I closed my eyes and replayed images of our erotic evening. The way her hair fell over one shoulder while she rode me. The way her tight, lithe body gripped mine when she came. Damn.
Briefly I wondered if I should feel guilty, if I should feel bad about using her body for the escape it provided. But I didn’t. Not even a little. If she wanted to be there for me in this way, I was content to let her. For as long as she was willing.
I only wished I could stop this fucking ache in my chest, especially because I didn’t know if it was for Samantha or Chloe.
Chapter Five
Chloe
“What’s going on with Shaw?” my friend Courtney asked over the rim of her third margarita.
“What do you mean?” I took a sip of my own icy concoction, feeling the innuendo behind her question burning deep in my gut.
“It’s been eight months. Is he dating anyone?”
There was no need for her to clarify that statement. It had been eight months since Samantha died. Eight months since everything changed. It had become the new passage of time by which everything was marked.
I shrugged. “I don’t think he’s ready.”
It was Saturday night and we were hanging out at Hank’s—a bar in town. It wasn’t one of the tourist-friendly places on the beach with chic decor and expensive drinks. It was just a hole-in-the-wall bar that all the locals knew. Dusty black-and-white photos of sunsets and palm trees on the walls, and rickety wooden bar stools scattered among the dozens of high-top tables.
“I heard he’s seeing someone,” our friend Lynne chimed in.
My temper rose to the surface. He’d better not be. “Where did you hear that?” I tried to keep the emotion from my voice, but I wasn’t sure I succeeded.
Lynne flicked her gaze out over the sea of bodies. The hour was late enough, or rather people were intoxicated enough, that the center of the room had turned in a makeshift dance floor, just like it did every Saturday night.
“From my hairstylist at my appointment last week. Rumor has it he has a new fuck buddy, but it’s no one serious.”
My gut twisted painfully.
“Speak of the devil.” Courtney snickered.
I followed her line of sight toward the far end of the room. Shaw stood at the bar, which was packed three-deep, waiting to order. He was tall enough, though, that he towered over almost everyone.
I forced my eyes away. I hadn’t heard from him since he left my place Wednesday night, not that I’d expected to.
“Whoever he’s fucking is his business,” I muttered, taking solace in my drink, which was now running dangerously low.
I’d never considered the possibility that he was sleeping with someone else. The thought of him seeking that level of intimate solace with another girl made my chest ache.
My gaze wandered toward the bar again. Shaw was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white T-shirt, which he managed to make look ridiculously sexy. The material stretched taut across his sculpted shoulders and chest, and the jeans hung low on his hips.
I met his eyes and quickly looked away. I hadn’t come here to see him, hadn’t even known he would be here. He rarely came out anymore. I let myself take one more quick peek just to see if he was still watching me. He wasn’t. Good. He dominated my thoughts ninety-nine percent of the time. I needed this downtime with my friends.
“Oh, shut it, Chloe,” Courtney said. “If he is ready to start seeing someone, you already know my stance on this. You guys would be perfect together.”
“Stop, please,” I begged her. I couldn’t stomach listening to another of her long speeches about how Shaw and I would make the perfect couple, or the cutest babies, or any of her other nonsense.
Even if I agreed with her, it wasn’t healthy to get my hopes up about something that could never be. He was my friend. And he was still grieving. And in twenty-plus years of knowing each other, he’d never expressed any romantic feelings for me.
Fucking was different. That was just something we did. Opening your heart, making a commitment to someone—that was something you chose. And Shaw seemed a long way off from choosing anything that would tie him down again.
“He’s just taking his time. He has no interest in dating right now,” I said, hoping to put this conversation to death once and for all.
“How do you know that?” Lynne asked. “Have you guys talked about it?”
“Well, no, but . . .” I paused. I couldn’t say how I knew so much about his love life without revealing I was part of it. “He’s just not ready.”
I signaled our waitress. I needed a hell of a lot more tequila if I was to make it through my so-called friends’ prying questions.