Chapter 9
Allegra
The second shot of tequila goes down easier than the first. As the alcohol burns a path down my throat and into my stomach, I release a shaky exhale.
Why the hell are Mav and Derek here? And why did Ethan have to show? I told him about happy hour as an off-handed comment. When he mentioned passing by, I couldn’t tell him not to come, but I didn’t think he’d show up.
I glance at my friends. Girls’ happy hour is going sideways. I wanted to hang out with my friends tonight. Confide in them about Derek being in town, about Dex stepping in as a solid mentor in my life, about the two people I placed in housing this week.
I wanted to hear about their lives. Talk more about Ivy’s new haircut and ask Nova if she’s been on any dates. See if Kenny heard back from the law schools she’s applied to.
Now, all those conversations have been paused. Instead, we need to make nice and entertain the three guys surrounding our table, giving each other dagger eyes.
Well, mostly Derek is glaring at everyone but that’s nothing new. He never knew how to have fun, enjoy a moment for what it is, and make friends. He’s too busy being sour and judgmental, snarky and self-centered.
“I need another shot,” I announce, giving myself up to the moment.
Why the hell should I tiptoe around this male pissing contest? Besides, my friends invited Mav and Derek here; they can deal with the bullshit their presence is causing.
Me? I’m going to enjoy my Friday night off.
When the server passes our table, I order another round of shots.
Happy hour slides into night and Chance fills up. College kids, young professionals looking to blow off steam, and groups of friends line the bar and huddle around the high-top tables.
The DJ arrives and tipsy cliques of girls flock to the dance floor, their laughter genuine, their friendships tight. I watch them move and glance at my friends.
“Want to dance?” I ask the group but look at Nova since she’s the more carefree of my friends.
“Sure.” She slips off her barstool.
I slide off mine and stumble slightly. Derek places a steadying hand on my lower back, his eyes catching mine.
“You good?” His voice is low. Gravelly. His eyes are dark and intense. Two pools of coal I used to drown in. Hell, maybe I did drown in them and still haven’t come up for air.
My breath lodges in my throat and I nod since words fail me.
Derek dips his head, brushing his lips over my ear. “You sure?”
I turn my head and ignore him. Why is he questioning me? Why does he feel entitled to a response?
I follow Nova toward the dance floor. She grips my hand and weaves us through gyrating couples and dancing bodies. Pulling us into the center of the dance floor, we move to the music. Ivy eventually joins us.
A mash-up song plays and when I hear the opening notes of The Burnt Clovers’ hottest single, my eyes cut to the table.
Mav fist pumps, enjoying the song and the energy it’s creating. Ethan’s nowhere to be found. And Derek? He’s staring at me with pure hunger and unadulterated want.
My body comes alive under his intense gaze. Heat spreads up my spine and fans out through my limbs. My nipples pebble, pressing into the cups of my bra. A rush of desire gathers between my legs.
Fuck. I turn away from Derek.
Why does he do this to me? Why is he here?
Why does he affect me more than any other man in my life? Still, after all the fucking heartache he caused?
Angry with my traitorous body and frustrated with how this night is going, I close my eyes and focus on the music. Blocking out the lyrics, I lose myself to the beat. My arms lift in the air, and I swivel my hips seductively. I sense bodies moving closer; their heat presses into my skin.
A steady frame steps behind me, one hand possessively grabbing my hip.
For half a heartbeat, I hope it’s Derek but as soon as the guy’s cologne hits my nostrils, I know it’s not.
His touch is different. It feels wrong and sloppy.
Still, I sink into his hold, letting him guide our dancing.
When he presses a pill into my palm, I don’t think twice.
I swallow it dry, opening my eyes long enough to see the rage that crosses Derek’s expression.
In the next instant, my angry rockstar is before me, slapping the guy’s hand off my hip. Derek gives him a menacing look and the guy takes off without a word. I don’t even know his name. In fact, I don’t even know what he looks like. And yet, I took a pill he passed me.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Derek snaps. He grips my wrist and tugs me away from my friends and off the dance floor.
When we get back to our table, he sits me on a barstool and steps between my parted knees. His palm, surprisingly gentle given the currents of anger in his eyes, rests against my cheek.
“Look at me, Allegra,” he demands.
I fight to open my eyes. Fuck, I’m tired. The club spins around me, the lights blinding, the sounds drumming in my pulse. Whatever I took is dragging me under.
“Baby,” Derek mutters, his voice scratchy. Panic replaces the anger in his eyes. “Fuck. Is this a goddamn habit?” he bites out accusingly.
A shiver runs up my spine. Anticipation—or maybe expectation?—travels through my veins. I like that he cares. I smile. I want him to worry. Hell, I’ve worried about him for way too long.
