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“Don’t look at her man, look at me. Tell me you’re not. Tell me you didn’t mess with her after I strictly told you she was off limits.”
“Kip, it’s not what you think—”
“Are you kidding me? She’s my cousin! Do you have no boundaries, man?” He shoves me hard, and I stumble back before catching my balance. “You piece of shit.”
“Fuck you. You know nothing.”
“I know you’re a player and have no business near her.”
The worst part is, at no point does Bridget speak up. Fuck this. “Why? Cause I’m such a piece of shit player?”
“Well, you are, man. You haven’t kept a solid girl since college. You want me to say you’re a stellar guy? Tell you it’s okay to date her and mess with her like you do every chick? She’s too good for you, man.” Each insult takes its toll.
I step toward Bridget. “You know how I feel about you. Please, let’s just go talk some—”
“I told you to leave her alone.”
“Fuck you—”
Kip takes a swing, and my head bounces back, his fist hitting me in the mouth. I wipe the blood from my lip. My gaze falls to Bridget, but there’s no emotion. The way she looks back at me with hatred tells me I’ve lost. That no matter how bad I messed up, whatever we had means nothing to her now. A coldness washes over me, chilling my blood and my heart. “You’re right, man. I don’t have anything to offer. I don’t have time for fairytales and silly girl promises either.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Kip snaps, and I turn to him.
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” I shove past him, throwing my shoulder into his. I don’t bother taking a last look at Bridget.
“Bro, where you going?”
“I’m out,” I spit to Ben.
“Dude, the party just started. Did you even talk to—”
“It’s over. I’m good. Enjoy a burger for me.” I keep going until I’m in the comfort of my truck. I throw it into drive and speed down the road, their hate still ringing in my ears. “Fuck them,” I hiss, swallowing down my emotions. “Fuck them.” Since when did my friends start criticizing me for the decisions I made? Were my choices that disgusting for them? I knew exactly the person I was. But when did they become so judgmental? Because my priorities were different? “Fuck them!” I slam my fists against my steering wheel.
I don’t need friends like them. I don’t need a girl like her. I don’t need anyone.
Chapter 23
Chase
“Oh, come on! Hit the ball!”
I slam my glass onto the bar, signal for the bartender to refill me, and turn to my buddy beside me. “What a shit play, right, dude? What the fuck!”
“First off, I’m not your dude. Second, your team sucks. He caught it. Get over it.”
I back off, grabbing my full beer. “Yeah, all good man.” Testy motherfucker. “I’m just waiting for my own friends to show, chill.”
Not that they’re coming.
I haven’t talked to them since Levi’s engagement party.
“Better beware. My boys hate your team. There’s gonna be some shit talkin’.” I take a swig of my beer and wiggle my brows at him, then I face forward toward the bar, grinding my jaw.
“Hey, Chase, maybe it’s time to call it quits.”
Turning back to the bartender, I smile, my lips stretching across my face. The same bullshit smile I’ve held up since I walked out of the Matthews’. “I’m good. Why don’t you be a sweetheart and give me another. Or even better, a round of shots for me and my friends here.”
The guy next to me grunts and rolls his eyes. The bartender brings me the shots, but the assholes decline them. I’m not one to waste alcohol so I take all four. My brows draw together at the burning down my throat. “Man, you guys missed out. Tasty shit.”
When did people become such douchebags? We’re in a sports bar, watching sports. “Whatever. I’m gonna go take a piss. Keep me posted on what I miss.” I get up and sway, taking out a stool. “Sorry, sweetheart, not in the market.” I laugh, pushing the stool out of the way and stumble to the men’s room. A lengthy moan falls off my tongue as I take the longest piss ever. That’s what happens when you drink a dozen beers. “See, this isn’t bad. No one’s holding me down. I can sit at this bar all day with no one griping at me.” I nod, fighting to agree with myself. “Yep, this is so much better. No chains or attachments.” No comfort and soft kisses. No cherries and vanilla. No her. “Fuck,” I hiss, slamming my fist into the wall. I finish up and wash my hands. The person looking back at me in the mirror disgusts me. Just like it disgusts everyone else. “Fuck off,” I tell myself and push off the counter. I stumble into the door. “Damn.” Those shots are kicking in. I laugh to myself. “Those assholes missed out. I feel great. Happy Sunday to me.” I fall into the door, my large frame pushing it open, and make my way back to my stool. “What’d I miss, guys—?”
