27. Mac
MAC
I plunk onto the corner of the couch, finishing off my can of beer and trying to relax, but I’m on edge.
I finally managed to shake off Miss Giggles.
Shit. Instant regret over that one.
Sure, the sex was hot, but I am so not after a repeat. I told her we were done, which should have been enough to shake her, but then she grabbed my hand. Now she’s in the bathroom, and the second she’s out, she’ll no doubt be looking for me.
Maybe I should bail. Take off for a while until things die down, and then I can—
Aw, shit. Here she comes again.
I throw back the last of my beer and drop the can on the floor, watching it roll away from me and trying to avoid eye contact as she totters toward me.
“There you are.” She grins, flopping onto the couch beside me and resting her head on my shoulder.
I nudge her off, turning to glare at her. “What are you doing? I said we’re done.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy, blinking for a second, then laughing. “What? So you’re not even going to talk to me anymore?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what ‘we’re done’ means.”
Her expression buckles as she leans away from me, her giggle turning to vapor when she finally starts to understand what I’m fucking saying. “After what we just did outside, you’re not even going to let me sit next to you?” That tipsy sparkle in her eyes fades to something dull and wounded.
Shit.
I told her.
I clarified before I got my dick out that this was just sex. Nothing more.
Didn’t I say that?
Didn’t she agree to it?
“I told you, I don’t do serious. It was just a bit a fun.”
“A bit of fun,” she scoffs, thumping back against the cushions and crossing her arms.
This is my chance to get up and bolt for the door.
“Don’t you dare move.” She snatches my bicep, her nails digging into my muscle as she whisper-barks, “I won’t let you treat me like a whore.”
I frown at the accusation, turning to face her properly. “I didn’t make you sleep with me. And I wasn’t paying for shit. You wanted it.”
“Because I thought we had something going!” she hisses.
Her face has gone all out of shape, stealing her beauty as it morphs into a raging scowl.
My insides roil, guilt threatening to scrape my intestines raw, but that feeling can fuck off because I made myself clear. And it’s not like she really feels a connection.
Please. We’ve spent all of two seconds together.
My scoff is rough and harsh, and it’s time to bite back and shake this chick for good.
Leaning in, I get right in her face and tell what she needs to hear—the truth.
“You only let me fuck you because you want in with my mom. Feel free to drop my name when you reach out to her. Not sure it’ll make a difference, but you can give it a try. ”
Her head jolts away from me, her skin paling as her eyebrows dip into an even sharper V. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I thought you knew that already.” I narrow my eyes. “No one made you play with fire. You threw yourself at me, and don’t try to tell me that none of your little girlfriends warned you to stay away. You had your agenda.”
She shoves me away from her, jumping off the couch and straightening that little skirt of hers. It only barely covers her ass, and I smirk at her silky-smooth legs, all tanned from a summer spent lounging around in a deck chair and rotating like a pig on a spit to perfect her look for Hollywood.
Please. It’s fucking pathetic.
“Get away from me, you man-whore.”
I raise my hands in relief. “Hey, I’m the one trying to get you away from me, so take that pretty ass of yours and walk it out my door.”
Her slap comes out of nowhere, cracking me across the cheek with a sting that burns.
I go still, keeping my head to the side when she leans down and hisses, “You need therapy, you fucking psycho!”
And then she finally turns and storms away.
Thank God for that.
My eyes dart her way as she weaves through the crowd, shoving people aside in her rage.
I suck in a breath through my nose, fighting my own anger.
I don’t need fucking therapy!
And I’m pissed off that I made things abundantly clear before I stuck my dick inside her, but she just wouldn’t accept the terms we agreed to.
She said it was just a little fun.
Didn’t she consent to that?
And I’m the “fucking psycho”? She’s the one who needs therapy!
Standing up, I move through the party, antsy and restless.
I need to do something to expel this feeling inside me. I don’t like it. I hate this itching. It’s like there are ants crawling all over my skin.
Scratching my chest, I scan the crowd, needing to do something to unleash. Something that doesn’t involve pussy or female drama.
And I don’t want to get high right now. I want a different kind of buzz.
With a growl, I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time while I try to shake this sensation I hate so much. I don’t know why this comes over me. I don’t even know what it is.
All I know is that I need to do something wild, dangerous, reckless. I need an injection of adrenaline to pour through me and wash away this ugly, black feeling in my chest.