Page 110 of Infatuated as They Come
“You used to at least be able to put up a good fight,” he said. “What happened?”
I shook my head and reached for the truck door, but his hands were back on my shoulders. I couldn’t hold in my frustrated grunt as I spun around and shoved him away from me. “We are not fuckingfighting.”
“What happened to your little girlfriend?” He gave me a push back. “I told you she’d get sick of your shit and dump you here. You need a place to stay, don’t you? You’re not coming back here. No way.”
“Yeah, I missed you too,” I muttered. My phone went off in my hand suddenly and I looked down to see that Holly was calling. My thumb hovered over the answer button, but the last thing she needed was to hear me and my dad going at it. “Real nice seeing you again,” I said, hitting decline on my phone.
He laughed. “You expected me to miss you or something? When you left me here bymyself, running off after some girl who was never gonna love you and want you?”
“Alright, we’re done. That’s it. Goodbye,” I muttered, and that was when I was met with that familiar feeling of his fist colliding with my jaw. I pushed at him with one hand, my other reaching up to cup my chin. I could alreadytaste the sharp metallic feeling of blood hitting my tongue. “Are you fucking serious?” I snapped.
He yanked at my shirt and before I knew it, my head was hitting the dirt below us, and all I could think about was how I was fucking up my suit that I needed to look nice for my date. The one I was dragging my girlfriend to when all she wanted to do was sit on the couch and drink hot chocolate with me.
I didn’t even know what he wanted. What were we fighting about this time? Who the fuck knew? But we were tussling and rolling in the dirt like old times, his fist missing my jaw just barely before I managed to get on top of him, pinning him to the ground.
“I told you: we aren’t fucking doing this tonight,” I said with gritted teeth, but there we were, already in the fucking middle of it. “I have a date. I have to go to dinner with my girlfriend who I fucking love and miss and just want to see, but everyone else keeps fucking reminding me every two seconds of who I am and where I come from. I get it. I know. I am fuckingaware. But I still love her and you might not give a fuck and he might not give a fuck and maybe you two should fucking meet up and be friends and talk about how much you both hate me and think I’m not good enough for her, but I’m just trying to give her everything I can and she says it’s enough for her so it’d be nice if other people fucking listened!”
Including me. I hadn’t been listening either.
I stood up, hands pushing through my hair that was definitely more than a mess. A hiss left my mouth when I looked down at my suit, the black material covered in dirt and my shirt all wrinkled and my tie with a rip in it. Fucking great.
“You’re gonna end up just like me,” he muttered from the ground. “And she’s gonna end up just like your mother. Gone.”
I hauled the door of the truck open before he could get his hands on me again. “I’m not like you,” I said. “And good for Mom for fuckin’ getting away from you. I hope she’s happy.”
Slamming the door shut, I drove right out of there, leaving my old home behind with my ruined suit and messed up hair and racing heart. If I droveright to the country club, I’d make it on time for our date, but I knew they’d never let me through the front door with my suit covered in streaks of dirt. So, I drove to the closest clothing store only for them to not have any shirts in stock, and then the next store over didn’t have my size, and then the next store ended up being fucking closed, and then I was officially late. I was wasting more and more time when I should have been with Holly. Why wasn’t I with her? Why did I keep making stupid mistakes?
When I hit a red light, I got my phone out and winced at the thousands of cracks that covered the screen. I must have landed on it during the fight. My thumb tapped against the rough glass, nothing but blackness looking back at me.
I imagined calling Holly and hearing her voice and me telling her I’d be there soon. I knew full well that she was sitting there waiting for me like she had been doing the last few months. God, since we moved to New York.
My dad’s words echoed in my mind, and then Holly’s dad’s words were in there too, swimming around in my head, their voices loud and booming. But the further I drove, that little pom pom keychain shaking as I went, I could hear Holly’s words clearer than theirs. Her soft, calming voice. All the “I love you’s” and “I missed you’s”.
I needed to get back to her, see her, hold her close, tell her what an idiot I was for not being there with her and for her. I needed to do more than that. When I finally got to have her back in my arms, things would be different. I would be different. It was a promise I wouldn’t let myself break.
Chapter 26
Holly
Mine and Sawyer’s table had been given away fifty minutes ago. I could see it from my spot at the bar. Some other couple—both of who showed up on time—were happily talking, the man’s hand on top of the woman’s, their lips curled into smiles.
My eyes lowered to my phone, seeing zero messages or calls from Sawyer. The only thing looking back at me was an email from the landlord wishing me a good Christmas. God, I should have just bought the apartment or something. I should have just threw my credit card at the landlord and hoped and prayed it would solve all our problems.
My nails tapped against the bar top as I stared straight ahead of me, wondering what Sawyer was busy with tonight. It wasn’t work, it wasn’t art. Whatever it was, it felt like it was more important than me.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” someone asked, their soft voice interrupting my thoughts.
“Um…” I looked up, meeting sympathetic brown eyes, and my own landed on the nametag of the brunette standing behind the bar. Gemma. “I guess I’ll get something,” I said, grabbing the menu and finding the drink that sounded the most appealing. “One margarita please.”
“Got it.” She turned her back to me as she got to work, not even asking me for my ID, but that was the usual protocol around the club. When you had enough money, rules didn’t really apply. I huffed at the thought. God, I hated this stupid place.
The bartender slid the drink over to me and I eyed it closely for a moment. I wasn’t a drinker. I didn’t drink ever, actually. But there was something appealing about a glass of liquid being able to sooth my loneliness, so I gave it a small sip, wincing at the strong taste. I looked over my shoulder to see if maybe my boyfriend was making the appearance he had promised, but all that was there was a sea of faces that I didn’t want to look at, because none of them were his. All I could think about was how it was his idea and hestillmanaged to be late. Who else but Sawyer Westbrook?
He wasn’t coming. How much longer would I have to wait? What the hell was he even doing? And why didn’t anyone warn me that margaritas hit so hard?
I downed another drink, and that was when everything started to feel too shaky. Like the room was spinning and like sitting on my stool was an accident waiting to happen, but I didn’t have the energy to move. I was supposed to wait for my boyfriend, anyway. The one who said he’d show up.
Legs and arms and everything feeling wobbly, I slumped over against the bar top that tiny bit, resting my chin in my hand. Where was he? That was all I could think about. And then I downed another drink and my stupid elbow slipped on the counter, the right side of my face smacking right against the edge.
