Memphis
I pull up to the beach house and cut the engine. I had no intention of coming here, but Storm’s a petulant child who won’t take no for an answer.
Proving my point, my phone vibrates with another text.
Storm: Where are you?
Here, asshole.
Gritting my teeth, I stride inside the house bursting with people and alcohol.
Lots of fucking alcohol.
The air is thick with weed and salt from the open patio doors.
Laughter ricochets off the walls like the broken glass vase some idiot broke.
Everyone is high off victory, and I can’t tell if the bounding in my chest is from the bass of the music playing or the anger that’s been simmering inside me for the past month.
I stroll past a drunk Phoenix and a sea of half-naked girls before making my way into the kitchen where I find Storm smoking a blunt.
He grins when he sees me. “Look who finally showed up. Where the hell were you last night?”
“My apartment.”
Shaking his head, he hands me a beer. “Who the fuck goes home after they win a Grammy?”
Someone who’d rather not see the girl he loves celebrating with her new fiancé.
I unscrew the top and take a big swig. “Someone who’d rather sleep than party.”
As if on cue, Josh walks by with his arm around a girl.
Same old, same old.
“Some things never change.”
A scoff leaves him. “No, they don’t.” He studies me long and hard. “Know what you need, man?”
Here we fucking go. And the dickhead wonders why I’ve been ignoring him.
“What?”
“Pussy.”
“Pussy is the problem,” I remind him.
Specifically, hers.
“That’s because you’ve been focusing on the wrong pussy.” Bringing the blunt to his lips, he takes a long pull. “Try one that isn’t wearing another man’s ring.”
And just like that, my already bad mood sours.
I flip him the bird. “You’re a bitch.”
“A bitch who gives a shit.” Leaning in, he murmurs, “Look, you’ve only fucked two women in your entire life.”
Motherfucker. I told him that shit in confidence, not so he could turn around and throw it in my face.
I’m about to smash my beer bottle against his skull, but he raises his hands.
“I’m not saying that to be a judgmental prick.
I’m just saying maybe the reason you can’t get over her is because you won’t get out there and broaden your horizons, so to speak.
” Placing an arm around my shoulders, he juts his chin at the group of women shaking their asses. “You can have any woman you want.”
That’s where he’s wrong.
Because the only woman I want…doesn’t want me.
As if reading my mind, he adds, “Or you can keep going home to your empty apartment every night wallowing in your misery and using your tears as lube when you jerk off…while she’s curled up in bed next to him.”
I try to ignore the agony burning a hole in my chest, but it’s impossible.
I know I need to move on, but there’s still a small part of me that keeps hanging on for dear life.
To what exactly, I’m not sure.
I’m just not ready to let her go.
“Pussy can hurt, but pussy can heal,” Storm prattles on like a pastor during a Sunday mass.
“They should put that on a Hallmark card.”
“Fuck yeah, they should. Real talk? Distraction is one hell of a—shit. Incoming. Wrong pussy coming your way at six o’clock.”
Her addicting scent hits me before she does, tapping me on the shoulder.
“Can we talk?”
Storm grabs his nutsack and mouths, ‘take back your balls’ before walking over to the liquor table.
I may have let Sky play with them, but I didn’t give them to her.
“No.”
Gritting my teeth, I stride across the room toward the patio doors.
She’s hot on my heels, breathing down my neck like a dragon I’ll never be able to slay.
“I know you’re upset. You have every right to be but—”
“But nothing.” Turning, I level her with a glare that’s sharp enough to cut glass and her hazel eyes widen.
“Go back to your fiancé, I’m sure he’s fucking a groupie somewhere.
” I scan the room until I find the piece of shit in question.
Jesus Christ. That’s a new low. “Or, you know, rifling through your purse.”
“What?”
Skylar’s brows shoot up. She whips around just in time to see Josh and Phoenix making a beeline for a nearby bedroom…with two chicks in tow.
Leaning down, I bring my lips against her ear. “My bad, Sky. Now he’s fucking a groupie.”
Will the lightbulb finally go off in that pretty head of hers?
Will she finally realize that the piece of shit she wants to marry isn’t worthy of her?
That the guy who is far from perfect, but would gladly spend every second of his life trying to put a smile on her face is standing right in front of her.
“Josh!” she yells at the top of her lungs.
And then she’s gone.
Chasing after him…again.
Something deep inside me unravels as I watch her take off.
I won a Grammy last night—the biggest achievement in the music industry—and I couldn’t even enjoy it.
Because I lost her.
I would have done anything for that girl. Anything.
But I can’t do this anymore.
“Hey, Memphis,” a feminine voice drawls before the redhead it belongs to comes into view.
“Hi.”
“Congrats on the Grammy.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d love to help you celebrate.” The redhead’s lips curl into a suggestive smile. “In private.”
Subtly isn’t this chick’s strong suit.
Giving her a once-over, I down the rest of my beer. Being a rock star comes with certain perks. Perks I’ve never indulged in, because I was too busy pining over a girl who doesn’t deserve me.
I dig my keys out of my pocket. “My truck is out front.”
My heart might not be ready to let her go…
But my self-preservation says it’s time for me to cut the cord.
Outside, the ocean wind slices through the night.
Somewhere behind me, the house roars with laughter and music.
“Wait up,” the redhead drawls, her heels clacking behind me.
The air around me smells like salt, perfume, and bad decisions.
Something about it feels like a glaring caution sign you ignore…right before everything goes to hell.
I should take it as a warning and turn around.
Instead, I unlock my truck and climb in.
Slamming the door on our history.