Page 10 of Prey Tell
Half an hour later, I resign myself to my stinging eyeballs and perpetual yawns. Closing my laptop, I stand. “Okay. I give up. I need sleep.”
Jackson nods and closes his laptop, too. Stretching, he groans when he looks at the clock. “Fuck. It’s already midnight?”
“Tomorrow is going to be rough,” I say without thinking.
“Jules…” he trails off, rubbing his face as he looks around, opening and closing his mouth a few times.
“Hmm?”
Giving me a half-clenched smile, he shrugs. “Never mind.” He loads his computer and phone into his backpack, pulling the massive bag over his shoulders. “Guess we’ll see if Chase’s place is still crawling with women.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I still don’t understand how the two of you are best friends. He’s such a manwhore. And don’t get me started on the bachelor parties. The whole idea is so trashy.”
Jackson sighs as his hand touches the handle of the front door. “I know he’s not perfect, Jules. Trust me, he can be a pain in the ass. But he’s my best friend.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You can stay here tonight if you want,” I offer, pointing to his old room.
He shudders. “And risk waking up to a naked Dylan making breakfast in the morning? I think not.”
“That was one time.”
He holds his free hand up as he opens the door with the other hand. “One time was enough, Jules. Night.”
I lock up after he leaves, and then I lean against the door and sigh. I’m tired and I know I should go to bed, but instead I walk to the sink and pull on a pair of pink rubber gloves.
You should be with someone who will treat you like a seven-course meal.
I close my eyes and lean against the counter as the water runs.
The memory slams into me so hard that my throat tightens. Rubbing my palm over my chest, I take a few deep breaths to dispel the memory. For being the single most humiliating night of my life, that memory sure does replay in my mind more than it should. I reach forward and turn the water off with more force than necessary as the familiar anger floods through me.
I should’ve known—should’ve seen the signs. I was a stupid eighteen-year-old. Chase Ravage was twenty-four, already two years into starting his successful company with his brother. An adult, who probably only thought of me as his surrogate little sister. And now? The last eight years had cut him into stone. He’s now the fucking president of Ravage Consulting Firm—cold, businesslike, and hardworking. And because of him, I spent the better part of freshman year feeling like my whole world got turned upside down. I thought we were
friends—and sometimes, I wondered if we were more—but it was obviously a schoolgirl crush. He never thought of methatway. That night cemented the fact that I never really knew him.
And then he stopped coming over. I’d only seen him a handful of times since that night. Even now, when we happen to cross paths, he acts like he hardly knows me, or cares.
That’s the part that hurts the most.
It was a lose-lose for me, and a betrayal. I trusted him enough to be honest, to open up. To go out on a limb and ask him if he would help me. It’s not like I didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered sometimes. I thought he’d jump at the chance. Instead, he acted like it wasinconceivable.
The sting of rejection is stillsopotent, all these years later.
Fuck Chase Ravage.
I finish loading the dishwasher and then I scrub the sink out when I’m done.
A small smile plays on my lips when I remember witnessing my parents having a bubble fight as a kid over this very sink. The whole kitchen is wholly outdated, with dark wood cabinetry and avocado green appliances, but I love every square inch of it. I was born in this house, and I planned to die in it, too. Or, at least, I never wanted to sell it.
It was the only thing I had left of them.
I’d have to figure out a way to convince Dylan to stay, because he was adamant about finding a bigger place eventually.
I turn off the lights and climb into bed beside Dylan, who must’ve woken up at some point and pulled the covers over himself. He’s snoring lightly, and I curl my back up against his chest. He unconsciously reaches around to my waist, pulling me close. I let myself relax against him, but the hardness in my gut persists. Dylan pulls me tighter, but I suddenly feel claustrophobic andstuck.I take more deep breaths, slowing my pulse and calming my breathing. Still, I toss and turn for hours.
Lots of women don’t orgasm during sex.
Lots of people get post-engagement jitters.
