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And right now, I don’t want to be anywhere near her.
That’s actually not true. All I want to be is near her. That’s the fucking problem. Even seeing her make out with another guy and I still can’t stop thinking about her. She has me in such a chokehold that I can’t fucking breathe without her.
So instead of having the temptation, I powered the fucking thing off, and here I sit, staring at the black screen like somehow the damn thing is going to magically give me an answer I’m so desperately seeking.
When all that shit with Aspen and Sutton went down, I came out looking like the donkey. I tried to force myself on Aspen, emotionally speaking, of course, and later regretted how weak and pathetic it made me. I swore to myself I would never be that guy again. The guy incapable of letting someone go, even when they clearly don’t want me.
Tipping back the rocks glass, I finish off my fifth glass of whiskey... Or maybe it’s my sixth. Fuck, I don’t even know at this point. All I know is that I need to forget. If even just for a few minutes.
I need to forget what she smells like. What she tastes like. How beautiful she looks lying beneath me, lips swollen and freshly fucked.
The knots in my stomach tighten, and I immediately signal the bartender for another glass. Luckily, the place isn’t busy tonight, and within seconds, I have a fresh drink in front of me and thank fuck for it because I’m not in a patient mood.
“Remi.”
I’ve just taken a long drink when I hear my name.
I turn my head just in time to see a lengthy brunette slide onto the stool next to me. She’s gorgeous. Big tits. Full lips. Hair long enough to hold on to as I fuck her mouth, and yet, all the things that would once have me swiveling toward her and turning on the Remi charm seem so unappealing that I barely even look at her before turning my attention forward again.
That is, until I remember she said my name.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks when I glance back at her a second time.
“Should I?” My words scratch up my throat like sandpaper.
She doesn’t seem surprised that I don’t.
“Dalia Hendrickson. We had—”
“Econ together sophomore year,” I finish, my brain seeming to click in place as I meet her familiar chocolate eyes.
“That’s right.” She smiles, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Glass of Merlot, please,” she says before turning her attention back to me. “I haven’t seen you since the night you jumped off the roof at the omega house.”
Weirdly, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Then again, I’ve been known to do some pretty stupid shit when I’m drunk. Which is probably why I don’t drink that often anymore. I always hate myself the next day.
“You’ll have to refresh my memory.” I take another drink of whiskey, reveling in the burn as it slides down my throat, warming my insides.
“You don’t remember?” Her shoulders shake in silent laughter. “You were there with that one girl... Crap, what was her name?”
“Aspen.” I take a wild guess because, let’s be real, for over a decade of my life, she was basically theonlyperson I ever went anywhere with.
“Yes, that’s right. The one with the pinkish hue to her hair.” She nods. “Anyway, some guy dared you to jump off the roof onto a trampoline they had stolen from a neighbor’s yard.”
“Let me guess, I did it.”
“You did. I’ve never seen anyone soar through the air the way you did when you hit that trampoline. I thought for sure you were going to fly off and break something, but you didn’t. You came back down and stuck the landing, throwing your arms up like an Olympic gymnast.”
“Sounds like me,” I grunt.
“So I’m guessing you don’t remember what happened after that, either?”
The way she looks at me tells me Ishouldknow, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to grasp the memory. I mean, come on, if I don’t remember jumping off a roof, it’s unlikely I remember anything else from the night either.
“Was I at least good?” I say in lieu of answering her question.
“Given that you were drunk enough to jump off a roof, I’d give you a solid eight out of ten.” She smiles, not seeming the least bit offended that I fucked her and don’t remember.
“Eight out of ten isn’t too bad.” I take another drink.
