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I watch as her long fingers slide across his jaw, her red-tipped nails sinking into my favorite mop of dark brown waves. She pulls his face down to hers, their lips mashing together, and something inside of me stops working. It hurts. Tears sting the back of my eyes and I hate myself because I did this. I put myself in this position. I let myself feel things for someone I had no right feeling anything for.
“Excuse me,” I whisper to nobody in particular, since most of our group is chatting and laughing animatedly, like my heart hasn’t just been stomped on for the second time in a matter of weeks. I drop my beer on a table and turn to leave but a hand wraps around my wrist. I look up at Wyatt’s pained, guilty expression.
“Claire…”
I don’t need his pity, and I certainly don’t want it. I pull my arm from his grasp and slip up the staircase, hopefully unnoticed by everyone but Wyatt, whose gaze I can still feel on me.
I can deny my feelings for Avery all I want, but right now, they’re slapping me right in the face.
I slip into my office and pick my bag up off the end of my couch.
I know the exact moment he appears behind me in my doorway. I can feel it, feel him. His presence is overwhelming, just like it always is. The skin on the back of my neck pebbles and I try not to let the shiver that races down my spine shake me.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I reply quietly, not bothering to look over my shoulder.
I want this dress off. I want these heels gone. I yank them off my feet and sink three inches to the ground. I slip my old pair of Chuck’s on my feet, not caring that I look ridiculous in a glamorous dress and a pair of dirty sneakers. A dress I spent too much money on because I thought about Avery’s reaction to it when I tried it on.
The air around me turns heavy with tension as I feel him approach me from behind. With a long, low exhale, I send up a silent prayer. I’m tired of letting men break me, and the last thing I want to do is let him those broken pieces that only become more jagged with time.
“Look, Avery, I didn’t come up here for another make out session.”
“I know,” he says softly. “Neither did I.”
I can’t formulate a response, and the last thing I really want to do is engage in a serious conversation right now, so I just pack my things up. My sunglasses, my keys, my clothes from earlier today, my heels—I shove them all in, maybe with a little more vigor than necessary.
“What are you doing?” Avery asks.
I flip the top over my leather messenger bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Leaving,” I tell him, turning and brushing by him, managing to avoid his gaze.
His fingers circle my elbow, stopping me. “Why are you leaving? This is your party. You worked your ass off to plan it with Charlee.” His suit jacket is gone, drawing my attention to the red lipstick stain on his shoulder, the other one on his collar. “You can’t leave yet, Claire.”
I can’t? Orders aren’t going to work for me, not tonight, not right now. My eyes flick up to his, anger making my jaw clench. The problem is, as soon as I catch sight of his soft mocha eyes, my anger mixes with heartache, and I hate it. It makes me weak. Being weak is what got me into this mess in the first place.
“Just stay, Claire,” he pleads quietly. His hands smooth up my arms, squeezing my shoulders. “Come on. We can grab a drink, talk.”
I take a step back, holding my hands out in front of me to keep distance between us that I’m in desperate need of. I can’t touch him. He can’t touch me. I can’tthinkwhen he’s touching me. My heart tells my brain what to do and my brain listens, and I just can’t have that anymore. I’m losing brain cells, connections are severing.
“Avery, stop. I’m done, okay? I’m exhausted and I need to go home.”
“I’ll come with you,” he says, pulling his phone from his back pocket. “I can have the car here in a few minutes.”
I shake my head and wave my hands. “I can take an Uber.”
His brows dip with confusion. “But we’re going to the same place. My driver—”
“No, Avery. I can get home perfectly fine on my own. I don’t need your driver, and I don’t need you!” Ouch. Even as I say it, I know I’ve packed a little too much punch.
A pinch of hurt shades his handsome features. He reaches for my hands. “Claire…”
“Look,” I sigh, gently removing my hands from his. I smooth the wisps of hair away from my face and take a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going on here. There’s obviously…something. Chemistry, maybe, but nothing more. Because just like you said earlier, all you wanna do is fuck. I’ve already told you that’s not me. I’m sorry I’ve been giving you mixed signals, because I admit my body seems to keep getting a little carried away with you. I don’t do casual, Avery, and I don’t really wanna go falling in love with someone who just wants to screw until he finds someone better, and it looks like you have plenty of options.” I hate that I even mentioned the l-word, but at the very least, it should scare him off. Avery doesn’t fall in love; that’s not what he’s looking for.
My gaze floats down to my shoes, because the hurt that dances across his features makes all the thoughts in my head swirl. What right does he have to be hurt? It’s stupid to even think that question, because honestly, what right do I have to be hurt? We aren’t anything, right? That’s what I just said. That’s what I keep saying.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Avery. Please close my door when you leave.”
Eyes cast downwards, I head down the hallway, trying not to fall apart. My sneakers padding on the hardwood is the only thing I can hear up here, even with the party raging on the floors below. When I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the quiet click of my office door.
