Ruin My Life (Mangled Masterpieces #1)

15. Win

15

Win

I think Remy regrets the doorbell.

He greeted me this morning with a screeched, “ I’m sick of all these fucking notifications of your fucking face, ” through the speaker as I dropped off his post-workout smoothie. Clearly, kickboxing with his bestie hadn't improved his mood.

He sequestered himself for three more days after I installed the doorbell, effectively forcing my hand to either break into his apartment or summon assistance. Since I wasn't in the mood to get arrested, I had no other choice but to create an Instagram and message Andrea, who responded with a string of gifs that took me entirely too long to decode. (Apparently a chihuahua in a Superman shirt, a cartoon bunny on a pogo stick and a creepy guy dressed in an angel outfit holding a penguin as he floated down the street meant she was coming to the rescue.) She swooped in with a key to his place— lucky bitch— and dragged a kicking and screaming Remy out by his hair.

While I’m content to ignore the fact that my presence worsens his depressive episodes, I can’t stand aside while he drowns. So I’ve reluctantly taken a minuscule step back— hanging out in the parking lot rather than at his door— and let Andrea be there for him in my place. If I had my way, I’d be up his ass.

Literally and figuratively.

I twirl the toothpick I’ve been gnawing for the last twenty minutes while counting the stars and contemplating the consequences of buying a pack of cigarettes. Gum makes my jaw ache. Toothpicks taste like shit. I’d inhale an entire vape cart in three seconds flat if given the chance.

“Back so soon?”

The toothpick falls from my fingertips.

Andrea drums her black painted nails on the hood of Mom’s Rover as she circles the nose to where I’m leaning against the driver’s side debating the reintroduction of poison into my lungs.

“I could say the same to you,” I muse, nodding at the apartment complex. “If you want some chicken tikka masala, I’m sure he won’t eat it all.”

Her lips curve into a smirk. “You’ve stooped to bribing him with food, Pooh Bear?”

I roll my eyes at the old nickname. “You of all people know that when he's going through it he won’t feed himself.”

A piece of red-streaked hair blows straight out with her sigh as she slumps beside me, facing the stairs of Remy's building. She crosses her arms, the fabric of her black dress stretched tight over her tits. I scrutinize her micro-mini. My scowl deepens when I notice she's sporting fishnets and platform boots.

I cock a brow.

She mirrors my expression.

“A bit overdressed to binge-watch trashy reality TV, hmm?”

Examining her pointed talons, she shrugs. “We have other plans. ”

A pack of cigarettes no longer sounds like a temptation; it’s a damn necessity.

“You’re not fucking him.”

She snorts. “Don’t worry, Winnie, as attractive as he is, Remy’s not my type.” I squint at her skeptically. A snarky chuckle escapes her. “Put it this way: he’s not enough of an asshole.”

I pluck a new toothpick from my pocket.

“I beg to differ. He’s the total asshole package.”

Her pert nose wrinkles in disgust. “Tell me that's not an innuendo.”

I smirk, weaving the thin, smooth wood between my fingers.

“You put ‘Remy’ and ‘asshole’ in a sentence, what did you expect?”

A small hand whacks the center of my chest. I cough, grinning.

“I don’t want to hear your side of this toxic obsession too.”

My brows knit. “There’s more than one side?”

Brown eyes narrow in frustration. “I’m his best friend, you forgotten stuffed animal, he tells me everything. Meaning I’m basically the host of Win-oholics Anonymous.”

Her words are gallons upon gallons of gasoline poured over dangerous flames. Doubts I’ve harbored for years crumble to ash beneath the roaring fire as the sliver of hope whispers, “ See? That soul-deep connection isn’t imaginary. He’s still yours as much as you’re his.”

But hope is a fickle whore.

Chewing the tip of the toothpick, I mutter, “I’m sure it’s been years since one of those meetings.”

The sharp sting of her knuckles whacks the side of the head.

“Ow!”

She stomps her chunky boot, releasing a strangled shriek. “Neither of you have updated the software up here!” she howls, punctuating her point with another smack to the temple. I hiss through my teeth and cower as she rants. “Stop acting like a goddamn ostrich and pull your head out of the fucking sand! He’s not over you— he’ll never be over you and I swear on every vengeful entity in the universe that if you hurt him again, I’ll skewer you on a pike and roast you until you’re an unrecognizable, charred corpse!”

