I shrug, knowing it’ll piss her off more.
“You could have just texted me. I was…” She hesitates, sipping her drink again. A thin red dribble escapes the corner ofher mouth and tracks to her chin, and I think about leaning over and catching it with my thumb. Or my mouth. “I was kind of expecting to hear from you after what happened.”
Yup. The funeral. Owen’s room. I’m a dick, and I know it.
Weeks have gone by and all I’ve been able to think about is that moment in his room. Her moan has followed me into board meetings. The feel of her hips in my palms runs through my mind when I’m sitting at my father’s dinner table, nodding along to conversations I’ve stopped caring about. In the shower, or in bed, even half asleep, it’s the memory of her cunt dripping for me when I fuck my fist.
I’ve been shrugging Ella off all week, avoiding her calls, telling her I’m backed up at work, which isn’t a lie, but I can’t fucking look at her when all I can think about is Sawyer. Screw Moretti and his demands. Sawyer’s been on my mind for years, but now, since the funeral, the floodgate has opened and there’s no pushing the water back inside.
Problem is, I can’t avoid Ella altogether. This deal with the Moretti’s and my father needs to get locked in. Once that shit’s settled, then I can let her down easy. That can’t come soon enough.
Every day it’s in the air is another day I’m lying to two women instead of just one. I may be a grade-A piece of shit, but this is wearing on me.
“Well?” she presses. I guess I’ve been quiet for longer than I realized.
“Sorry, what?”
“You could have texted me. It’s not that complicated…Just pick up the phone, click my name, type a simple message.”
God, she’s such a smart ass.
I tilt my chin toward her left hand. “I see you took it off.”
“Your vision clearly works. Can’t use that excuse for not texting.”
“My vision works just fine.” I hold eye contact with her for a few breaths, ignoring how it makes my chest ache and cock twitch. Then I glance back down to her bare finger, not even an indent from the ring, and smirk. “Just making an observation.”
“Well, go observe something else.”
“When did you take it off?”
She picks up her drink. “That’s none of your business.”
I move to the stool directly beside her, and speak low. “Humor me, Thorne.”
She swallows hard, setting her glass down with more force than necessary. “The night of the funeral…after the texts.”
I take a long sip of my beer so I don’t say something that’ll get me into trouble, but I can’t help the satisfied smirk that breaks out across my face.
“Don’t,” she grumbles.
“What? I didn’t say shit.”
“You were about to.”
“You don’t know what I was about to say.”
“I know that expression. You were going to make it mean something and it doesn’t. I just…It felt wrong to keep wearing it. That’s all.”
“Okay.”
“That’s all it was.”
“Okay, Sawyer.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Stop saying okay like that.”
“Like what?”
