Page 93 of That Moment
Brooklyn’s gaze doesn’t leave me. She doesn’t need to say a word. That tiny shake of her head says it all.You’re provingeveryone right about you. You’re proving Adrienne right to doubt you.
The pressure in my chest is unbearable.
I peel Amy’s hand off me, laughing like it’s all a joke. “Go grab another drink, huh? On me.” I wave the bartender over, slide a twenty across, and nod toward her glass.
She grins, not offended at all. Probably figures I’ll follow her in a minute, but I don’t.
Instead, I drag a hand down my face, elbows braced on the bar, trying to regain my composure. Brooklyn’s still watching, her expression softer now, almost pitying. That’s worse than the disappointment.
I can already hear it, her telling Adrienne what she saw tonight. The image of Amy’s hand on me, the way I let it happen.
My stomach twists.I just fucked myself, didn’t I? Right after going off on her for innocently taking a guy’s number.
But the truth is, it wasn’t even about Amy. In that split second that she touched me, it was about proving something to myself. Proving that I didn’t care, Adrienne's walking away didn’t wreck me. Except it’s a goddamn lie. Because sitting here, with Brooklyn’s eyes on me and Amy giggling at the bar, all I feel is empty.
I take another pull from my beer, but it doesn’t go down easy. My throat’s too tight, my chest too full of shit I can’t shake. The jukebox kicks over to a slower song, one Adrienne sang at a karaoke party the summer after I first kissed her, and I swear the universe is laughing in my face.
Brooklyn turns back to her table, but not before giving me one last look, sharp enough to cut. She’ll tell Adrienne. I know it. And Adrienne? She won’t forgive this one, and I don’t blame her.
I press my palms to my eyes, curse under my breath, and signal the bartender for another round. If I can’t stop breaking myself open over her, then I might as well drink until I’m numb.
An hour later, Amy’s laughing at something the bartender says when the door swings open and the whole place tilts like a scene in the movies when the record scratches and the room goes silent. I turn my head toward the direction of the door, and my stomach drops to my ass.
Adrienne.
Short black shirt-dress that shows too much leg for my sanity, lace bralette peeking out the top that has a few too many buttons undone, hair loose and full, her lips slick with a pink gloss I’m already wishing I could taste. The neon from the Coors sign streaks pink across her cheekbones.
She walks into the bar like she owns the damn place, just like she walks into every room. Almost 6 feet of well-deserved arrogance wrapped in the sexiest fucking body I’ve ever seen, every touched.
My body goes hot and cold at once.Fuck me.Every cell I’ve got lights up for her.
She doesn’t look around. Doesn’t flinch at the cluster of guys near the pool tables, tripping over themselves. She doesn’t even cut a glance at Amy, who’s sliding back onto the stool beside me like she belongs there.
Adrienne stops in front of me, close enough that the perfume I’ve been dreaming about since the last time she was naked in my bed hits low in my gut. Her voice is smooth and cold, the corporate cadence that takes heads off without raising the volume.
“Since you can’t be bothered to return a simple text and I need to know if I should stay at my place or his tonight, are we working on my car in the morning or not?”
I drag my gaze over her once, slowly, because I’m weak. A heartbeat of heat flashes through me so hard my knee almost jumps. I bury it fast. If I let it show, I’ll beg. I’ll say yes. I’ll pull her into me and tell her everything.
“Do whateveryouwant, don’t worry about tomorrow.” She crosses her arms, her breasts straining against the delicate lace constraining them. “That’s your problem, you know that? You never know what you want.”
She rolls her eyes, unamused at my attempt to pick a fight. “Look, I’m not here for a lecture on how you have life figured out.” She gestures toward me, half slumped over the bar with a beer in my hand. “And don’t even get me started about which one of us doesn’t know what we want.”
I stare at her for a second, the anger from earlier slowly leaving my body. I reach for her, my head hung in defeat, ready to call a truce, but she yanks her hand back, a steely glare on her face.
My defenses immediately go back up. I was about to say she was right, apologize for my behavior earlier, but since she wants to walk in here and throw the other guy in my face now, two can play at that game. So I reach for cruelty. I reach for the worst parts of myself.
I slide an arm around Amy’s waist and tug her onto my lap. Amy gasps, delighted, already melting against my chest like muscle memory. I set my jaw and look right at Adrienne.
“Nah,” I say, and take another drink of my room-temperature beer. “Not this weekend.”
Adrienne doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t argue or try to save face with a joke. She just takes it. The hurt rips through her eyes and is gone so fast I almost think I imagined it, like a deer gone from the road before you register the danger.
“Got it,” she says, clipped and perfect.
Then she turns. The door swings hard behind her and smacks the frame loud enough to jar a couple of heads up. I sit there with Amy’s weight on me, watching the tail end of Adrienne’s hair disappear into the parking lot, and I feel my chest cave in around nothing.
Amy shifts in my lap, palms sliding up my chest. “Well, that was dramatic,” she says, amused. “Want me to grab you another drink?”
