Page 90 of Sweet Hate
We all chose not to settle down. But my reputation is probably the worst, and that fills me with shame. If I’d known there was ever a chance of Haven coming back, shit would’ve been different.
Iwould have been different.
It’s common knowledge that I will only screw a girl once. I don’t date. No fancy dinners. I scratch an itch for the both of us, and then I walk away. The other two might date a couple of times, but even they haven’t had a real girlfriend for a while.
The problem is, with reputation comes assumption. If I’m in the bar alone or with the guys, the bunker bunnies have no issue coming over and putting their hands all over me, making their intentions known.
It’s been bothering me since way before Haven stormed back into town.
These girls don’t see me. They see a firehouse lieutenant they want to add to their collection.
Before, I didn’t give a shit. Hell, I’d have probably pulled her onto my lap.
Nausea courses through me, my thoughts and the feel of her hand on me sending shivers down my spine, and not the good kind. I disgust myself. I can’t hide it anymore, I’m not sure I want to either.
I’ve been pulling back. The guys may not have noticed, but in the last few months, I’ve been making up excuses to head home without whatever girl I’d been talking to. I can’t explain what changed. Maybe it was turning thirty.
This all started to feel like a younger guy’s game.
I wonder what would have happened if Haven had never left town though. Would life have turned out the same? Or would we be married and have kids by now?
Guilt slams into me. What am I doing? I shouldn’t even be casually asking Haven to entertain anything with me. How is this fair to her?
Being in a relationship isn’t something I want either. My job is high pressure, and it’s risky. I work long hours, and I know walking into work one day doesn't necessarily guarantee I’ll walk back out. It's not fair to tie myself to anyone knowing that. I know firefighters who do—who have long, successful careers and happy marriages—but I’ve also seen the devastation when we’ve faced the spouses of our fallen brothers. It’s a sobering thought.
No matter how careful I try to be, what if I walk into work and die on the job next week? Haven’s lost enough in her life. Maybe it’s better if she turns around and tells my sorry ass to fuck off.
That would be the right thing to do. The sensible thing.
But I know given half the chance, I won’t be able to do that. Not now that I’ve touched her again.
Besides, it’s only temporary. A brief stay in heaven before I crash right back down to purgatory again.
“Do you want to get out of here, big boy?” a husky voice whispers in my ear, drawing me back out of my head and the dangerous path my thoughts have taken.
This is wrong. So fucking wrong.
I pry her hand from my thigh and duck backwards to shake off the one she has clasped around my neck.
“Sorry, not interested.”
The surprise in her eyes is reflected in Max’s expression. Oh great. More explaining to do. Tonight really was a mistake.
She turns on her heel and stalks off, furious at the rejection, and I can’t even bring myself to feel guilty. Why the hell did I let it get to the point where people just walk up and touch me like I’m a slab of meat they can grab at the store?
“What gives, bro? She was a goddess! Why’d you skip out on that?”
“I’m not interested, Max. You go for it.” It’s hard to keep my voice sounding casual with how tense I am.
I feel dirty and cheap. The only hands I want touching me are Haven’s.
“You know what? I just might.” He winks and hops off the stool to follow her.
“Still want to sit there and lie to me about what’s going on?” Beckett’s intense stare settles back on me.
“Look, Beck, nothing’s going on right now. I’m not lying. We’ve exchanged a few texts.”
“And that’s it?” I feel like a total ass lying to him when he technically was the one to unfuck my mess.
