14
Double Stuffed
Max
The pints of beer I had at Four Brothers sit heavily in my stomach as I walk home from the pub. But they haven’t smoothed the edge that my day has left behind.
I still can’t believe Tucker would blindside me like that. I can’t believe how quick he was to diminish everything I’ve been working so hard on. Then again, I’m also not that surprised. Who was I to think that a rich, Cornell asshole would want anything more than to turn me into a Stepford Wife?
Beyond the seething anger still driving me, I feel so fucking…
alive. There’s this small buzzing in my blood since I left the Bradshaws’ and walked into the bar.
I keep thinking it’s because I’ve freed myself from a toxic situation, but as I walk down Main Street, a tiny voice tells me it’s more than that.
Like something is about to happen, a sudden change, but it’s just out of my line of sight.
I round the corner of my block and spot Tucker’s red car parked out front, which instantly bursts my happy, Zen-like bubble.
He steps out of his car. “Still mad?” he asks.
“Still an asshole?” I shoot back, fishing my keys out of my purse. I unlock the door to the building, ready to ditch him, but he gets closer. He holds the door, then runs his nose into my hair, taking a deep inhale. The smell of his wine-and whiskey-laced breath hits me.
“I am absolutely an asshole. The biggest. And I’m so sorry.” He circles his hands over my hips toward the front, pulling me back against him. He’s firm against my backside, and my eyes drift shut.
Tucker’s done this before—shows up late, comes upstairs. Usually, we wind up making out, but nothing else. He leaves, claiming we need to slow things down.
“I don’t accept your apology.” I turn around, grabbing his arms, but he doesn’t release me. “I think we need to take a break.”
“Maxine, please. You need to understand, when I’m around my dad, I turn into this complete prick.”
“Oh, I understand that perfectly.”
He frowns. “I know it’s no excuse.” He lowers his mouth, brushing his lips against mine. “Please let me make it up to you.”
The warmth of his mouth, his intoxicating cologne mixed with the scent of alcohol, manipulates my pressing needs. This, coupled with the fact that I’m definitely drunk, loosens my inhibitions, and apparently my common sense, too.
Don’t do it, that tiny voice says, but I ignore it and take his hand, leading him upstairs.
When I unlock my door and step into my apartment, Tucker surprises me, and in a flash, he has me pinned against the wall, thrusting his hips against mine.
Once the shock fades, I drop my things to the floor and grab the collar of his salmon-colored polo shirt, shoving him against the opposite wall.
It’s rough, aggressive, and he actually lets me.
He glides his tongue across the seam of my lips, convincing me that tonight will go my way after all.
I yank his shirt from his pants, then slide my hands up his bare stomach.
The ridges of his rowing captain’s body are smooth, not too defined, but they’re enough to keep me enticed.
I lean in, pressing my thigh between his legs, feel his erection against my hip, then drop my hands, working his belt buckle.
But when I sneak my hand into his boxers and touch the smooth tip of his cock, he grabs my wrist.
“Whoa, Max. Take it easy.”
“What do you—” I’m breathless and stunned that after all this lead-up, he’s stopping this. Yet again. Vexed, my jaw drops, and I lean back against the wall behind me. “You’re kidding.”
He frowns, tucking in his shirt. “I just thought…”
“You thought what? Why did you even come here?”
“I wanted to talk to you. And I wanted to have sex, but…” He shrugs, dropping his head.
Exasperated, I run my hands through my hair, then crack my neck. Like an itch I can’t reach, my skin stings. Forget an itch, this is like having fucking chickenpox.
Tucker lifts his eyes to meet mine. His inexperience colors his face, telling me that no amount of patience or pleading would ever make things okay between us. Even if I forgave and forgot what he did earlier at dinner, Tucker isn’t what I need in my life. Sexually or otherwise.
What I need is to stop looking for what I need in someone else.
“Tucker, deep down I know you mean well, but you don’t want me.” I step toward him, laying my hand on his arm. “Not the way you think you do.”
He traces my cheek with a knuckle, then slides his fingers into my hair. “I do want you. And I’m sorry for earlier. I was a jerk.”
I search his eyes and notice something I never have before—emptiness. There’s no longing. No aching desire. It’s just hollow.
“That’s a lie.” I step into the kitchen and search through the pantry for something to eat; not that I’m hungry. I just want sugar. And some booze, too.
I find a box of Oreos, then from a top cabinet, I pull out an old bottle of crème de menthe. I can’t remember where I got it, or how long it’s been up there, but it’ll have to do.
