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She whispers in my ear, leaning forward, “I get off in twenty minutes, and I’d like to get off with you.”

Fuck.

And as if that moment isn’t what I need, the guilt rushes over me so fast it almost knocks me over. She walks away, turning back to give me a wink.

“Go for it, you need to fucking let those blue balls loose,” Haden tells me.

“Nice mouth on her,” Lex adds. “At least get blown if the guilt is too much to fuck her.”

I don’t want to continue feeling like this, and so somewhere during the final round of wrestling, I say goodbye to Lex and Haden and make my way over to the bar. Ginger is hanging up her apron and talking to another waitress. I blink my eyes repeatedly, the alcohol making it hard to concentrate, and pull out my cell, typing a message.

Me: I fucking hate you.

“You ready?” Ginger asks with her purse in hand.

I follow her lead outside the venue and cross the street with her hand in mine. There’s a cab stand in front of the restaurant, another couple waiting for one to pull up. It takes me a few moments to realize that my pocket buzzed, and inside sits my cell. I pull it out, my fingers stumbling as I tap the screen. I squint my eyes and can barely make out the message.

Morgan: Probably why it hurts so much.

I stand perfectly still as Ginger repeatedly calls my name. It hurts all right, it hurts like fucking hell. In fact, hell would probably be a vacation compared to the place I’m in right now.

There’s a loud “hurrah” coming from the entrance of the restaurant, and with my eyes dashing toward the sound I watch as the door opens.

It’s her.

And standing right beside her is her husband. His hand resting comfortably on the small of her back. Morgan sees me, and instantly, her face falls. The dark circles covering her eyes become darker when her eyes land on Ginger, kissing the side of my ear.

“C’mon, Noah, time to have fun.”

And in an act of the universe being all fucked up, I follow Ginger into the cab. Avoiding Morgan’s gutted look.

For tonight, Ginger will erase the pain gutting my insides.

For tonight, she will be my rebound.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about last night. My actions, and how everything in my life is completely messed up. Haden told me to take the day off, do whatever I need to do to clear my head. He happens to be great at giving advice, explaining how he and Presley came together after a rather complicated union. Then he told me Ginger’s quite a gal and to go back for seconds if possible.

I don’t know how to gain control of my life. And there’s nothing more frustrating than the loss of control. The inability to think straight and move on.

I know only one thing—it continues to hurt like hell.

And no matter how much I try I can’t stop picturing Morgan and her husband sleeping in the same bed. Imagining his hands wandering over her body while she sleeps. Every time the vision pops into my head, I want to slam my fist through the wall and direct the pain elsewhere.

The door creaks open, and I expect to see one of the girls standing outside but instead, I look up and see Morgan. Though my vision is tainted with only the color red, her beauty filters through and leaves me breathless. Fuck, I hate that she makes me feel this way. Like some superpower that controls my emotions.

She’s wearing a white dress with red heels, and her is hair tied up into a bun. I feel exposed, lying here in only my boxers. What the fuck is she doing here?

“Charlie, let me in,” she says, standing at the foot of the bed. “She just left with the girls.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your husband and son?”

“Noah, please, don’t you think after you ran off with some strange woman that I deserve at least to be able to explain myself? I’m hurting just as much as you are here.”

I didn’t fuck Ginger. I groped her fake tits for a while before abandoning her. The guilt consumed me, even in my intoxicated needy state.

I sit back, crossing my arms in the process, acting cold toward her and allowing my anger to be seen. Morgan sits on the edge of the bed, keeping her distance. She may not feel it, but my urges are in overdrive because I fucking miss her and she’s way too close for me to be thinking straight.

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