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Sloane
I shouldn’t be here. I should get back into my car and drive home where I can drown my misery in rum-soaked tiramisu.
But I can’t seem to convince my feet that they’re going in the wrong direction.
The frigid cold slithers through me as I walk. It’s been two hours since I left my dad’s house and my family’s Thanksgiving celebration. But I couldn’t eat another bite. I couldn’t make idle chit-chat for another second. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t completely devastated.
I finally got in touch with Shaye after driving around aimlessly, hoping for Max to respond to all of my texts and calls.
But the response never came.
I called the hospital to make sure he hadn’t been admitted.
I called the police station to see if there had been any accidents in our area.
Not that he bothered to check in on me.
So when I finally found out that Max wasn’t laying mangled in some wreck on the side of one of these icy roads and that he was actually at his house…his house, not mine…an unparalleled fury squelched the anxiety and panic that plagued me for the better part of the night. And I found myself sitting in front of his place not ten minutes later, ready to unleash it all.
For the last goddamn time.
My heart thuds with each jump I make over the slush puddles covering most of the driveway. He didn’t text me back. He didn’t bother to call. And the fact that his car is sitting here is just another hint that he didn’t care to make the effort.
The rubber sole of my Ugg boots skids on a patch of black ice and I stumble, grabbing onto the railing before I face-plant in the snow. Anger courses through me as I stomp up the steps. He’s not hurt. He’s not dead along some road somewhere. He’s just a self-centered dickhead who doesn’t give a shit about anything but himself.
He definitely doesn’t care a bit about me.
So again, I ask myself why the hell I’m here?
I know the answer, of course. But it obviously isn’t mutual since he’s here and not at my dad’s house right now.
I try to steady my breathing before I stab the doorbell. It doesn’t work, and my teeth begin to chatter from the cold and the rage that grabbed hold of my body when I pulled up a minute ago and found Max’s car taunting me from the driveway.
He doesn’t care about me at all.
I press the doorbell, my fingertip borderline numb right now. I could actually poke his eyes out and not feel anything.
The door finally opens, and Max steps back, waving me inside. I clench my fists. Why does he have to be so goddamned sexy, standing around in low-slung jeans? Shirtless? Good God, those abs look airbrushed—
Argh, focus, Sloane!
He looks at me with those deep dark eyes…the ones that remind me of melted chocolate, the ones I could blissfully float away in if I allowed myself to be that stupid girl yet again. “Happy Thanks—”
“Fuck you!” I scream. “I thought you were in some horrible accident! I texted you, oh, I don’t know, maybe twenty times in the past couple of hours? And you couldn’t take a second to just text me back once?” I swallow hard, blinking back tears. “I made everyone wait for you. I didn’t want to start dessert without you. But you didn’t care that you made me wait, did you? You never care about anything except you!”
“Is everything okay?”
My head darts away from Max, and I see her coming out of his bedroom…knockout brunette, huge boobs so perky they’re practically defying gravity by sitting on her throat, and long, lean legs I’d give my right arm for.
I am such an idiot.
“Layla, I told you to stay back there,” Max grumbles, tugging at his hair, his gorgeous messed up, sexed-up hair. I flex my fingers. Not so numb anymore. Whatever. They’re so ready to gouge out his eyeballs right now.
I force a high-pitched laugh. “Don’t be silly, Max. Why should she stay hidden? At least someone has the courtesy to let me know where I rate. Note to self, I’m way below the trashy whore.” I turn back to the girl whose lips are pursed. “Thank you for being so clear with me. I guess I had a difficult time figuring it out on my own. Shame on me for being incredibly dense.”
I blink back the tears. This is ridiculous. I’m about to lose it over something I never even had. This doesn’t get more pathetic.
“Sloane, it’s not what you think. Layla just needed my help tonight, and she didn’t want to be alone afterward.”
