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Quinn’s hand rests on my lower back and I finally look at him. “Don’t you miss me?”
“A little.” Maybe. I’m not sure. At least he’d have sex with me. “Don’t you wanna know what happened with the ex?”
“Nope. Sounds like he’s still an ex.” His hand slips underneath my shirt and grazes against my skin now. I should push him away, but I’ve been wanting to escape in the touch of another and I just don’t care who it is anymore. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he leans forward and kisses my neck as if he’s reading my mind.
My head falls to the side. How can it feel good and wrong at the same time? I shouldn’t let him do this. “Quinn,” I breathe. Am I stopping him or encouraging him? Damn it, I’m horny as hell and Trace won’t touch me until I give in and tell him I love him and why shouldn’t I? Trace’s tongue grazes my ear. Shit. Quinn! Quinn’s tongue. Trace isn’t here.
“Brittany.” I turn at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. Quinn is still planting kisses on my neck and bare shoulders. His other hand starts sliding up my thigh. My breaths come out fast and short. I could rip off his clothes right now. His hand just needs to move a little higher.
Dear lord. Am I sure this is a bad idea?
“Should I?” I ask, not caring that Quinn can hear me.
“Why shouldn’t you?” she counters. “If you want to, then go for it.”
“What about Trace?” Just saying his name makes me want more alcohol. I wave the bartender over for another shot and down it.
“What about him? He hurt you, Brittany. You know you shouldn’t get back together with him. Besides, Quinn has always been good to you.” Mostly true things.
“Come on, Brittany,” Quinn says, standing up and dropping a handful of cash on the bar. Without waiting for an answer, he takes my hand and leads me out of the bar. I follow along.
I shouldn’t do this. The only reason I shouldn’t is Trace. We’re not together, though, and damn it, I want to feel good. Sex will make me feel good and I’m not getting that from Trace any time soon. Quinn takes me back to my apartment. All doubts are shoved into a dark corner for me to come back to later when I regret this.
Quinn tugs my shirt off and walks me to the couch, kissing me. All I’m able to do is kiss him while he easily undresses us, mumbling something about missing me, being hard, and something else that I don’t catch. A wave of nausea churns my stomach, but I ignore it. Is it possible to be too drunk for sex? I’m starting to get sleepy and Quinn is too busy kissing me to hurry up and get this over with.
I grab his shou
lders and push him away. Wait. Trace? I blink his face away to see Quinn’s. This doesn’t feel right at all. Quinn leans down to kiss me again and I forget that thought. A loud noise startles us both. Did a door just slam? I glance over Quinn’s shoulder to see my door is open. If it was slammed hard enough, it could’ve popped back open.
“Get off me.” My light shove ends up being a hard shove as Quinn falls off the couch. I grab a blanket, wrap it around me, and peek out my door to see a tall blond man waiting for the elevator and repeatedly pushing the button.
Oh, god, no. “Trace?”
“Don’t come near me.” His voice is tight and furious, and he doesn’t turn around.
The doors finally open. “Trace, wait!” I start running toward him, but he refuses to look at me. “Trace!”
“What?” he roars, holding his arm out to keep the doors from closing. “I’ve been doing every fucking thing I can think of to make you better and to get you back and you go off and fuck him! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Brittany! You kept telling me you hated me and I hope you’re happy because now I believe you. I’m done!”
“Trace, no, please,” I beg. “I can explain.”
Trace shakes his head in disbelief. “Enjoy your miserable life.” He drops his arm and the doors close.
What have I done? I’ve ruined any chance I had.
“Brittany?” Quinn’s voice comes from behind me.
I whirl around and stalk past him. “Get dressed and get the hell out!”
“We haven’t even fucked yet!” he yells, pissed off.
I slam my bedroom door and lock it. Tears fall before I can climb into my bed. Everything has officially fallen apart. I’ve failed life. I’ve lost Trace. I could lose my mom. Rebecca has been a crummy friend. My anxiety and depression are swallowing me whole and I haven’t even tried to stop them. There didn’t seem to be a point and nothing was helping. I fall asleep before I can wonder if there’s a point to changing my ways now or not.
“You look worse than death,” Melissa whispers as she stops by my desk. “What’s going on?”
“Just be glad I’m here and not home.” It took everything, every last bit of strength, every last bit of love I had for my job, and every last bit of self-control, to get out of bed and go to work this morning.
“Okay, let’s go.” She reaches over me to minimize my email, grabs my purse from my drawer, and takes my hand. I let her lead me to where we have to time out for lunch and then to her car. She drives to her apartment, which is only a few blocks away from mine.
