Chapter 9
POV: Abby?
Immediately when I got home I threw myself into the shower and stood under the hot pouring water, washing away his cum along with mine but not the memories.
The memories stayed there and served as reminders that things very much had changed—between the two of us within a 10 minute span.
And I could feel him still on me—the tight grip of his fingers digging into my waist, the way his voice was not above a whisper but was still undeniably rough—the way he spoke like he…owned me, like I was already his—the way it felt when he slipped out of me—empty.
That’s exactly how I felt now, thinking about it all—the quick fleeting moment that disappeared just as quickly as it came. Empty.
Because I missed him being inside me already.
And that was the beginning and the end of everything.
I knew that Cole was far from what I imagined to be the perfect man.
I imagined that he would be….safe yet still cause my heart to quicken. I imagined that he would be someone that my dad loved, and my mom would’ve loved, if she was still alive.
But the more and more I thought about what I envisioned as the perfect man for so long, ended up being exactly what Cole wasn’t.
I knew he wasn’t outwardly loving. He was cold.
I knew he wasn’t soft or gentle. He was rough and harsh.
I knew he wasn’t predictable, he was the exact opposite.
I knew he wasn’t safe. He was the type of guy that your dad would warn you about—case and point.
I knew he wasn’t…husband material.
Yet, all I could think about was our futures…together.
It was a fairytale, and here I was daydreaming, remembering what he felt like inside me, and remembering the way he spoke to me like I already belonged to him.
And the truth was, if I learned anything from having sex with Cole, I knew that I wanted to belong to him.
I was screwed—royally screwed, wasn’t I?
Because I knew that Cole didn’t do conventional and he didn’t do emotions or grand gestures of commitment, in fact, a part of me even feared that Cole wouldn’t even make a showing at the bar tomorrow.
But as I fell to sleep that night, I tried to hope for the positive—that Cole would show up, and maybe we could talk about things, and maybe even…dare I say, fuck again?
A girl can hope. Or in this case..dream.
***
The day went by as it usually did, I slept in until I forced myself out of bed and drank 3 cups of coffee, went out shopping in town, and ate an overpriced restaurant salad and all before work started.
Before the bar opened for the day, I decided to change into one of the cute flowery purple sundresses I bought from one of the town’s boutiques earlier.
It was short, which Cole pretended to hate, though I knew he secretly liked it, and it gave perfect access for…you know.
Tonight. Truck sex. Again.
And I guess I should be thankful I was still on that horrible, emotionally traumatizing birth control, because I wanted him to cum inside me. Again.
But as 4:00 pm rolled around to 6:00 pm and 6:00 pm rolled around to 7:00 pm, my heart sank a little further into my stomach.
I had that sinking feeling. That feeling that meant..worry.
And here I was, mixing drinks, staring at the front door, hoping that everytime it opened it would be…him.
But as 8:30 pm rolled around, and I stared down at my phone, I realized he wasn’t coming.
And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt because it hurt like shit.
It hurts like when a horse bucks you and you land straight on your back.
It hurts even worse than a splinter does when you’re cutting wood.
And I think it hurts even worse than seeing an animal that you’re trying to save, take its last breath.
It gutted me realizing that he wasn’t coming.
The sensation of pain was crippling—it turned into an irritance, then it morphed completely into rage.
But with the anger came something else, too.
Infatuation.
I was infatuated with him, if it wasn’t obvious the far too many times I thought of him. Or the way his touch lingered like a phantom on my skin. Or the way I had this absolutely delusional belief that he would somehow text me, even without having my cell phone number.
As I was prepping the bar for closing time and trying not to think of Cole, my father decided that it was the perfect time to lecture me. I felt it in his presence even when he was quiet.
“Yes, dad?” I forced a smile as I walked around him towards the trash and dropped a few plastic cups inside.
“You were gone all morning.”
Here, we go.
I let out a sigh. “I went into town and got some things done before work.”
“With company?”
“Just ask what you want to ask, dad,” I groaned, folding my arms against my chest.
“Were you with Cole?”
His name sent a shiver down my spine.
I bit my lip but shook my head. “No, though maybe I should say I was so you get whatever you really want to say out loud!”
“Abby, please,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not doing this to lecture you. I’m doing this because I’m your father and I don’t want you to go down the wrong path.”
“The wrong path?” I laughed. “What is Cole like, a wayward felon or drug dealer? Do tell!”
He didn’t laugh, if anything he just looked more irritated. “Just promise me you’ll make good decisions?”
I wanted to laugh at that.
If only he knew the truth—about how far I was gone in making bad decisions—how far I went already down that vortex. But I refrained from doing so, which was the best case scenario.
“I promise, dad. I’ll make good decisions.”
He smiled and wrapped me into a hug. “Good girl, Abby.”
I forced a smile and waved him goodbye.
But all I could think of was the way Cole said my name. The way he called me a good girl. The way we were already connected—intertwined—bound in some physical way. And I wasn’t ready for that to end.