Page 47 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

“Macallistar,” Katrina snaps with finality. “Leave it alone.” She grabs his shoulder and turns him. “You don’t get to set me up or tell me how to live my life. Eric is my friend, but that’s all this is. Go hug Jess and tell her congrats, grab something to eat, then find Benny before he murders Oz. This conversation is over.”

* * *

Nobody was shot in Jess’home tonight. No one got mad she was having a baby or freaked out about the wedding news. Some of the guys got a little quiet when asked how they felt about it, but overall, it went as well as one could hope, and nobody died. After my conversation with the Blairs, Mac made himself scarce, hung around with his friends most of the night, and stared at a certain dark-haired girl while she laughed with her friends. Katrina patted my chest just as condescendingly as she patted Ben’s and Mac’s, then she walked away, lost herself in the crushing crowd, and eventually left without saying a word to me.

I’m just a sex toy. A convenience. And though I didn’t want anything more than what she’s offering, having it so coldly shoved in my face kinda stings. I’m not the guy she’ll find her happily ever after with. My life makes it literally impossible; my history makes it selfish to even try, but like a spoiled brat, being told no makes you want something you can’t have.

So now I sit on the couch that came with my rental and watch my reflection in the switched off television. My apartment is dark, the only light coming through my windows from the streetlights outside. Sitting forward on the couch and knowing I should take my ass to bed so I don’t end up late for work tomorrow, I still rest my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands. My eyes constantly flick between the door and Gemma’s framed photo sitting beside the TV.

Two women.

Three, if you count Callie.

Two wildly opposite halves of my life, but at the same time, eerily similar with the way they make my heart pound. I shouldn’t even be considering an affair of one-night stands with Katrina, let alone getting bent out of shape about a relationship neither of us want. My life was all about my wife. It shouldstillbe about my wife, so why do I obsess? Why am I letting this shit drag me down after so many years of keeping it locked away?

Because I’m selfish and stupid.

Because my sacrifices were obviously not enough, and the universe is going to smack me down again just to make sure I was paying attention.

I cast a glance toward my clock and close my eyes with a sigh when it clicks over to midnight. Disappointment throbs in my heart, though I know it damn well shouldn’t.

Walk away, Eric. Let her go back to her regular life without dragging her into the pits of hell all for the sake of a fast fuck and a fantasy fulfilled.

I climb to my feet with an exhausted grunt and turn toward the bedroom. It’s been a long day. I mean, shit, it’s been a long decade, and the end still feels so far away. Will my purgatory never end? Will life one day feel like it’s being lived? Or will it always feel so… clinical?

“Fuck.”

I dig my hands into my pockets and toss my things – wallet, phone, keys – onto a small side table as I pass through the darkness. It’s time to go to sleep. Time to get my life under control and stop living in this space I’ve put myself in.

I’ve found the earthly embodiment of a pause. I exist, but without meaning.

I live to see my friends happy, to catch up with their antics at work, to secure homes or investigate sleazy exes. I work hard and as many hours as the guys will let me. But my own personal development stopped years ago; my own goals and plans vanished like smoke the second my world was irreparably changed.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go, but shit happens, right? And we can’t change it. We can only move forward and hope for the best.

I cross my living room and move through my bedroom door. I want her to come. I don’t want her to come. I want her to be mine, but I want her to want me beyond a convenient dick. I want to stop feeling like a pussy with unrequited feelings, and I want to stop feeling guilty every time I want something that isn’t Gemma.

I want my life to make sense again, to feel the way it felt back in high school where our path ahead was a straight line. It was all so easy with Gemma: date, fall in love,stayin love, marriage, grow old together. It was all so A to Z and predictable, but any path I consider now is a minefield of potholes, deadly explosives, razor wires and steep ledges, and an almost guarantee that neither of us will make it out alive.

And yet… a creaking of my outside stairs makes me pause. My first thought isn’t intruder, but of hope, of fantasies, of Katrina’s floral scent filling my lungs and intoxicating me while I bury myself deep inside. At another creak outside, I take a few steps in the direction of the front door with a lifted brow. My first thoughtshouldbe to check my gun and prepare to protect my home, but it’s not. So when a whispered swear penetrates my ears, when my brain and heart jump to attention and Katrina’s voice registers in my mind, I run. I sprint. Through the living room, through the small kitchen, I slam my hip on the table as I pass and crush my toe with the door when I swing it wide without thought.

She stands right in front of me with lit eyes and quirked lips. Her tits almost spill out of the top of her dress, and her heels are already in her hands.

“Got time for me?”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” I pull her into my arms and up so her legs wrap around my hips. Her ass fills my hands, her chest pressing against mine, then I turn and slam the door in the same second her tongue slides into my mouth and she sets my blood on fire.

“We have an hour,” she pants. “Do that thing again. The thing with your tongue.”

I stumble with a smile, carry her toward my dark bedroom, then dump her on my bed. I climb on before she finishes bouncing and go to work tearing her panties from beneath her beautiful wraparound dress.

I should be protecting my heart, my sanity, my life. I should be protecting hers too. But instead, my heart races with excitement, my hunger too rabid to slow, and my hands touch her most secret places just minutes before I slide inside and use up every single of the sixty minutes she gifts me with.

I’m already in way over my head.

There’s no way this can end well.

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