaze ends and freezes for a long moment on Otis’ hand, his fingers drawing lazy circles on the bare skin of my hip. The tip of Cole’s tongue peeks out to lick along his lips, and my insides quiver at the movement.
“What are you two doing here?” Otis asks, attempting an air of nonchalance.
“We’re on a date, what does it look like?” the leggy brunette witch, or Amber, if I must, singsongs. Plunging the metaphorical knife of betrayal into my heart, all while wearing the same victorious smile I was wearing only an hour ago.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
He can’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t … would he?
I catch the tail end of Otis’ short conversation with Cole as I close the lid on my whirling thoughts. “We’re heading out. You two enjoy your dinner.” With his hand on my hip, he steers me in the direction of the corner store across the street.
“This sounds like a Ben and Jerry’s and vodka night. What do you think?” Otis asks me, giving my side a little tickle.
I let out a little self-deprecating laugh and reply, “And you said guys don’t understand women. I think you understand me pretty well, all things considered.”
I slow my steps until we come to a full stop and look up into Otis’ sad eyes. He knows what’s coming. He nods before I can even ask my question. “I knew, but the situation isn’t mine to tell. It’s not what you think, he doesn’t love her, it’s a fucked-up ultimatum, and that’s all I can tell you. If you want or need to know more, you’ll have to ask Cole and let him tell you the whole story.”
“Thank you for telling me anything. You didn’t have to, but you did. And I’m okay if you want to go back and have dinner.”
“Nope. Tonight, I’m going to set you up with horrendous romantic comedies, Ben and Jerry’s, and a massive bottle of vodka that’s going to taste like rubbing alcohol, but you’ll drink it anyway because Cole’s an asshole, and his date is a bitch.”
Otis continues to lead me to the corner store where he does just as he promised. He purchases a random romcom video from the five below bin, six different kinds of ice cream, and the largest bottle of vodka available. I laughed as he joked with the cashier, discussing one of her past relationships who ended up dating her mortal enemy after they broke up. She lit his car on fire; remind me not to piss her off.
Back at my apartment, Otis arranges an ice cream and vodka sundae bar for me on my coffee table before standing by my front door. “I’m not sure what the protocol is in situations like this, but I don’t feel like I should stay. You’re upset with him, and I don’t want to be your one-night distraction. I want more than one night with you, Devy. I think something like processing and moving forward is in order. But if you ask me to stay, I will.”
“I think you’re right. I need to figure out this pull I feel towards him and cut it. That, I can’t do while I’m being distracted by three incredibly hot men. I need to do it on my own. Thank you for the ice cream and vodka bar, though.”
“And the horrible comedy,” he adds quickly.
“And the horrible romcom, yes.” I stand on my tippy toes so I can place a soft kiss on his cheek. He bends down, meeting me halfway.
“Good night, princess.”
“Good night, my white knight.”
Devin
I press in close to my bathroom mirror as I apply concealer under my eyes, attempting to hide the dark circles and puffiness from my night of drowning my sorrows in Ben and Jerry’s. I opted out of the vodka Otis had procured for me, not really wanting to have to explain the hangover as well to Josh. I already know that no amount of concealer, no matter how expertly applied, will keep him from figuring out that I’m hiding something. He’s just that damn good.
