Page 2 of Over You
As mad as I was, as empty as I felt from what we had lost, my body reacted to his touch. Like a woman stranded in the desert, I was thirsty for his affection. For his touch. And I gave in for a moment, tilting my head to the side in the hopes the path of his lips would continue farther.
“It’s just hard.” I swallowed and fought the anxiety winding through my chest. “Smiling when there’s still a gaping wound.”
“I know.” His soft lips pressed below my ear. “We can go if you want.”
God, how I wanted to leave, but before I could answer, one of the label’s assistants grabbed Spencer by the elbow. “I need to steal him. Just for a moment.” She grinned at me. Her collagen-injected cheeks inflated like balloons. I just wanted to take something sharp and pop them.
Spencer’s arm untangled from my waist. He took a thoughtless step away before moving back to give me a quick kiss—as if I were an afterthought. The taste of whiskey and mint lingered on my lips. And just like that, we were no longer leaving, and the last bit of hope I’d desperately clung to frayed and snapped like the thread of a well-worn sweater.
Halfway across the room, the assistant grabbed Jag and led Spencer and him to a group of giggling, star-struck girls in the corner.
I took a deep breath.
The temptation to take the glass in my hand, smash it on the floor, and cause a scene fit for daytime television was strong. After all, when in Rome. . .
A boney elbow nudged my side. I pushed the emotions down where they belonged. Unnaturally round boobs spilled out of a low-cut, sequin dress. I’d seen Jag’s significant other a handful of times, but River and I had never spoken. She flicked her white-blond hair over her shoulder. “You’re Spencer’s chick, right?”
I watched both Jag and Spencer scrawl their signatures over the chest of a busty redhead. “Something like that,” I said, my pulse ticking up by the second.
River’s gaze strayed across the room just as Jag pretended to motorboat the redhead for a picture. Spencer stood beside him with his gaze aimed at the floor.
River sighed. “It’s part of it, you know? Hollywood Girlfriend 101: grin and bear it. The tabloids love to make us out to be jealous, raging psychos.” She laughed, then patted my back. “Just know, the first time he cheats, he doesn’t mean it. It all kinda goes to their heads. He’ll get high or drunk or both, and end up backstage with some chick who just wants to suck his dick. One thing leads to another. . . It’s impossible to avoid, really.”
The sad truth was, from what I’d seen, most of these guyswereunfaithful. But Spencer was not most of these guys. . .at least, he didn’t used to be. “I’m not worried about the women,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt. “We’ve been together since we were teenagers.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her smile of pity caused my stomach to twist. “Maybe the guy he wasbeforewouldn’t have cheated, but he’ll never bethatguy again. Trust me. I’m three years in on the fame train. You just have to decide what you can manage.”
The guy he was beforericocheted through my head like a stray bullet. Panic tore at my throat. Maybe I was more naïve than I wanted to believe.
Jag strutted past, full of swagger in his leather pants and messy, jet-black hair, with one arm wrapped around a barely legal girl’s waist. His hand crept toward her ass, and he didn’t even glance at River. My gaze swung to the opposite side of the room where Spencer took selfies with a revolving door of females.
I swallowed. “And what did you decide you could manage?”
“Oh. You know.” River dug a pharmacy bottle from the glitter-covered clutch in her hand. One tap. Two. A few cylindrical, blue pills fell into her palm. She offered me one, but I shook my head. After tossing them into her mouth, she snagged a glass of champagne from a nearby table and downed them.
“It’s give and take.” She shrugged. “He sleeps with a pretty blonde; I get a new Gucci bag.”
Designer handbags in exchange for one-night stands?No way in hell.
“Think about it,” she said, snapping her clutch closed. “Our guys have thousands—millions—of women throwing themselves at them. How could you possibly expect them not to slip up once in a while? It just comes with the territory, honey.”
That knot in my gut grew tighter and tighter.
“But, the thing to remember, all those other whores,” she said, nodding to the women flocked around Spencer. “They’re insignificant. Besides, gods don’t play by the same rules as mere mortals, babe. Andweare dating gods.”
But I had never wanted a god. I only wanted Spencer.
2
Spencer
Three a.m.
Some say it’s the witching hour. Some say it’s the hour of writers and artists; creatives. To me, three a.m. was the hour of promises.
I promise I’ll be sober tomorrow.
Then I’d snort that line right up my nose or down that shot of whiskey. But at three a.m., when I couldn’t sleep. . . I had twenty-one hours left to believe I still had hope. And that was a lot better than none.
