Page 84 of Whiskey Throttle
“Why did you go after her?’ he mutters, more from curiosity rather than blame. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s very attractive.”
The latter is said as an afterthought, almost understanding why I’d be enthralled. Yet he has no idea how much she consumes my mind.
“In the beginning?”
“There’s a beginning?
Diego moves into the room and quietly closes the door. I'm not sure if Isabella is here, and he doesn’t want her to hear what's going on or what his deal is.
“Yeah, I guess.”
That night in the lounge seems far away. Much farther than actual time.
“Dom made her cry.”
His eyebrows raise, but he remains quiet. Waiting for me to continue.
“It was at this event at my club. Dom’s dad is a real piece of shit.”
“So I’ve gathered,” he supplies under his breath, before moving to lean against the dresser.
“He shows up with this chick who looks to be our age. Babs got upset, and honestly, I think she was looking for some support from Dom. And you know him, he doesn’t take anyone’s side but his own. He was cruel to her, said some bullshit, and she started to cry. Ran off. I bitched him out and went after her.”
He lets out a whistle. A slow release of disapproval.
“It wasn’t like that, Diego. I felt sorry for her. You know how Dom can be. She’s already raw from a shitty marriage and an ugly divorce, then flaunts this chick? Dom was a prick about it. Like, did you hear the guy last night? Who talks to their mom that way?”
“Trust me, I heard.” His hand clenches and unclenches. Anger enters his words, taking my side in this. “I don’t know half the shit like you do, but my dad would knock my teeth in if I ever even raised my voice at my mom, much less curse her out in public. Fuck, I’d been dead in the morgue of that place.”
“See!”
I’m too excited with my reply, and it sends a sharp pain through my skull, down to the core of my brain. My hand rises to my temple, rubbing it while he stares down at me.
“But that still doesn’t justify messing around with his mom, bro.”
I exhale, heavy and hard. The support I thought I had dries up.
Flashes of Babs in all the ways I pursue her run through my mind. I duck my head, knowing I could have pulled back and didn’t. A myriad of reasons why I didn’t. None that Diego needs to know about. How I feel about her is really between me and her. Even that is complicated.
“I haven’t seen you look like that before.”
My head snaps up. The quick movement sends a blur to my vision for a couple of seconds.
“What do you mean?”
He huffs, and I can’t figure out why.
“You’re a player, Holls. Different girls every weekend. Sometimes, different girls every night. Even two sometimes. Fuck, dude. Can you blame Dom?”
Shit.
I bristle and stand. The room tilts for a minute, and he pushes off the dresser as if to steady me. But it’s not me who needs to be right, it’s he who needs to get himself in check.
Who the fuck is he to judge me? To judge us? He doesn’t know what Barbara and I had. What we shared. It’s not just some fuck like those other women.
“You’re one to talk. You went after your professor. If we’re talking taboo shit, then you’re just as guilty.”
The words are rancid. Shifting the blame to him rather than taking it. I almost want to claw them back. Almost. He shakes his head, frowning at me.
