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Won’t get in my way?
Redix Dean is Cade’s air; maybe I’ll be her water. One you can live a lot longer without.
“I promise.”
I put my palm out to shake his hand, and oh fuck, it’s slick with Cade’s cum on it, and I forgot. He’s showing me his heart. He’s dropping his ego for her, and I’m not being a dick about it, but I can’t pull my hand away now. It’ll only offend him more.
When his big hand grabs mine, my pulse triples. My nerves turn into hot wires. And my heart is stunned…
Because he feels her cum on my hand and glances down at our palms, at our skin touching. Because his flesh is so warm, his grip so strong, making me sweat. Because when he doesn’t let go and looks back at me, it’s not anger or jealousy in his eyes.
It’s a look I’ve seen before. It’s a question and a risk and a recognition, and we don’t say it aloud.
It’s confusing us both, so I say, “You can’t stop someone from the love they feel for someone else.” I loosen my grip. He does the same, eyes still on me. “At least… I’ll never try to.”
I push past him, his aroma marking my senses. He lets me go, and I’m grateful because I’m a hurricane of forces raging through.
The men’s room—there are four stalls in it, and I take the farthest one. Two men finish their business and wash their hands while I undo my pants and drop them to my ankles. My boxers only make it to my thighs because I’m getting so hard again, gripping my cock in a practiced pump.
What the hell?
Pressing my forehead to the cold metal stall wall, I can silence my breath but not my mind.
Cade fingering herself. Cade’s eyes glazing over when she comes. Cade’s tits in a bikini. Her fine ass in shorts. The V of her pussy in bikini bottoms, God, how does she taste? How good would it feel to fuck her? Damn good, I know, pumping faster, my hips thrusting. Into where Redix’s skin touched mine. His heat. His lips. His sexy eyes. They were on my hard dick.
“Fuck,” I gasp as quietly as I can, cum hitting the wall and spilling over my fist. “Oh, fuck.” I shudder with another rope of release.
And I’m fucked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My Blanton’s is finished, and I’m parched for another.
How long does it take Silas to jerk off?
That tickles my stomach as I watch Redix walk back into the ballroom. His eyes land on mine, and I don’t know that look.
Everything about that man: he loves root beer. He hates mustard. He likes to dance while he folds laundry. He loves it when I kiss his belly button. I can put him to sleep playing with his hair. I know everything about him but not that look.
It’s not hate.
It’s not love.
My heart flinches—he’s been watching me with Silas. He’s sad? But this is what Redix wants, what he needs. For me to be out of his life for good.
I always believed we’d heal together, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe the only way we survive what we’ve been through is to let each other go. Maybe then, our nightmare will finally be over. I want that for him.
For me? I can’t let go.
Besides, Redix has to beat women off with a stick, so I’m sure he’ll move on soon if he hasn’t already.
Damn, I’m a hypocrite. That hurt to imagine. It makes me put my nose down to stop more damn tears. Reaching for my phone in my clutch, I text Silas.
Missing you and my drink
I’d get it myself, and I must look pathetic sitting at a table alone, but I don’t give a damn. I need to get my shit together. I still need to say hi to Stacey Evans and stick another pin in Gentry.
They’re working the crowd, but she keeps glancing my way. She’s gorgeous in her white gown, but she smiles too long. She hates this, too.
