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Imakeithomebefore noticing that I left my purse inside the bar with Griffin. I had been in such a hurry to get the fuck away from Callum to realize it. Thankfully, my phone’s in the pocket of my jeans, so I text Griffin to make sure he doesn’t leave without it.
I kick my shoes off and run a hand through my hair. My head is clouded, fuzzy from the aftermath of dealing with Callum Murphy.
That man exudes danger. His greenish-blue eyes fucking shatter me, leaving me feeling like maybe I’m not such a broken mess. Is that even possible? When he made eye contact with me, my breath stopped. What the shit?
Callum Murphy is good-looking. Dark auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard with tattoos covering almost every inch of exposed skin. When he took off his jacket, he had some covering his arms from his wrists all the way to his rolled-up sleeves. And the ones on his knuckles were intriguing.
He dresses so sexily, too. Like…like an old school gangster with a white button-up shirt, a navy blue suit vest, and a navy blue flat cap. The cigarette hanging from his mouth completed the perfect magazine look, as if someone pulled him from an Al Pacino film. The only thing missing was a stopwatch in the pocket of his vest.
Men actually still dress like that?Jesus. No wonder my lady parts have been frozen for all of eternity.
And his Irish accent. Of course, the bastard had to go and be from Ireland, the land of the sexy. How did he have an accent when Paddy didn’t? And why didn’t Griffin tell me that Paddy’s brother was the sexiest man that ever lived in Boston?
Griffin has a radar for these things. He can spot a hot man from a mile away, and always has comments about a nice ass. Callum’s ass is nice. So tight and bubbly at the same time.
I couldn’t even think around him. I’d responded with one-word answers, a cracked voice, and my shoulders. God, were my shoulders tense.
Is this what it’s like to be attracted to someone? Holy fuck. I’ve never felt attracted to anyone before. Men make me squirm, Jason made sure of that. The idea of dating one has always been repulsive. Until tonight, I always thought I’d never think a man was good looking enough to pursue.
Callum Murphy changed that in a matter of fifteen minutes. And the tingling in my crotch. Wow. That’s never really been there before, either. I mean, sure, I’ve found myself turning the showerhead on full blast and pressing it to my clit before, but holy shit. Callum makes mewet.
I shake my head, trying to wiggle out these feelings. No. I won’t—I can’t get involved with a man. I won’t let it happen.
I force down the attraction before it can come up and affect me.Men are evil. Men are liars. Men fucking suck.
It’s only lust, nothing more. But, hell, I could use him for my spank bank. What could that hurt? Maybe having someone to think about will help so I actually can have an orgasm without feeling like garbage. Right now, I just squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the pressure of the showerhead to relieve me. The entire time I pray I don’t have a panic attack after.
Maybe it isn’t so bad that I finally want a man to touch me.
Laying back in my bed, my hand drifts inside the waistband of my pajama shorts. I squeeze my eyes closed, and think of Callum Murphy, imagining his lips wrapped around his cigarette and wonder what they would feel like on mine. He probably tastes like smoke and whiskey, and his tongue would invade my mouth as his hands roam my body.
Callum’s arms holding me down as he presses his mouth down there, and sparks would fly as I combusted. Picking up the pace of my hands, I imagine his tongue flicking my nipples. Wet and warm, and knowing just how to help me get over this nasty feeling I get deep inside my gut.
Fuck. Just as the orgasm hits me, I pull my hand free. The lust disappears just as quickly, and it’s replaced with mortification. My skin crawls, and my body doesn’t belong to me.
The shame of pleasure pulls me into darkness. I know—I know it’s okay to feel pleasure, but Jason ruined that for me. I thought maybe I finally cracked the code after all these years, but what a fool I am. Jesus. When will the gnawing feeling inside my gut end?
I climb from bed and hurry downstairs to the freezer. The only thing that can stop the pounding in my chest is to drink.
I don’t even bother pouring the vodka into a cup, and just drink it straight.
The last time I went on a bender, it started just the same. Seeking confidence in my body has never worked. It always eats me up inside. Enjoying something that Jason made me hate makes me feel like a freak. A dirty piece of shit that’s not worth anything.
Falling back to memories of him makes the tears come. Except, I don’t let them. I refuse to cry over Jason ever again, so I drink to push away the pain.
I just want the pain to leave my body. Why is that so hard to accomplish?
I’ve lost track of the days since I met Callum, of how long it’s been since my body betrayed me.I need to stop drinking.The thought flutters through my mind, but I ignore it as I click on the lights to my master bath, stripping out of my workout gear.
My phone buzzes on the marble countertop, and I grab it, glancing at the reminder. Work tomorrow, bright and early. Which means it’s been almost an entire week. Five whole days of this bender. Fuck me.
I shrug, dropping my phone on the counter and turn back to the shower.
I sip the vodka from my favorite ceramic mug as I wait for the shower water to warm. It’s white, has a chip on the top, and sports the United States Army crest on one side. I’m a proud veteran, even if I hate how fucked our justice system is. But that’s a chat for a different day. A sober day. I shake my head, my mind trailing down a path I wasn’t expecting. That’s what happens when I drink too much.
I went for a morning run, then came home and immediately dipped into the vodka in my freezer. My run couldn’t get rid of the cloudy feeling I’ve had since my last orgasm. The one that brought me back into the pits of Jason’s Hell.
I wish I could say I drink because of PTSD from my time in the military. The truth is a million times worse. I could have turned to pills, considering it would have been easy in my line of work, but alcohol was simpler. Better to fix it with something legal and not considered an opioid. After all, I do have to pass a drug test. Nothing will ever take away the pain of my childhood.
