Page 52 of Bad Boy Done Wrong
She started crying again.
“What?” he asked, alarmed. “Why does that make you cry?”
“I’m not perfect. I’m messed up!” She met his eyes through a sheen of tears. “Look what I’m doing with you. I used you.”
“No. I’m right where I want to be.”
She frowned and wiped the smudged mascara from under her eyes. “I should’ve been satisfied with a one-night thing, or at least just once through the list. Instead I dragged it on for more and more fucking and then revenge against that bastard and—” her voice choked “—and I’m a terrible person.”
“No, you’re not terrible.”
“How can you say that? My life is about sex! His is about love and home and family.”
His chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. Was that all he was to her? He’d thought she had real feelings for him. The way she lit up in his arms. The way she’d included him with her friends and her family. Before he could say anything at all, she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. She was in a bad place right now. Not thinking clearly.
“I’m taking you back to my place,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
She lifted her head, her eyes watery and red. “I have Ally.”
“Ally won’t hold you all night.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice breaking. He slid her back to the passenger seat and made the short drive back to his place.
“It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?” she asked as he guided her inside.
“It was. Your parents are very lucky.”
“They are,” she said, folding herself into him and wrapping her arms around him tight.
He hugged her back for a long moment and then did the only thing he could think of—scooped her up and carried her to bed. He stripped down to his boxers and helped her out of the dress, the strapless bra, and her heels. Then he tucked her into his side, pulled the blanket over both of them, and held her until exhaustion finally claimed her and she went limp, dropping into sleep. This time he didn’t slide her to her side. Just held her, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t figure he’d get much sleep, but what the hell. Carrie was hurting and it was his job to take care of her.
Tomorrow would be soon enough for their relationship talk. This wasn’t just about sex. It had to be more.
He must’ve dozed off. He woke to an empty bed.
He slowly sat up, jaw clenched tight. She was never up before him. Her clothes and purse weren’t where he’d left them on the dresser. The apartment was silent as a tomb.
“Carrie!” he barked.
Dead silence.
He swore, grabbed a pillow and flung it across the room. Then he leaped out of bed, adrenaline fueling every muscle with tension. Fight or flight. He was a fighter; Carrie chose flight. Not gonna work for him.
But first he needed fists to a punching bag, running long distance, a hard physical workout. He couldn’t be held responsible for what came out of his mouth when he was this pissed off. He’d beenwrongedafter he did everything right.
He ground his teeth and yanked on a shirt. He’d been there for her, holding her all night, and then she just left? Did she think that was it? That he’d just slink off, forgotten and thrown away?
Nope. Not gonna happen. Not by a long shot.
~ ~ ~
Carrie was home, lying on the living room sofa in her favorite summer pajamas that always made her smile because of the cute kittens wearing party hats, but nothing could make her smile today. She held a cold compress over her eyes swollen from all her tears. Ally was fussing over her, tucking her in with a blanket and then bringing over a cup of hot tea. She sat up. “Thank you.”
Ally sat next to her and patted her leg. “Edward is a dick.”
“I know,” Carrie said. “I don’t know why I’m taking this so hard. It’s not like I want to be with him.”
“It was a shock.”
