I waited for rage, for some semblance of the Sorin I’d come to know, but instead of speaking he turned and walked toward the door. I followed, hot on his heels. “Sorin don’t be upset. I want us to be—”
He stopped short, turned to face me. “Friends?” he said.
I nodded, and in flash, he ripped open the door.
“Sorin, please—”
I cut off short because he was gone and I was alone.
Thirteen
Esther
I’d put on a brave face, pretended I hadn’t spent the night debating whether to call the number Sorin had so recently given me, and gone to work, even though habit bade me to stay home, maybe find someone else to distract me.
It would have utterly failed, and besides, I’d tried to remind myself Sorin was just a thing, not worth altering my life over. And certainly not worth ripping my guts apart with guilt, nor feeling the searing burn of regret in the back of my throat.
But worth it or not, I’d felt all of that and more, moved through the day, more than half my mind occupied replaying last night and then re-creating it so that I’d kept my mouth closed and gotten to spend it with Sorin.
I sighed and headed toward the paint mixer, thoughts weighed by how I’d managed to let things go so wrong. I’d thought I had him figured out, figured he was in it for the sex and once that bored him, he would move on.
But his unexpected tenderness had surprised me. I wouldn’t have seen it in him, but then again, that may have been because I hadn’t wanted to.
Yes, he was more than rough around the edges, but when I stopped to think, to really think, it shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d seen how he was with Maria and Fawn, the deep affection between him and his brother. And while he never went out of his way with me, I should have known that the little glimpses of his real self, the one he hid between the name and status and tattoos, were something that not everyone got to see, should have known that the fact that he’d shown them to me meant something.
I sighed and then rolled my eyes. “Don’t be so freaking sappy, Esther,” I mumbled to myself under my breath, not caring if my coworkers thought I was nutty.
As I organized the paint, I turned the Sorin problem over and over in my head. Fact was, I had been cruel to him, and he hadn’t deserved it. And worse, I lied to him and to myself. Whatever we were or weren’t, it went beyond sex and I cringed at the memory of how I’d tried to reduce it to just that.
“You okay, Esther?”
Michael’s voice pulled me out of my head, and I smiled up at him. It would have been so easy to date someone like Michael, but after last night and the way I felt this morning, Sorin was important to me. The acknowledgement lifted some of the weight off my shoulders. I’d find a way to fix things, and we’d figure it out from there.
“I’m great, Michael. You need more lumber?”
Fourteen
Sorin
“Go out with the guys, Sorin. You’ve been cooped up too long,” Nicki said, the old bartender who’d held down the bar at Familie for as long as I could remember.
I shook my head quickly and waved him off, not even bothering to speak. Esther had fucked me up bad yesterday, and I was still reeling.
I fucking hated it.
I’d tried everything to rid my mind of her, had told myself I didn’t care, that she was a bitch anyway, but it was bullshit. It had been bullshit before when I’d fucked her without a condom, something I’d never done. And it was bullshit now, even as I remembered her casual nonchalance, the way she’d practically spit in my face, and worse, how I still wanted her despite it.
The restaurant was far too quiet, so quiet that I had no respite from my thoughts.
The familiar click, click, click of high heels had my head turning to greet the equally familiar sight of Natasha approaching. I stood, turned to face her. She was beautiful as always, but her eyes flashed with determination that only hardened when she wrapped her arms around my waist and trailed her hands up my back.
“What are you doing, Natasha?” I said.
“I know what you said, but you didn’t mean it. It’s just been too long, so you’ve forgotten how good it is between us, how good I can be to you,” she said on a husky whisper as she moved her hands down, pressed her slender curves against me.
I tried to convince myself this was good, let myself be swept up in Natasha’s web, but when she craned her neck up to look at me, it only reminded me that Esther didn’t have to do so. And before I could stop it, a fleeting image of Esther, of how she’d always met my gaze, of how her body filled my arms flashed into my mind. And just as quickly, a searing stab at the memory of her rejection.