Rebel(50)
“I know, hun,” she whispers softly. “And if you talk to him, and he’s still an asshole, I’ll be here to help turn his balls into jerky, promise. But go talk to him. You’re never going to be able to let it go until you do.”
“I wish you were here.”
“Me too. My tan is complete crap!” Her voice is back to teasing. “Go find him. Talk. Be the bulldog, not the bitch.”
“I don’t even know how to take that.”
“You’re worth a hundred pretty rich boys, Angie. I have to go, but I want a full report, alright? And if you guys aren’t fucking on the regular by the time you get home, I’ll eat my hat.”
“Do you even own a hat?”
“I’ll buy one. Later, sweetie. You’re going to be okay.”
“Later, Cassie.” The line goes dead. Throwing myself backwards, I sprawl on the bed, my arms stretched wide while I stare straight up. My eyes follow the blades of the ceiling fan as they spin just quickly enough that it’s difficult to keep up. Just like this trip. It’s like I’m only barely hanging on, and I don’t know if I can keep it up or if I’m getting spun right off.
A gust of wind blows in through the open door to the balcony, making me shiver. There’s a bank of clouds on the horizon moving quickly towards us and the breeze is noticeably cooler than it was even before the phone call. Soaking up sun isn’t even going to be an option today, is it?
Great.
I guess I’ll be looking for my husband, then.
Chapter 25: Gavin
“Another.” I raise my finger to get the bartender’s attention. He’s tall and lanky, wearing a white button-down shirt with those straps around the upper arms like the card dealers wear at casinos. After the bomb Angie dropped on me this morning, the idea of gambling kinda pisses me off.
He gives me a disapproving look down his long nose. “Are you sure? It’s not even one o’clock. A little early to get in a party mood, isn’t it?” He tries to put a friendly spin on it, but he’s judging me. I can hear it. “Newlywed life that bad?” The bar’s pretty empty at this hour, but the few people around to hear him, chuckle.
“I asked for a drink, not your opinion. Another.”
The look he gives me is a mix of curiosity and disgust, but I don’t give a fuck, and when he slides the scotch my way I take it with a nod, then ignore him.
I feel like an asshole. The pleading look on Angie’s face when I left her is burned into my brain. Fine, so I suck at anger management. What am I supposed to do now? Crawl back and beg forgiveness?
A man’s got his pride. Not that I’m so damn proud of myself right now. The doubts creeping into the back of my mind don’t help either. Maybe I went over the top? Projecting Dad’s paranoia? Fuck if I know.
Sliding my fingers along the edge of the bar, I play with the texture, feeling the bumps and nicks in the stained wood. Just distracting my fingers while my mind tries to work. I’m rationalizing, just because I was too drunk and lovesick to remember to wrap my pecker. Fuck.
Angie’s not the first girl I’ve fucked and dumped. She’s not the first to try and trap me with pregnancy shit either. I didn’t make it out of fucking high school before our lawyers had to handle my first paternity test. Negative. Which she already knew, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
And then there’re the creeps with investment opportunities too good to pass up, so long as I act now. Just a few million, and we’ll never have to work another day in our lives, they say like that’s not my life already.
So I say sit back and use the users. If they want to fuck me, I’ll give ‘em a ride. If they want to wine and dine me, I’ll gladly oblige. Just don’t expect me to call in the morning. Not once have I felt bad about it. Until today.
Waking up next to Angie was different. The sun played over her naked body, golden light warming the hints of skin peeking out of the sheets like a naughty promise. Different? Fuck, it was awesome. So why does she have to just be like all the others? Is she? asks a distant voice in the back of my head.
Tipping back my glass, I drain it. Hair of the dog. Just what I needed to burn off what was left of my hangover. It’s exactly what I need, because while I’m trying to let go of her, something in the back of my head isn’t letting me, and the scotch helps me pretend not to care.
I try to drain my glass again, but nothing’s coming out. Right. Already did that. “Another.” The bartender shakes his head again and I get ready to bitch him out when the world rocks. For a second I don’t get what happened. Buzzed? Abso-fucking-lutely. World rocking drunk? Not even close. It’s not until I see the bartender securing the glass racks and putting bottles away that I realize it’s the ship rocking and not me.