Page 37 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
She looks off thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not ready for someone like him. We didn’t have sex. We just played in the lake, and then we wrapped ourselves in warm blankets on the dock and talked until we fell asleep.”
“What did you talk about?” I’m beyond curious. How could she be with a guy all night and never tell him her real name?
“All the places he’s been and all the places I pretended I’ve been too.”
I frown. “You mean you lied?”
Her eyes are glossed with tears. “He made me feel as if the real me isn’t good enough for someone whose lake house is a mansion and whose lake is warmed. I mean, he didn’t do it on purpose, but…” She closes her eyes and then covers her face with her crossed forearms.
“You’re good enough for anybody, Eden,” I say in a desperate attempt to make her feel better.
She doesn’t say anything until she shakes as she cries. I’ve never done what my instincts are telling me to do, but it doesn’t matter—I follow their directions. I scoot down beside Eden and wrap my arms around her. Eden lets me. I’m comforting her, but she’s comforting me too. We both have Valentines we can never be with. And that’s very, very sad.
Chapter Fifteen
The Morning After
Hercules Valentine
“Herc, wake the hell up!” Achilles says.
I blink until my eyes are half-open. Then I turn my head. My brother’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, pissed.
“Get yourself together, and then come see me in the kitchen.” He turns and leaves. His footsteps are heavy. He walks extra hard when he’s angry.
I shake my head as I sit up against the backboard. “What the…” I look down at myself. I’m naked. The tip of my cock is barely wearing a condom.
Squeezing my forehead, I start remembering the girl. She was the one who ran into me at the track. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw her at the restaurant. She felt familiar to me. I wanted to have her. I needed to have her. I look down at my cock again. I did have her. I ate her sweet clam too.
Wait. What’s that smell? I look over the edge of the bed. “What the hell?” Vomit?
I’m now noticing the pillows in front of me and in the back of me and the sour taste in my mouth. I threw up. Did the girl make sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit?
My head feels like a sinking ship that’s taken in too much water. To ease the ache, I massage my temples. Then faces start coming to mind. First I see Contessa, raven-haired with beautiful light-blue eyes. Any guy would be happy to look at her every day. Next, I see my mother, who’s dead set on me marrying Contessa, who’s my sixth cousin. If I marry Contessa, then we’ll procure a benefit for keeping it all in the family. I still don’t know why it has to be me. Achilles isn’t married yet, and he’s the oldest. Neither is Orion, and he’s the second oldest. It makes no sense at all. Getting smashed was supposed to make it all go away. But it didn’t. It’s all still here, staring me in the face.
But that girl… who was she?
She could still be here. The thought of getting another go at her while sober gives me energy. I get out of the bed and dash to the bathroom to clean up the condom. I came hard. My cock is happy as hell. Nero should know her name. I’ll ask him later.
“Hercules. Get in here. I don’t have all day!” Achilles bellows.
I sigh sharply. This is his penthouse. I usually only stay here on the weekends, but this week, I’ve been here since Tuesday. I drank just about all his liquor, which I’d never touched until Wednesday. I threw up on his floor and bed. He’s going to ban me from his place—I just know it.
After pissing, I rush back into the bedroom to put on my clothes. And that’s when, on a wayward glance, I see her bra on the floor. Is she still here? Is she the reason why Achilles is pissed?
I grin. It has to belong to the girl from last night. If she’s still around, then I’m going to do her sober.
Achilles sits at the island.He’s wearing a suit and a scowl. He throws his hands up. “On my bed, Herc?”
I look around, searching the living room, dining room, kitchen, and hallway. “Is she here?”
Achilles roars with laughter. “No, she’s not here. Do you even know who she is?”
I frown. “No. Do you?”
I know that look on his face. He knows, but he doesn’t want to tell me.
“No,” he says. “But if you’re going to bring random girls to my penthouse, I want you to be sober at least. We can’t afford another scandal. If we have to pay another penalty because of those damn morality clauses in the Valentine trust, then it’s going to hurt us bad.” He glares at the empty bottles of vodka, tequila, and brandy. I mixed dark with clear—that was a mistake.
