Second Chance Boyfriend(15)

Within minutes I’m feeling no pain. Fuck my problems, I’m good. I’ve polished off three shots and two beers and nothing can hurt me. Nothing.

Until the girl I love more than anyone else in the world strides into the room looking like my every fantasy come to life.



Fable



I knew it. Told myself again and again no way would Drew be here. And then I enter the private room where the party’s being held to relieve Jen so she can take a break and there he is.

Breathtakingly gorgeous, looking as shocked as I feel…and drunk.

I see it in his eyes, his expression, at the wobbly way he jumps to his feet as if he’s going to come for me. But then it’s as if he remembers himself, remembers where he’s at. He settles back into his chair, laughing at whatever the guy sitting next to him is saying, but his gaze never, ever leaves me.

I want to run to him. I want to run away from him. Holy shit, this is so not how I saw it going down when I finally came face-to-face with him again.

“You’re looking good, Fable.” One of the senior football players—I think his name is Tad? Ty?—eyes me, his mouth curved in a knowing smirk.

Knowing because yes, he’s a shameful moment from my past. Barely out of high school and so eager to please, I used to watch the team practice, sitting on the sidelines in the heat of the summer in my too-short shorts and my skimpy tank top. Tad, Ty, whatever his name is, asked me out, I accepted and ended up giving him a blowjob while in his car on our first and only date.

Not one of my proudest moments. But at the time, I cherished the attention he gave me. I was so needy, so foolish.

Of course, the jerk never called. Not that I would’ve gone out with him again. One awkward blowjob was more than enough between us, thank you very much.

“Thanks.” I smile, pretending I don’t know him. “Would you like to order something else?”

“Yeah.” He moves in close. He’s tall and broad, all muscle with dark hair buzzed short and a nasty gleam in his eyes. I step back and he grabs my arm, holding me close to him. Dipping his head, his mouth is next to my ear as he asks, “How about another blowjob later tonight?”

I pull out of his grip, anger blazing through me so strong my body’s shaking. “Fuck off,” I mutter and turn away from him, his gritty laughter following me as I push through the throng of well-muscled athletes that crowd the room.

All the while I’m trying my best to avoid Drew. I can feel his eyes on me. I know he sees me, is watching me, and I don’t want to approach him. What do I say? What would I do? I both want to throw myself into his arms and throw a right hook into his perfect square jaw.

He asks me to rescue him and then he ditches me. Tells me he loves me in a note and never replies to my calls or texts. He’s a jerk.

He’s an asshole.

I’m in love with a jerky asshole and damn, that’s painful to admit.

Gathering my bearings, I take orders, clear empty bottles and glasses and lollygag enough in the hopes that I won’t make it to the back left corner. I finally flee the stifling room minutes later, leaning against the wall for a few seconds, desperate to catch my breath.

I didn’t expect this yet I did. I thought I could handle seeing him and I can’t.

This situation I’m in is hopeless. I hate that he didn’t approach me and I’m so thankful he didn’t. I probably would’ve done something really stupid. Like beg him to tell me why.

That’s all that keeps running through my head as I stand at the bar minutes later, waiting for my orders to be filled. Why did he leave me? Why didn’t he ever call me back? Why didn’t he text me? That was the absolute least he could’ve done. Text me back a simple we’re done. I would’ve let him go. I would’ve been hurt, angry, sad, but I could’ve handled it.

Way better than how he actually did treat me. The asshole.

Why asshole? That might be a fun way to confront him. But knowing Drew, he’d run.

He’s real good at that. Running.

I take my full tray of drinks back into the party room, the anxious nerves running through me making my knees shake. They guys are even rowdier than when I left them only minutes before, giving me an endless bunch of grief, talking dirty, talking loud. They’re keeping a running tab, Logan’s parents arranged the party since they’re bazillionaires who live in Marin County and I bet they’re going to end up spending about two months of my wages tonight in a matter of hours.

Crazy.

“So, Fable.” It’s Ty again. I heard someone call him that, not Tad. Nice that he made such an impression I can’t even remember his name. “I promised Logan you would give him a special birthday present.”