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“I always do.”
I can see the pain in her eyes, and immediately, I feel like a fucking arrogant arsehole for saying it. I need to rid myself of her. I mean, what’s the goddamn point if she’s going to keep me dangling on a string all because of Prince Charming.
We are two very different people, raised completely opposite. The only thing we have in common is this place is Manhattan Beach. So what if she makes me laugh? So what if she challenges me more than any other woman has? This isn’t the time to start a relationship, let alone with someone who can’t figure out who the hell she wants.
Without a plan or buddy to hang out with, I make my lonesome way toward the pub we hung out at when we first met. For the first hour, I sit at the bar, drowning my sorrows in a pint while watching a rerun of some baseball game.
“It’s more fun to drink when you have company,” a silky voice beside me says.
I turn around to see an attractive woman standing beside me, playing with her martini glass as her lips scrap against the glass. She’s in a tight white dress, leaving not much to the imagination. I could nail this one easily, a quick bend over and take her in the arse.
Except then you would be thinking about someone else’s arse.
“Sure, take a seat. You like baseball?”
“Why not? If you like it.”
Great, this will be way too easy. As the game plays on, she talks. I half listen to boring, mundane topics revolving around her beauty salon and pet cat.
Time passes, more nodding on my behalf until she grabs my phone and places her number in my speed dial.
Destiny.
How ironic.
“Listen, I have to catch my ride home, but my roommate won’t be home tonight, so if you get lonely, call me.” She leans in, placing a kiss on my cheek, then struts out of the pub like a goddamn catwalk model.
Fuck, my dick didn’t even stir with her loose offer to join her at her place.
I’m cursed, fucking cursed.
The more I sit here, limp dick and tipsy on beer, the more I yearn to go home. I hate the fact that I want to see Gabriella. More so, I hate the fact that I want to tell her how I fucking feel.
The walk back in the fresh night air sobered me up enough that keeping my mouth shut and opinion to myself will be the reasonable thing to do.
The house is dark when I enter, only the faint glow of the television is on in the living room, and Gabriella is lying across it watching some movie.
As soon as she hears me, she peeks up, but there’s no smile. No ‘hello, how was your night?’ I know she’s angry at me. I would be too for acting like an arrogant idiot.
I sit on the edge of the sofa as she pulls herself up. Her hair is a wild mess and propped to the side in casual disarray. Throwing my phone on the coffee table, I watch in silence until a sex scene comes on the screen. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Great movie choice,” I say, squirming.
“In my defense, I haven’t seen it, so I was unaware that it contained a scene like this,” she almost chokes. “How was your night?”
“Yeah, good. Yours?”
“Exhausting. I finally got him bathed, fed, and asleep. I’m scared to move in case he hears me.”
“Nah, he’s a good sleeper. He doesn’t hear his parents going at it, so I think it’s all good.”
“Oh no, please don’t tell me you hear Sebastian and Lana?”
I nod, pursing my lips because the fucker doesn’t understand the meaning of keeping his voice low no matter how many times Lana warns him.
“I tend to sleep with noise-canceling headphones now, oblivious to anything that may be happening.”
The couple on the screen go at it really hard. The guy has her on all fours, pounding her like a jackhammer as she moans in delight. All I can think about is Gabriella next to me and the fact my dick is as hard as a rock. It’s fucking painful.