“I’m not lying,” he says. “I want you.”
“No, not about that,” I reply. “About being sorry. You agree with your dad.”
I settle onto a stool at the kitchen island, slamming the box of cookies onto the granite counter, and dig in.
“If you’re hungry, we could go grab a bite at the brewery. They’re still open,” Tucker offers, sliding up next to me, and I shoot him a sharp glare.
“I know, I was just there. And I’m not hungry.”
He rattles the cookie box, arching that arrogant eyebrow of his. “You sure about that?”
That’s it. The veiled criticism, on top of a terrible day, ignites my rage.
“Yes, Tucker, I’m sure. Stop thinking you know me better than I know myself.
I’m not hungry and I’m not miserable working at the inn, either.
What I am is fucking horny. But I’m dating a guy who’s not interested in putting out. ”
Tucker winces as if I’ve slapped him. Realization strikes again, and a slow laugh slides over my lips as I get up from the stool.
“Does that offend you, Tucker? Me speaking like that? Saying how I feel. Telling you that I want to be fucked? Hard, fast, rough. All night long.”
He shakes his head, blushing. “It doesn’t offend me. I’m just not used to hearing you speak like that. And I don’t understand why you need to stuff your face because we can’t have sex.”
I guffaw, deliberately twisting the top off my Oreo. “Well, get used to it, bucko, cause sometimes, this girl likes to talk dirty.”
I slowly lick the cookie, making a show of dragging my tongue across the icing, and step closer to him. He frowns, awkward and unsure. Something about it spurs me on, or maybe it’s the alcohol. I’ve never been a good drunk.
“And sometimes, when I don’t have a cock to stuff me, I need to stuff my face instead.” I suck the round pad of icing off, which makes Tucker’s frown deepen and his eyes shoot to the floor.
God, he’s such a fucking prude.
“I didn’t come here for this.”
“You mean you’re not here to reject me and tell me what’s wrong with me?
To hear how badly I want you to rip my clothes off and pin me to the wall, slamming into me so hard, I scream?
” I cup his blushing cheek with my hand.
“That’s what this is for you. An ego boost. Having this poor, broken girl drape herself all over you.
Having her admit how badly she wants you just so you can turn her down.
” I lower my hand and stab a finger into his chest. “Do you get off on that, Tucker?
‘Cause I think you do. I think you love making me feel like shit for putting myself out there.”
Bashfully, he shakes his head. “I don’t get off on that.” He takes my hand, moving it away. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
A blush consumes my face, and his words make me shrink back. His judgmental gaze spreads over me, leaving me embarrassed, as if I’m standing naked in front of a large crowd. Everything he said and did tonight shreds my skin.
“Neither are you. You should leave.”
He cocks his head. “Don’t be like that. We’re just different people who need to find a way to coalesce.”
I cringe at him. “I don’t want to be with someone who wants to coalesce. If you don’t like me the way I am, don’t expect me to change. I come as is—filthy mouth and all. So, if you’re not here for that, there’s the door.”
“I just wanted time. I wanted—”
“To test something out. Tuck, I’ve thrown myself at you, more than once.
You don’t want me. And that’s fine. You take your time and save yourself for someone else.
Someone who fits the idea of what you want in a woman.
But I have needs. Needs you’re not satisfying.
” I walk around him and open the front door wide. “It’s been nice.”
Standing in the middle of my kitchen, he stares at me for a minute. His glare isn’t icy or angry, but neutral. A tad creepy, too, and it sends a weird shiver down my spine.
He steps out, stopping in the doorway. “If you ever want a mature and serious relationship, give me a call.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Nah, thanks. I’ll take sexually satisfying over mature and serious any day. Oh, and watch out for that brother of yours,” I reply, slamming the door in his face.
Grabbing my emotional snacks of sugar and booze, I carry them to the living room, trying to ignore my disappointment in another failed relationship, as well as my unsatisfied needs.
The Oreos do nothing to kill my sadness, and a quarter bottle of minty alcohol only makes it worse. Not to mention tastes god-awful.
I text Zayne.
Me
Dumped Tucker.
Zee
You deserve better. Want to come over? You could help me beat my solitaire score.
I laugh to myself. I could probably go to the inn and confide in Zayne, but I’m positive there’s no way I’m leaving this couch.
Me
Shouldn’t you be studying?
I’m taking a break. The offer still stands.
Thanks, but I’ll pass. We’ll talk tomorrow.
K. Love you.
Love you, too.