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I follow her gaze only to discover that my hand’s still wrapped around her arm. I quickly yank it away with a scowl, flinching back like I’ve been burned, only to bump into Roxy behind me. Her plastic cup crunches between us, cold liquid soaking the back of my t-shirt.
“Ugh, what the hell?!” Roxy shouts, and I turn to see the front of her white dress splashed with pink, the crushed cup still in her hand and dripping onto the floor. She glares daggers at me, then stomps away, bound for the restroom.
“Shit, I’d better go help her,” Avery mumbles, tearing off after Roxy.
It takes me a second to realize that they’ve left me standing here alone with my ex, the back of my shirt soaked in booze that smells like damn sunscreen.
Fuckinggreat.
I tighten my grip around the neck of the whiskey bottle, lifting it to my lips and sinking a long gulp as I feel Sloane edge a little closer.
“So, uh, I was hoping we could talk,” she says hesitantly.
I swallow down the liquor, lowering the bottle and wiping my mouth off on a forearm. Then I slowly turn to face her, arching a brow. “About what?”
She shuffles her feet, my eyes drawn to the movement, and it’s no wonder that she almost fell when I knocked into her- she’s got four inch heels strapped to them. She’s always been a girly girl, and when she first started wearing heels as a teen she went right for the highest ones- anything to cheat a few inches of height- even though she could barely walk in them. She looked like a newborn foal, all wobbly with her knees knocking together. I gave her so much shit about it, but Sloane’s nothing if not determined, and it didn’t take her long to perfect the art of walking in heels until she was gliding in them like a damn runway model.
The memory brings the ghost of a smile to my lips, though I quickly force it back and steel my expression before she sees.
But Sloane doesn’t miss it. She never misses a damn thing.
The barest spark of hope flares in her eyes, and I’m quick to shut that shit down.
“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I grumble, shaking my head.
Sloane frowns, heaving a sigh and folding her arms across her chest. The action pushes her tits up so that they’re nearly spilling out of the neckline of her skin-tight tank dress, and I mentally curse myself for the way my eyes are drawn right to them; something else she definitely doesn’t miss.
Damnit.
I fuckinghatethat I’m still so attracted to her. Even after she left town and completely ghosted me, there’s no denying that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and that’s not an exaggeration. I wish it was.
Tonight, she looks like a damn smoke show. The soft yellow hue of her dress compliments her coloring, and I swear she’s wearing it just to fucking taunt me. I used to always say that I loved her in yellow; something about that shade makes her skin look golden. And the fact that she has the nerve to show up here dressed likethatjust to rub it in my face has deep-seated resentment bubbling to the surface.
“Things don’t have to be weird between us,” Sloane ventures, as if she’s done nothing wrong and I’m just being unreasonable.
Princess Sloane is used to getting her way. She’s always had everyone wrapped around her finger, so she probably assumes I’ll fall all over myself trying to get her back now that she’s home again.
She’s wrong.
“No?” I challenge, sparks of anger flaring to life inside me. “How should they be then, Sloane? You waltz back in here after all this time and expect things to just go back to the way they were?”
She flinches at my tone, a little crease forming between her brows as they draw together. “No, but…”
“Butnothing,” I snap, not letting her finish. “It’s too late. I’ve moved on.”
“What, you think I haven’t?” she scoffs, clearly offended. “I didn’t come back for you.”
Her words land precisely how she intends them to- like a damn gut punch. Fair play, since I took the first shot, but that doesn’t make them sting any less.
“Good, because you’d be wasting your time,” I mutter bitterly. “I’ve got no room in my life for people who up and leave without looking back.”
She scowls, curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head. “You know that’s not what happened.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Well, I guess you’ve got your version of events and I’ve got mine.”
