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I wished I could be upfront and tell him that I was forced to be someone I wasn’t and how much I missed who I was. That would require too much of an explanation, and rightfully scare the hell out of him so I gave him a truth of a different variety.
“I’m the kind of woman that couldn’t stand being alone so she drove all the way to the end of a rinky-dink town looking for a one-night stand that will leave her sore for a few days that she never has to see again.”
He threw his head back and laughed. I took that as a good sign. Some men had an issue with women who weren’t afraid to initiate sex. We were sluts and whores for getting ours just like they got theirs—double-standard idiocy. I’d done my best to enjoy the few one-night stands I’d let myself have this past year.
I didn’t have an issue separating sex and feelings. I didn’t worry my heart would be stolen by a man I’d spent a single night with when it already belonged to someone else. In fact, it was better when they left the moment we finished. I liked to be used. Being fucked and then forgotten was one of my favorite coping methods.
If he were here, he’d kill anyone that dared let their gaze linger on me for a second too long past admiration.
I missed that too.
When Max finally stopped laughing, he leaned forward and whispered, “Well then, I think you’re exactly what I’m looking for too.”
“Am I?”
“You are. And you’re honest,” he drawled, flashing me another one of his sexy smiles before leaning back. We stared at one another for a few seconds, an elongated silence reaching between us.
I knew right then that he was going to be trouble. The kind of trouble I was intimately familiar with.
CHAPTER FIVE
ROESELYNN
Max was the kind of man that was determined to get his way. Con had a similar trait, but for many different reasons. I didn’t want to compare or think of him right then, but he was on my mind more than usual tonight. That’s not to say I didn’t think about him often, but it was getting to the point where it was all I did.
Obsession was so fucking hard to cure.
“I've never seen you in Black Pine before," Max pointed out, pulling me from my thoughts. He dropped his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together beneath his chin.
"I've only been here about three months. I'm still learning my way around."
"Here with family?"
After our earlier discussion, I hesitated to answer that. "My sister, Molina. What about you?"
I made a point of looking over at his friends. They were still laughing and conversing. Every few seconds, one glanced our way.
"I have one brother and two sisters. My parents don’t live around here,” he answered. "And I've been staring at you since you walked in the door," he confessed with a sheepish grin.
"I’m sure you have,” I quipped sarcastically.
“I’m serious. You’re beautiful.”
Those two words had long lost their effect unless spoken by a voice that could melt honey. I still smiled appreciatively and picked up my second round of vodka. Our conversation flowed around nothing all that important.
A few more drinks may have been added in somewhere, I stopped keeping count. It felt completely natural to sit and talk with him. That didn’t last long, though. He leaned back again, running a finger over his bitable lips as he studied me.
"What is it?" I asked, feeling the effects of the alcohol buzzing around in my head.
"You're a gorgeous woman, Rose. But you're sad. I feel it. What happened to you?” He rested both his elbows on the table. “Tell me your story.”
Suddenly, I wasn't tipsy enough. I couldn’t be that obvious. Were my problems stamped on my forehead? Maybe they were written across my breasts—his eyes had gone to them more than once when he thought I was distracted. I always pulled off happy-go-lucky. It's what I’d been taught to do.
“Never let them see who you really are.” Con had drilled that into my head with pleasure and pain.
Each time I failed, the ways he hurt me became more creative—and addictive. Sitting here being read so easily made me uncomfortable.
I almost started looking around, expecting Justin to appear with that goddamn grin he borrowed from the devil. I felt like I was being tested, and that was never a good feeling.
"Well, Maxwell—."
"Max," he interjected.
"Well, Max. That's a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I promise you, I'm fine."
At my bitterly spoken words, his whole demeanor seemed to change before my eyes.
"You shouldn’t make promises you don’t mean." His voice went low, the drawl a little deeper. I found it oddly seductive, which was completely inappropriate given the context.
Maybe the drinks were doing something, after all. “I think it’s time for me to go, I need fresh air.” Looking away from him, I began digging through my clutch for money.
