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If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed what had happened.
I had gone to the movies in a fit of self-pity. Kyle had invited me to his house for a day of drinking beer and smoking meat on the grill, but I declined. The conversation with Meg on Friday had fucking upset me, damn it.
I was angry with her, sure. She jumped to the worst-case scenario about me every time. Would I ever be able to convince her I wasn’t the jackass she had painted me up to be in her mind? She thought I chose Chelsea over her. When I was seventeen years old, I hadn’t realized how my actions had impacted her. I thought she was being petty. Holding onto grudges that were a waste of energy.
Chelsea had acted like she was upset that Meg disliked her. She claimed she didn’t understand where the animosity came from. How quickly I forgot the long list of shit she had dished out over the years; Chelsea had been able to paint a completely whitewashed picture. Her deceit had always been so damn beautiful.
I had known Meg’s hatred of Chelsea was pervasive and soul-deep, but I had also overestimated my ability to make my best friend see reason. I honestly believed that I could broker peace or something. That I would be a one-man United Nations and end the war between the two of them.
When I think back on teenage Adam Ducate, I wanted to wring his fucking neck. He could be way too arrogant and much too naive. He never really thought things through.
My marriage to Chelsea was a case in point.
But she had snowed me. Spectacularly and totally.
Losing my virginity had addled my brain. It wasn’t just girls who turned into emotional headcases the first time they had sex. I didn’t dip my wick for the hell of it. Despite my alpha tendencies, I wasn’t Jeremy Wyatt. I didn’t fuck around. I didn’t sleep with every pretty pair of legs I came across. I lost my virginity to Chelsea and had convinced myself that we had a future.
Except for a string of random one-night stands during our brief break up while I was in law school, I could count my sexual partners on one hand. Well, two hands, now.
Because I had just had sex with Meg Galloway. In a movie theater.
I rolled onto my side, glancing at the clock. It read at 3:30 in the morning. I was supposed to go fishing with Kyle in five hours, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about my dick in Meg’s hot, tight pussy. Her legs over my shoulders as I fucked her with my tongue.
Okay, so the location hadn’t been ideal, but it was the best sex I’d ever had. It was intense and passionate and bordering on angry. Meg screwed as she lived. With fire. And then as soon as I pulled out, she ran away, barely taking the time to button her shorts.
With a deep, unsettled groan, I sat up in bed, swinging my legs over the side and standing up. The hardwood floor was cool beneath my feet.
I was too amped up to sleep, so I put on an old pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt. I headed downstairs, making my way to the room at the back of the house Chelsea had done up as a home gym. It was filled with state-of-the-art equipment. I barely used it. Working out wasn’t really my thing. I had good genetics to thank for my absence of body fat.
Turning on the lights, I switched on some music, something rough and a little ragey. It suited my mood. I sat at the rowing machine and started pumping my arms. I needed to figure out what I was going to do—if I was going to do anything at all.
Sex with Meg didn’t have to mean anything.
But it did. It changed everything. Neither one of us could pretend it didn’t happen. Not given our history.And especially not considering the orgasms I gave her and how hard I came.
I closed my eyes, trying not to moan as the memory of her tits bouncing as I pumped into her invaded my mind.
I had fucked Meg.
And I wanted to fuck her again.
And again.
And again.
The truth was she had no idea that I had been half in love with her for most of my life. But the summer before senior year I had finally given up on my feelings ever being reciprocated. I fell into a thing with Chelsea at first because it was something to help me stop obsessing over my best friend. Chelsea was the opposite of Meg in every way. For me, at the time, it was the perfect solution to what I felt to be an impossible situation. I could forget about loving Meg.
