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Adam sighs and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. “A word of advice, brother? Don’t get wrapped up in whatever story she’s trying to sell you. That girl has issues. She drinks too much and does shit, and then she doesn’t remember it. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to play the victim card, and if you go poking around in her business, she might try to make you the villain in her story.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“She’s done this before,” he tells me. “I didn’t want to mention it because I know you don’t need any more trouble in your life. But she’s accused two of my friends of the same bullshit because she regrets it the morning after. And correct me if I’m wrong, but you were alone with her at the other party, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. And?”
“All I’m saying is she doesn’t know her ass from her elbow on a good day, let alone who she was with that night. If you give her story too much credence, she might just turn on you and cry foul because you’re a convenient target.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” I argue, but Adam just shakes his head like I’m an idiot.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he says. “From what I heard, she’s moving to Florida to live with her dad. Apparently, her mom can’t handle her shit anymore.”
“She’s skipping out?” I frown.
“She’s free to go,” he mutters. “And good fucking riddance to her.”
Chapter 33
Madden
I flop on top of the bed, silently cursing myself for letting her get inside my head again. My dick is harder than a battering ram, and I swore I wouldn’t touch myself and think of her. But right now, the alternative is that I walk down the hall and fuck her into next week.
She isn’t mine. She never was.
I keep repeating that mantra in my head, forcing myself to remember how we got here. For every good memory I have of Bianca, there’s an equally bitter one. Because this is what she does. She comes into my life and twists everything up until it’s so fucked, I can’t untangle it.
I’m not the same guy she met at the ranch. And I’m sure as fuck not going to forget what happened to Adam just because she spreads her legs for me and tries to lure me back in. She might have conveniently chosen to erase history, but I haven’t.
I reach for the box of weed I keep on my nightstand and roll a joint. If I can just knock myself the fuck out, I can figure out a way to deal with it in the morning. The house is locked up tight, and she can’t go anywhere without my codes. It seems like a solid plan until she appears in my doorway like a phantom, glancing around my room nervously.
“Madden?” She steps inside and peers at the images on my wall. My obsession undeniably scattered around me like the broken fragments of my mind.
Women don’t come to my room. They don’t even come into my house. I fuck them at the clubhouse and then fuck off. But here she is, face-to-face with the glaring truth I can’t hide. She moves toward the images like a slow-motion horror film, touching them with her fingers as I spring up from the bed.
“You have so many pictures of her—"
She chokes on her words as I grab her from behind with the intention of removing her from my space. But somehow, she ends up sandwiched between me and the wall, my cock jammed up against her ass in that goddamn dress.
She makes a strangled sound in her throat as I grab a fistful of her hair and press her face against one of the photos.
“You shouldn’t have come in here,” I growl.
“I just wanted—”
“I know what you want.” I squeeze her jaw to shut her up. “You think you can toy with me the way you’ve always done. But the guy you knew doesn’t exist anymore, Bianca. Get that through your fucking head.”
“It’s not a game to me.” She forces the words between her teeth. “You want repentance from someone who can’t give it to you.”
“It’s not a game?” I breathe the words into her ear, and she shivers. “Then why the fuck are you trying to climb on my dick? Have you conveniently forgotten that I’m the asshole who locked you in my house, too?”
She doesn’t answer, and it only ramps up my agitation. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing when I hike up her dress and expose the soft curves of her ass, perfectly split in half by a black thong. I grab a handful of her and squeeze, and she whimpers. I like that fucking sound. I want her to cry and beg so I can deny her. I want to torture her the way she’s tormented me for so many years.
