Page 25 of Fourth Wheel
I couldn’t help myself when I reached down and smoothed that damn wrinkle between his brows. Just like I couldn’t help myself when I cried all the way home. If that was the only comfort I could offer him, then that’s what I would give. I didn’t walk away on Wednesday night because I wanted to go. I walked away because it was the kindest thing I could do for him.
He guided me out of the alley with soft, gentle care. But he didn’t walk me to my car, and I didn’t push him. It felt like he’d already surpassed his limit. And I didn’t want to contribute to the self-loathing I knew he was already drowning in.
In the blink of an eye, my silly little game of cat and mouse became a quest for control and survival. And now I don’t want to play anymore. Not if my actions caused the look on his face when I left him in the alley and drove away.
I’m heartbroken for him.
To yo-yo from one extreme to the next… to snap back from the moment and refuse himself of what he clearly wanted…
I can’t think about what happened Wednesday night without feeling guilty. And horny. I’ve had to recharge my vibe twice over the last seventy-two hours, yet nothing comes close to dulling the ache he left between my thighs.
We’re both responsible for what happened. I’m the one who took off down the alley. I’m the one who led us down that path. But I know he’s a big boy, and he had a choice. I may have extended the invitation, but he’s the one who pushed me against those bricks and kissed me first.
I texted him on Thursday to say I was sorry about what happened and to offer to bring his jacket back the next time he worked. I knew he had to be working that night since Jake was off. But I felt like I needed permission before I just waltzed back into The Oak.
When he didn’t respond, I tried to call him on Friday, knowing he wouldn’t answer. I don’t know what I would have said if he had, but I wanted to hear his voice and know that he was okay.
Any semblance of friendship that could have existed between us went out the window on Wednesday, but I hate that he might hate me—or worse, that he hates himself because of me.
I woke up this morning in a daze. I dreamed of him. We were swinging at the park, and he kept telling me to be careful. I kept pumping… pushing, pushing, pushing… until I disappeared into the clouds. He didn’t follow.
I was still half asleep when I texted him this morning. This time, offering to just drop his jacket off when he’s not at The Oak so we won’t have to see each other. The message seemed to go through. I believed him when he said he didn’t actually know how to block someone, but he has his read receipts turned off.
I keep asking myself if I want to hear from him for my own peace of mind or for his sake.
Why do I keep trying? How did I go from wanting to get in his pants to caring deeply about whether he’s okay?
I use one arm to paddle myself toward the stairs, decidedly done with laying out for today. My tan looks awesome, but I need to do something with myself before I go crazy.
That stupid party is tonight, and I’ve never wanted to go to anything less. But Paige is excited. And I know if I back out now, it’ll hurt her chances of getting to spend time with Kyle, and I’m not that kind of friend.
I climb out of the pool and towel off, turning the sound system off with my phone, then checking my messages.
He hasn’t responded to any of my attempts to reach him over the last three days. But I’m still disappointed when I don’t have anything from Dempsey.
I send Paige a text asking if she wants to pregame at my house or hers beforehand, knowing she’ll end up here like always. After all, I have the whole house to myself.
Chapter 14
Madde
Paigeparkshercaron the side of the road behind the other twenty plus vehicles lining the street. Now that I’m here, I remember this house. Andrew Adley lives on the north side of town, near where Jake grew up. He was a grade ahead of me in school, and he was captain of the boys’ lacrosse team his senior year. His family has a huge historical home, as well as this old, converted barn with a built-in bar, a makeshift stage and dance floor, and a loft filled with beanbag chairs and Jerry Garcia posters.
Groovy, baby.
“I have a feeling tonight is going to be epic,” Paige proclaims as she flips down the visor mirror to reapply her lip gloss.
I try to garner up even a fraction of her excitement as I watch her primp her perfectly made-up face.
She’s wearing a hot pink corset top and her favorite jeans—I spent more than an hour helping her choose this outfit earlier. Her dark hair is parted down the middle and straightened to perfection so her layers frame her face and the tips tickle the top of her chest. She looks smoking hot, and I wish she’d go into this party with an open mind. But she’s only got her sights set on one guy.
One guy who just so happens to be approaching the car right now, along with his sidekick.
“Shit, here come the guys. We’re doing code words tonight, right?” I ask, double-checking that my phone’s not on silent in my wristlet.
“Yes, Mads,” Paige huffs out with an eye roll.
It’s silly to ask—we’ve had this system in place since high school—but I don’t really want to be here, so any excuse to duck out early is a priority for me.
