Page 67 of In Your Wake

Exasperated, I run my hands through my hair, then crack my neck. Like an itch I can’t reach, my skin stings. Forget an itch, this is like having fucking chickenpox.

Tucker lifts his eyes to meet mine. His inexperience colors his face, telling me that no amount of patience or pleading would ever make things okay between us. Even if I forgave and forgot what he did earlier at dinner, Tucker isn’t what I need in my life. Sexually or otherwise.

What I need is to stop looking for what I need in someone else.

“Tucker, deep down I know you mean well, but you don’t want me.” I step toward him, laying my hand on his arm. “Not the way you think you do.”

He traces my cheek with a knuckle, then slides his fingers into my hair. “I do want you. And I’m sorry for earlier. I was a jerk.”

I search his eyes and notice something I never have before—emptiness. There’s no longing. No aching desire. It’s just hollow.

“That’s a lie.” I step into the kitchen and search through the pantry for something to eat; not that I’m hungry. I just want sugar. And some booze, too.

I find a box of Oreos, then from a top cabinet, I pull out an old bottle of crème de menthe. I can’t remember where I got it, or how long it’s been up there, but it’ll have to do.

“I’m not lying,” he says. “I want you.”

“No, not about that,” I reply. “About being sorry. You agree with your dad.”

I settle onto a stool at the kitchen island, slamming the box of cookies onto the granite counter, and dig in.

“If you’re hungry, we could go grab a bite at the brewery. They’re still open,” Tucker offers, sliding up next to me, and I shoot him a sharp glare.

“I know, I was just there. And I’m not hungry.”

He rattles the cookie box, arching that arrogant eyebrow of his. “You sure about that?”

That’s it. The veiled criticism, on top of a terrible day, ignites my rage. “Yes, Tucker, I’m sure. Stop thinking you know me better than I know myself. I’m not hungry and I’m not miserable working at the inn, either. What I am is fucking horny. But I’m dating a guy who’s not interested in putting out.”

Tucker winces as if I’ve slapped him. Realization strikes again, and a slow laugh slides over my lips as I get up from the stool.

“Does that offend you, Tucker? Me speaking like that? Saying how I feel. Telling you that I want to be fucked? Hard, fast, rough. All night long.”

He shakes his head, blushing. “It doesn’t offend me. I’m just not used to hearing you speak like that. And I don’t understand why you need to stuff your face because we can’t have sex.”

I guffaw, deliberately twisting the top off my Oreo. “Well, get used to it, bucko, cause sometimes, this girl likes to talk dirty.”

I slowly lick the cookie, making a show of dragging my tongue across the icing, and step closer to him. He frowns, awkward and unsure. Something about it spurs me on, or maybe it’s the alcohol. I’ve never been a good drunk.

“And sometimes, when I don’t have a cock to stuff me, I need to stuff my face instead.” I suck the round pad of icing off, which makes Tucker’s frown deepen and his eyes shoot to the floor.

God, he’s such a fucking prude.

“I didn’t come here for this.”

“You mean you’re not here to reject me and tell me what’s wrong with me? To hear how badly I want you to rip my clothes off and pin me to the wall, slamming into me so hard, I scream?” I cup his blushing cheek with my hand. “That’s what this is for you. An ego boost. Having this poor, broken girl drape herself all over you. Having her admit how badly she wants you just so you can turn her down.” I lower my hand and stab a finger into his chest. “Do you get off on that, Tucker? ‘Cause I think you do. I think you love making me feel like shit for putting myself out there.”

Bashfully, he shakes his head. “I don’t get off on that.” He takes my hand, moving it away. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

A blush consumes my face, and his words make me shrink back. His judgmental gaze spreads over me, leaving me embarrassed, as if I’m standing naked in front of a large crowd. Everything he said and did tonight shreds my skin.

“Neither are you. You should leave.”

He cocks his head. “Don’t be like that. We’re just different people who need to find a way to coalesce.”

I cringe at him. “I don’t want to be with someone who wants to coalesce. If you don’t like me the way I am, don’t expect me to change. I come as is—filthy mouth and all. So, if you’re not here for that, there’s the door.”

“I just wanted time. I wanted—”