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I specifically seek out narcissists.
Men like Granger.
Simply because they’re so easy.
And hell, most of the men I’ve played my games on have left behind a line of women who would high five me for the games I’ve played in return.
The thing is though, after the few moments we’ve had alone, I stopped pegging Damon as the usual.
Not by his intent, anyway.
The man is hurting.
I can tell you that.
Memories swirl around him like apparitions, clear as day to someone like me.
I carry them just as closely.
It’s too bad that he lets that storm of his take control and hurt the people around him. His arrogance trips him up, and his anger is infectious. There are so many sides of him that I’ve seen already. And the secrets I can see behind his amber eyes are what scare me the most.
I’m torn every time I see him. The hustler in me wants to bleed him of every dime possible, but in the moments we’re together, I can’t help the need I feel to pull him back from his next tragedy.
Imagine a man standing on the roof of a building, the front of his toes lined up at the edge. His eyes peering down at the city beneath him, at the cars and people that pass.
That man is thinking.
Considering.
Attempting to imagine how quickly and painlessly life can be snuffed out with a quick and violent splat.
Those secrets and ghosts of his stand behind him, shoving him forward, whispering for him to take that step, their voices too loud for him to ignore.
That man is Damon every time he walks into Myth.
The poor bastard has no idea just how close he is to stepping off that edge.
“Why would I need to rescue you from Granger?”
Brinley’s question snaps me out of my thoughts and drags me back to why I’m laying half my body on this table like a moron.
I pretend to flail, my arms and legs moving like a toddler’s tantrum in slow motion.
“Because he’s a bastard.”
She rolls her eyes. “Then stop sleeping with him.”
Pushing myself up and off the table, I grin. “You know how it goes, Brin. I can’t help myself. I’m young and— “
“In control of your sexuality.” Her tone is drab. “Yes, I know the spiel.”
Brin’s tone changes, a saccharine sweet that makes me laugh. “But women who control their sexuality also have to suffer the consequences of who they knock boots with.”
She’s relaxing and joking. Which is exactly what I was hoping to achieve.
Yes, I’m a liar. But I justify the deception by remembering that Brin doesn’t need to worry about me on top of everything else in her life.
I protect her with those lies.
