Page 22 of Misadventures in Blue
And he still looks magnificent. All rounded, muscled shoulders, long, firm thighs, and a stubbled jaw that looks like pure sex. A warrior at rest, with the requisite maiden waiting to comfort him.
I have to go.
That’s the only thought that registers in my mind—the rest is an awful kind of static. A static that hisses what did you expect? You pushed him away. How long did you think it would take him to find someone else to screw?
Oh God. I’ve made a giant mistake in coming here.
I’m turning to leave when he sees me, and it’s like all the air is sucked from the room. His eyes meet mine, and I can’t read them, can’t even try, because there seems to be every feeling inside that silver gaze. Anger and hurt and lust and longing, and they’re all directed at me. Right at me.
The bunny looks up to Jace as if she’s trying to read his stare like I am, except she takes the extra liberty of sliding her hand up his thigh to rest against the unyielding contours of his abs. I think she also managed to graze his cock on the way up, and Jesus Christ, who was I kidding with that whole if I break it off earlier, I won’t be heartbroken bit?
Because I did break it off early, yet here I am, feeling like someone’s using the jaws of life to cut through my ribs and expose my beating heart. On top of what I went through today at range, it’s too much.
It’s too fucking much.
I break our gaze and wheel around, opening the door into the summer evening and making my escape.
I have to go.
I have to go home to my wine and to Frazer’s sweatshirt and the loneliness I chose for myself. At least that way I can be vulnerable in front of nothing more important than a sweatshirt. At least I’m not making a scene in a begrimed bar in front of a whole table of cops.
And I can leave Jace to the bunny and the inevitable outcome of the night. She can kiss that pouty, serious mouth as bad music blares through the bar, and she can have those big hands drag her back to the bar bathroom for impromptu sex. She can feel the ruthless thickness of his cock wedging inside her. The hard flex of his abs and hips against her ass. His teeth biting her neck as he releases inside her.
They can have each other, and I’ll have myself and an old sweatshirt that doesn’t even smell like the man it used to belong to, and it will be fine.
The summer air is still hot, still waving above the pavement and trying to pull sweat out of my body. It feels like a punishment, and one I deserve.
The door opens again, and the cop in me can’t help but turn at the knowledge someone’s behind me.
“Cat.” Jace’s voice is husky. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Going home,” I say. I turn away from him because I can’t look at him. I can’t look at the man I pushed away, because I can’t lie to myself and pretend I don’t regret it. Pretend I feel some kind of wise, selfless pleasure in seeing some girl almost two decades younger than me crawl all over him.
A hand grabs my arm, and I’m spun to face him.
“The fuck you’re going home,” he says roughly.
I’m brittle, I’m so damn brittle, and I can’t keep my tone even as I say, “I’m leaving and you’re free to go back inside to your friends.” My voice hitches over the word, and again that awful feeling of having my ribs cut open returns, even though I deserve it, even though I did it to myself.
“I don’t want to go back inside to my friends,” he says, clearly missing my implication in the word. “I want to know why you’re here.”
I twist myself out of Jace’s grip and start walking to my car. “I shouldn’t have come,” I say, more to myself than him.
“But you did,” he says as he follows me. “Why, Cat? Why did you come here?”
I have my car unlocked before I get to it so I can make a quick escape, but Jace isn’t going to make it that easy for me. Before I can open the door, his hands land on either side of me, caging me in. The hot metal has to be uncomfortable, but there’s no pain in his voice as he leans down to my ear.
“Tell me.”
The moment seems to intensify, crystallize, and become something sharper, more vivid.
Cicadas are chirruping madly everywhere, and a breeze is blowing an empty soda can across the lot. It’s so humid that the air is a heavy blanket over my skin, and behind me I can feel the press of Jace’s body. His biceps crowding my shoulders. His chest against my back. His massive erection against my rear.
And then there’s that scent. That leather and tea tree oil scent, and I hope it’s rubbing on my clothes. I hope I smell like him when I get home.
That, more than anything, defeats me. How can I stay strong when Frazer’s sweatshirt smells like nothing and Jace is here and vibrant and alive and he smells like everything? How can I stay strong when I realize that maybe I want Jace more than I ever wanted Frazer…and how can I stay strong when I realize that today, of all days?
I hang my head forward in surrender.
