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“Um, Dixon,” Finch says, and I turn to look at him sitting on his stool, his eyes squinting and looking in the direction of the dance floor.
“Yeah?” I reply, wondering what has him so intrigued.
“Isn’tthatyour little girl?” he says, pointing in front of him.
“What?” I gasp, my eyes frantically searching the area he’s gesturing to. “That’s impossible.”
Hunter’s laughter to my right indicates it’s very possible. “Holy shit! Little Miss Cherry Pie has grown up.”
I reach out and slap his chest, my eyes never leaving the sight before me because Madison is very much in front of me. Her body, which has always been incredible, looks even better than Iremember. She was always on the slender side, but not anymore. It’s only been a couple of months, but Jesus, it’s like she’s taken a crash course in body sculpting, and she’s all soft curves and toned, supple flesh.
“And just think, you chose apple pie overthat,” Hunter whispers into my ear.
I would usually retort with a smart-ass comment, but right now, I’m surprised I even remember my own name.
A faster song commences, and Madison excitedly latches onto her redheaded friend. They begin dancing together, laughing as they attempt to keep up with the choppy beat.
Her red tube dress is short and low, and each time she moves, the dress slips lower and higher. I raise myself off my seat, hoping to get a sneak peek at what she’s packing underneath. My raging hormones get doused with a bucket of ice-cold “wake the fuck up!” when an Adonis-looking male wraps his arms around her waist, pressing her back against his hardened front.
The alpha dog in me howls in protest, and I clench the empty glass in my hand, envisioning it’s his head I’m squeezing. But by the way Madison is smiling and leaning into his advances, I dare say this ecstatic asshole is her new beau.
But who can blame him? I mean, look at her; she’s beautiful.
Her long hair, thanks to the vigorous dancing, looks wild and untamed—perfect freshly fucked hair. The thought, however, has my teeth gnashing together. I don’t want to picture her fucking this douchebag in front of me—or any douchebag, for that matter.
Fuck. I need a drink.
“Well, hot damn, I—”
“Zip it, Hunter,” I snap as I push back from my stool and make my way toward the bar, totally ignoring his snide remark.
The line is long, and due to my foul mood, I have no desire to wait. If I stay here a minute longer, then I need to get nice and drunk and forget that I ever saw Madison.
I don’t fail to see the paradox of my situation. It’s the classic case of you want what you can’t have. I could have had the sweet, innocent Madison, but instead, I chose the easy, rampant sex fiend, Juliet, who I was sleeping with before I even knew I had a “thing” for Madison.
But after tonight, I’m not so sure I made the right choice, and it’s not because I’ve seen what a goddess Madison is. I always knew she was. Under that fancy makeup and slinky red dress, she’s still the clumsy little girl who bought me breakfast and made me smile.
I suppose I’m questioning my decision because I can’t help but wonder: Are Juliet and I too alike? The sex is amazing, but when that dies down, and it will die down, will I still want her?
This is what happens when you start a “relationship” with someone who was your patient, who is addicted to sex, who you watched masturbate on your desk and then fucked like a wild animal to get over your lying, cheating ex-fiancée.
This was doomed from the get-go. Why thehelldid I think otherwise?
“Dixon?”
Internally groaning, I curse whatever gods are looking down on me, laughing at my misfortune.
“Madison?” I say, matching her stunned tone, although mine is completely staged.
As I turn around to look at her, my heart gets stuck in my throat. But I pull my shit together and put my game face on.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her chest heaving breathlessly after all that energetic dancing.
“Oh, my friends wanted to check the place out,” I reply, running a hand through my hair.
She nods, and I don’t fail to see her eyes taking in every crevice of my face as we talk. “Oh, cool. Me too. Well, my friends did,” she explains, her glossy lips calling out to me.
“Awesome.” I clear my throat, as this feels exactly how it used to feel when we first met.
