Page 72 of Tattoo My Heart
My voice comes out a bit shaky. I almost want to slap myself, reset my brain and make it forget that it’s ever known Cal Prentice.
A small growl escapes the back of my throat when I have to remind myself that my mother is married to his father. There is no way to not ever see him for the rest of our lives. Unless… Unless I can convince my mother to file for divorce.
That’s actually not that bad of an idea, I decide. All I really have to do is call her and explain the situation. She’ll understand.
In the next second, I realize how crazy I sound even to my own ears. My mother might have me committed if I went to her with this.
“Ugh.” I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling. “Why did I have to go there with you? Just… why?”
“Baby.”
Cal’s voice sounds a lot closer than what I’d expected, making me jump when his breath brushes against my sensitive skin. Like it’s not enough that he’s played me, he can still turn me on. That’s probably because I was a virgin before he got to me. I am not versed in the art of messing with people’s heads like he is.
“Get out of my house,” I finally manage to say despite the fact that my heart is ready to crack into small pieces. “And don’t come back,” I make sure to add. “Ever!”
“Baby,” he tries again, this time his hands coming to rest on my hips from behind. The move only serves to remind me of what we just did in the bathroom. His hair tickles my cheek when he bends down to place soft kisses along my jawline.
I close my eyes and all I can see is the profile picture he had on theHolidatesapp. He was careful and posted just his back. The fact that I never paid attention to the tattoos on his back, other than to say they’re beautiful, is understandable. But how did I not recognize the way his hair curled from underneath that stupid hat he had on backwards? He wears it like that all the time.
My head comes back down and my eyes open, only to blindly stare at the wall in front of me.
“I hate your hair,” I declare with conviction, lying through my teeth. “I hate everything about it. And I want you to leave.”
“Because you hate my hair?” His voice sounds incredulous, making me want to turn around, grab him by said hair and yank until it’s all gone.
“No, you asshole.”
I step forward, putting much needed distance between us.
“I want you out of here because you deceived me in the worst way. You are a snake in the grass,” I continue. He doesn’t like that.
“It wasn’t like that at all,” he snaps at me, anger obvious in his eyes. I struck a nerve. “The only reason I did that is because I wanted you to go to the damn party with me!” She slams his fist against his chest. “I didn’t want anybody else to bring you there!”
For a second, I am left doubting what I feel. What he says sounds believable. But I still feel betrayed to my core. Here I was falling in love with him, and there he was pretending to be someone else.
“And what about you?” he asks, confusing me even more. All of a sudden, I feel as if the spotlight is on me now.
“What about me?”
“Haven’t you been two timing me as well?” he demands to know.
The shock from his words renders me speechless. I open and close my mouth a few times, no sound coming out.
“Are you turning this all on me?” I finally manage to say, clutching onto the robe I have on. Thenerveon this man.
“You posted onHolidatesfirst,” he points a finger at me. “And I got on there only becauseyouwere on there. And I didn’t want you to end up with some asshole who would play you!”
“But that’s exactly what you did,” I lean forward and scream at him in annoyance. “You ended up being the asshole who played me!”
With both hands on his hips, jeans undone but at least pulled up over his ass, it is now Cal’s turn to put his head back and stare at the ceiling.
When he brings his eyes back down to look at me, I feel like I may have made a mistake. I’m not sure yet what that is, but I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.
“You’re right,” he finally says. Tears pool into my eyes, threatening to spill out. He sounds almost spiteful now, and I hate it too much. I also hate the fact that he is mad at me, even though I stand by everything I said to him.
I want to stop him when he turns around and walks out of the bedroom. I blindly follow him, unsure of myself. He bends down to grab his t-shirt off the floor where he dropped it earlier. He pulls it over his head and stick his arms through the holes with jerky movements. I’m surprised the material is not ripping from it.
“Before I go,” he turns to face me. His face looks impassive. “There’s just something I want to point out.”