I blink at her.

“That's terrifyingly specific.”

She ignores my sass, hands landing on her hips as her head tilts with a menacing snarl.

“The only reason I haven't mangled you beyond repair for the bullshit you put him through is the fact that if anything happens to you, he’ll toss himself out a window.”

A stiletto nail lands between my eyes.

I wince.

“That said… I’ve been meaning to do this.”

I’m about to ask what in the fresh hell she’s talking about when a knee collides with my crotch.

“ Motherfuck— ”

Bent in half, I gasp through the agony. She pats my head. “Get it together, Pooh. Your honey pot is coming downstairs.”

I straighten so fast black specks dance in my eyes.

Sure enough, Remy is trotting down, watching his brown dress boots and skimming his fingertips along the railing. The sight of him sends blood rushing to my sore dick, but arousal quickly veers toward fury.

His hair is styled and pushed back from his forehead, a pair of dark jeans hugging his long legs as they eat up the distance between us. The light blue short sleeve button-up he chose accentuates his broad shoulders and tapered waist. He's a goddamn wet dream come to life.

As soon as Remy spots me, he scowls. But a flash of surprise swallows his sour expression when he finds me scowling right back at him.

“Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”

He stumbles to a halt.

Andrea smacks the back of my head. I barely feel it.

“Ok, caveman, you could’ve just said he looks like a snack,” she hisses before smiling at Remy. “Ignore the buzzkill. You look gorgeous, babe.”

He's a confused statue.

I’m torn between hauling his ass upstairs and drop-kicking his instigating best friend.

“Stop calling him babe,” I snarl. She elbows me in the gut. “ Bitch .”

Committing first degree murder doesn’t seem far fetched anymore.

“Did you fucking invite him?” Remy asks Andrea. A laugh bursts from her. Before she can respond, I interrupt.

“Invite me where?”

She smooths out Remy’s collar and slips an arm around his waist, flashing me a taunting smirk. This conniving little shit needs to stop touching what’s mine.

“We’re going to a club.”

It takes a full minute for her words to register, but when they do, my rage amplifies to an astronomical level. If Remy enters a club of horny asshats looking like he does right now, he’ll get mauled and I’ll end up behind bars.

Over.

My.

Dead.

Body.

“No. ”

“Pardon?” Andrea asks, blinking innocently.

I growl, “He’s not going.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not right here, asshole. I’m going. Get over it,” Remy snaps, angling to escape–

I block his path, chest swelling as I glare directly into furious golden green eyes.

“If you’re going to be a stubborn brat, then get in the fucking car.”

The charged air between us is suffocating.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Palpable waves of anger roll off him, feeding mine. My cock throbs.

“Correction: you’re not going anywhere without me, baby.”

His upper lip curls. “I’m not your baby .”

“Get in the car.”

“Fuck off.”

“What was that? You want me to fuck the attitude out of you?”

He snarls, his hands flattening on my chest to shove—

His touch is a brand, scorching through my shirt, marking my skin, my heart, my soul . I lean into it, my lips dangerously close to his ear as I whisper, “You’re testing my limits, baby . Push me a little more, I dare you. My restraint is hanging by a fucking thread and I’m more than ready for it to snap.”

Tearing away from me, he rips open the door to the backseat of the Rover and climbs in, slamming it shut with enough force to echo through the entire parking lot.

Nails scrape gently across my shoulder.

“You’re brave,” Andrea says. When I turn, I expect to see a gloating smirk on her face, but I’m confronted by a worried frown. “Or stupid. A club isn’t a safe place for a recovering addict.”

My molars grind.

“I’m as stupid as it gets when it comes to him,” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair.

Her smile is tinged with sadness.

“I know, Pooh,” she murmurs, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before heading to the passenger side.

Her concern is valid; risking my sobriety because I can’t stand to let Remy party without me is fucking idiotic. But no matter how precarious it is, my willpower is stronger. I refuse to cave into vices that would push him further away. As I climb behind the wheel, I make a silent vow to the brooding, beautiful man in the back seat.

I’ll battle demons, temptations, fears and flaws for the rest of my life to prove nothing will take me from you again.