“Shit,” Ethan says behind him. My new friend gathers my hair in his fist and pulls it over my shoulders. Ethan’s fingers press in the center of my back. “Want me to take you home, A?”
“I’ll be taking her home,” Derek snaps.
“Hey, man. Take it easy.” Ethan’s voice sounds dull compared to Derek’s threatening one. Ethan gives me a little shake. “Allegra?”
Derek’s face fills my line of vision. “We’re leaving.” I feel his hands move down my body and then, everything is upside down as he flips me over his shoulder.
“You can’t just—” Ethan sputters.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Derek cuts him off. “Mav? I got her. We’re leaving. Get the girls home.”
I don’t hear Mav’s response. Instead, I focus on not vomiting. Or passing out. Or drifting off to sleep right here, with Derek carrying me through throngs of people.
I’m sure these images will appear in tabloids tomorrow morning. At least I’m wearing sexy underwear. The thought makes me giggle and Derek’s palm massages the back of my bare upper thigh in response.
I guess because he’s Reign, no one puts up a protest to him carrying a blitzed girl out of a club. Or perhaps his security clears a path for him. Whatever the reason, it’s mere minutes before cool air races over my heated skin and I know we’re outside.
“Come on,” he says gently, turning me right side up.
The world rushes past me quickly and my stomach recoils, threatening to upchuck all the shit I consumed.
Derek sets me in the back seat of an SUV. He brushes my hair out of my eyes and looks me over with a searching, concerned gaze. Then, he pulls the seat belt across my chest and buckles me in before rounding the car and sliding in beside me.
He rattles off my address to the driver. Of course, he knows where I live.
The driver takes off in the direction of my house.
“Here.” Derek uncaps a water bottle and holds it to my mouth. “Drink this.”
At his words, I realize how parched I am. I do as he says and greedily drain the water bottle.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
I snort. I was his good girl once.
Now? I’m too fucking damaged to be anyone’s good anything.
“Allegra,” Derek murmurs my name.
I drag my eyes open and look at him.
His expression is filled with sadness and lined with regret. “What are you doing, baby?”
I smile softly and let my eyes close.
Living my life. Having fun. Being a college kid.
The responses filter through my mind, but I don’t voice any of them. I’m too tired to talk. Too tired to navigate whatever is happening between Derek and me.
Exhaustion weighs down my limbs. My tongue feels too thick for my mouth. My throat, tight and sore.
The next thing I know, Derek’s cradling me in his arms and working his way into my apartment. He finds my keys in my purse and lets us into my studio. Placing me down gently on the couch, I hear him move around my space.
“Fucking shithole. Living like this.” The deadbolt slides into place. A kitchen cabinet opens. Followed by the refrigerator. “No food, no Advil—”
“In the bathroom,” I croak out.
Derek’s sigh fills the air.
I don’t know how much time passes before he presses two tablets into my mouth. The rim of a glass knocks against my teeth. “Drink,” he commands. One of his hands cups the base of my head, holding me up enough to swallow the cool water. I drink, swallow, flop back, and close my eyes.
Derek carries me to my bed. He lays me down in the center and pulls off my heels. He unzips my skirt and works it over my hips. Then, he pulls the sheet around my waist.
His fingers work through my hair. The bed dips as he sits on the edge. His scent envelops me, and I breathe it in, letting his presence soothe me.
For so long, this is all I wanted. Him. His attention, his care, his love.
“You left me,” I murmur, accusingly.
“Biggest regret of my fucking life.”
I snort. Good. I’m glad he regrets it. He should.
“You’re killing me, baby,” he whispers.
My eyes are closed, my breathing even, my mind half numb. But I hear his words. They filter into my subconscious and knock around like a ping-pong ball.
“Hate seeing you like this.” Another stroke of his hand passes over my head.
“I thought I was doing you a favor, but if I knew it would be like this…” he sighs heavily.
“Fuck, Allegra. What the hell are you doing, baby?” His mouth moves over my cheek.
His lips brush a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“I love you, Stellina. So much it fucking hurts.”
I love you.
He’s never said the words before. And now, he says them when I’m too incoherent to respond. Hell, maybe I’m imagining them? Dreaming them up and willing them into reality.
Still, his words heal some broken part of my heart. Mentally, I promise myself that I’ll talk to him about this tomorrow. I swear that I’ll confront him, ask him why he thought abandoning me was good for me, try to understand his thought process like a rational, mature adult.
But when the morning light cuts through the curtains and I wake up, disoriented, groggy, and hungover as hell, I don’t remember a damn thing Derek said in the quiet of the night.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him instead, right before I race to the bathroom and empty the contents swimming around my gut.
“Tough shit,” he replies, standing in the doorframe of my bathroom, witnessing my humiliation, my shame and desperation.
His presence ignites my anger all over again.