Chapter Twenty Two #3
Reaching for my boxers, I remove the condom and chuck it in a trash can, uncaring of the mess. It won’t be me cleaning it up anyway. Tugging my boxers on, I stand tall, arms crossed to loom over her.
“Did I…Was that…?” I swallow, unable to force out the words.
Meg turns around, fully dressed and pulling her hair free of the jacket collar.
She fights to appear composed, but I can see through it now.
She’s practically trembling, no longer powered by alcohol in her system.
The truth of what has just happened is present in the waiver of her blue eyes, as well as smeared across my thigh.
We haven’t just crossed a boundary. We’ve obliterated it.
“Why me?” I narrow my eyes. Meg lifts her shoulder, taking a step back towards the door.
“Why not you?”
My heart slams painfully against my chest. If only she knew there were so many answers to that question. I rake a hand through my hair, my mind is already racing ten steps ahead.
This wasn’t casual. Girls don’t give something like that away and shrug it off.
There will be expectations, there will be whispers, and it won’t be me they impact.
Meg just secured a huge grant off her own back, but once word of this gets out, they’ll presume I had a hand in it.
They’ll say I traded my team for her virginity.
I’m not in the position to be caught up in another scandal, and she’s too talented to lose everything because of a brief lack in judgement.
“Everest?” Meg frowns, sensing the shift in the air but she doesn’t understand it.
She doesn’t stand a chance. Setting my features, hiding behind the cocky mask, I straighten my shoulders and let the colder version of myself slide back into place.
It’s easier this way. Easier to be the arrogant bastard she expects than a man spiraling.
I step toward her, closing the distance with intent.
She searches my face for some kind of reassurance, but I give her a smirk instead.
The kind that erases tenderness. The kind that rewrites history.
Curling my hand around her wrist, I gently tug her to the door and pull it wide open.
The roar of the party crashes back in, the scent of sweat and alcohol tingling my nose.
Guiding her to the stairs, I give her a gentle shove to descend.
Beneath the railing I lean on, bodies sway, red cups raised, lights flashing in fractured bursts.
They notice Meg first, then me standing bare-chest in my boxers.
The music cuts almost immediately, a rise of gasps and muttering filling the echoing silence.
I simply smile, remembering my father’s words.
Control the narrative. Don’t let it control you.
“Nice try, Megan, but we all know you’ve been copying my offensive sets all of last year. If I had tits, I’d have gotten that grant myself, Faker.” I call out, every word tasting like ash on my tongue. Laughter erupts instantly.
Near the bottom of the stairs, Meg almost misses a step.
She whirls back to look up at me, her mouth dropping open.
I look away from the shock, and the hurt, shining in her eyes, greeting my audience with a knowing grin.
They play up to me, cheering my name, holding up their drinks, stroking my ego.
This is my domain. My stage. My burden, and she should get as far away from here as possible.
Sweeping a hand through my hair, I let the story play out.
Let them think she tried, let her hate towards me build.
I expect to see Meg’s silhouette dart out of the open doorway, but when that doesn’t happen, I make the mistake of looking back.
She’s leaning against the wall, her chin tilted upwards and a smile playing about her own swollen mouth.
“Oh Everest,” Meg laughs to herself. The crowd quiets, smartphones lifting to catch Meg’s embarrassment. But that’s not what they get. “I’m not the one standing half naked with cum in his pants. Maybe you should work harder on your own success, rather than trying to piggyback off mine.”
An ‘oooo’ makes its way around the entire house, the girls present pointing and sniggering openly.
Heat crawls up my cheeks and in an effort to save me from responding, the music is switched back on.
Meg stares openly, her brow cocked, the image of composure.
I wave my hand in the air, effectively dismissing her, even though it’s me who leaves.
Retreating back to my study and grabbing the neck of the whiskey bottle, I swig enough to make me cough.
Below, the party is back in full swing and I imagine her down there.
Dancing, laughing, mocking. That’s just fine.
We needed to reset the dynamics, solidifying the barriers between us again.
Especially with my parents being who they are and what they’re expecting of me.
I can’t be associated with a one-night stand.
I can’t be the man who ruins her future. I can’t belong to anyone.