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65
Aiden
Claire’s trying to act like everything is fine in front of everyone, but I can tell the red in her cheeks isn’t only from the sun. She’s pissed, and she’s trying to hide it. I guess I’d be pissed if I was caught in a lie, too. I should have known she’d be fake. That’s how she fooled me in the first place.
Even with no makeup on and pissed off at me, she’s still fucking beautiful. Her hair is up in a bun on her head with stray pieces falling all over the place, and all I can think about is how many times I had my hands knotted tightly in her hair today as I made her come over and over again. The memory is enough to make me clench my hand into a fist over Sam’s shoulder. I don’t even know why I invited Sam here. She’s not who I want, but after how many drinks I’ve had, she makes me feel less pathetic.
When I left Claire’s Airbnb, I knew I needed to cool down. The first few drinks did that, but then I kept drinking. And the more I drank, the more I realized what happened today.
I got played.
Claire fucking used me even when I told her she could use me. I could have just fucked her. I didn’t have to get my feelings involved, but she lied.
She’s a liar.
Turning to Sam, I grumble something that sounds like, “I’ll be right back,” and I’m starting to think maybe I’ve tossed back too many. I’m used to having a few beers when I’m out with friends, but I’ve been drinking straight whisky since I left Claire’s place, and I haven’t exactly been drinking it slowly.
Sam looks back and forth between Claire and me, and I know she’s dying to know what’s going on between us.
Not because she cares about me.
But because she’s always putting her fucking nose in everything.
Eying me suspiciously, she eventually says, “Okay...I’ll be here when you get back.”
I nod, or at least I think I do. Getting up from the couch, I lead the way and walk out onto the balcony without bothering to turn on the outdoor light. The last thing I need is all these nosy fuckers watching us hash things out.
I don’t look back at her, but I know she’s following me. It’s like her body being close to mine is enough to set my nerves on high alert. Part of me expects her to reach out and touch me, and when she doesn’t, it leaves me aching for her.
Who am I kidding, I’ve been aching for her all night.
Flopping into the hammock, I put a hand behind my head, passively staring at her as I wait for the storm.
She’s flushed from her day in the sun, and it looks like she took a shower recently. I can tell from here that she smells amazing, and it makes me grateful for the distance between us. Any closer and I’d probably press her up against that wall just to feel the euphoria of being close to her one more time.
She crosses her arms, and even though her eyes look wounded, there’s a fire behind them. “Do you mind filling me in?”
Even through the darkness, I can see a vein pulse in her neck. Earlier today I had my hand wrapped around that neck as I buried myself inside of her and told her how fucking perfect she was.
“Fill you in on what?” I ask, trying to get my thoughts back on track.
She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I’m glad she’s pissed at me. Let her feel some of what I feel. “This!” She gestures to me in my hammock like it’s a bad thing.
Lifting my head to look at her, I ask, “Oh, you don’t like that I’m lying here? Minding my own fucking business?” I get to my feet, relieved that I’m not stumbling drunk yet. That’s the last way to look convincing during an argument. I march up to her until her back is against the wall. She smells like coconut and SPF, and it takes every ounce of my diminished, drunk self-control not to see if she tastes like it, too. “Is this what you want? Is this better?”
Her mouth falls open as she stares at me, and it takes everything in me not to bite that bottom lip.
“N—no,” she stammers, her voice wavering.
“You got what you wanted. Check it off your fucking list and move on.” I take a step away from her because being this close to her isn’t good for me.
Or maybe it’s just too good for me to resist.
The flash of hurt that crosses her face makes me feel like an ass, and I have to remind myself that she’s getting back with her ex. She’s going to run back into Garret’s arms, and he can’t wait for her to feel his pencil dick.
Her eyes are practically slits when she asks, “Why is Sam here?”
“Because,” I say, lowering my voice to drive the point home, “I want her here.” Something inside her dims, but I pretend not to notice as I add, “Which is more than I can say for you.” My eyes narrow, and our noses are nearly touching when I say, “Go home, Claire.”
