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The phone is a brick in my hand. I want to call Anna and ask her why she thinks it’s okay to sic my friend on me. Is this some sort of sympathy party? Or does she no longer like hanging out only with me? Is Gray here as a buffer?
“Shit.”
I hate being paranoid. Hate this feeling of dissatisfaction crawling through me at all hours. I need to get out of the house.
Taking Gray’s truck—which brings on a fresh wash of guilt—I head out. Anna likes wine, so I’m going to get her some for dinner.
Unfortunately, once at the store, it’s clear I have no idea what I’m doing. I know she’d like red with lasagna, or at least that’s what my parents always drank with it. But there’s like five hundred bottles of red. What type would she prefer? Merlot? Cabernet? Pinot Noir? What’s the difference?
“Hell.”
“Can I help you... Drew?”
I turn to find Jenny staring up at me. Double hell.
I’ve managed to avoid seeing her for over a year. Which was fine by me. It’s strange seeing her now. Every inch of her is both familiar yet strange.
Jenny has that flawless type of beauty. Perfect bone structure, brilliant blue eyes, glossy dark hair, and a model’s body. These were the things that drew me to her in the first place.
I saw myself as a demigod back then, and thus needed to have the proper window dressing to go with my elevated status. Goes to show you what being an arrogant dick will get you.
“Do you work here?” It’s all I can think to say.
She blushes, ducking her head, and her hair falls over her shoulder in a wave of shining brown. “No. I...well, I saw you standing here frowning at the wine...”
She gives me a helpless shrug, pressing her arms close to her sides as she does it, which makes her breasts thrust out and her ass lift.
The ducking of her head, the shrug. I’ve seen these moves a thousand times. I used to wonder if she did them to highlight her looks. Now I’m almost sure.
“I thought I’d talk to you,” she says softly, coming a bit closer.
The scent of artificial strawberry fills my nose. I know it well. Strawberry body butter. After a shower, she’d stand naked in front of me and rub it all over herself in slow, meditative moments designed to entice. Only she was always coy about it, pretending that she was merely getting ready while not so subtly shaking her ass. One night Jenny jacked me off using a handful of the stuff. Ten minutes after I came, my dick turned bright red and fucking burned like fire. No matter how much I rinsed the poor bastard off, my skin remained irritated for a week.
My balls clench in remembered terror.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. Somehow, she’s now inches away from me. My back is to the wine rack. “About your injury. I know how much playing meant to you.”
She’s sorry about my injury? The second I’d heard the words “I’m sorry” coming out of her mouth, I’d assumed she was apologizing for showing the world our personal correspondence, or maybe for making people believe I was a whiny wimp after every game. That still pisses me off.
Then again, I shouldn’t be shocked at her focus on football. Jenny always wanted me to succeed. She wanted to hear my name chanted as much as I did, until it became clear that she would no longer be part of the show.
She wanted to be my wife. Wife. The second I’d heard that word come out of her mouth, I’d wanted to run as fast as I could in the other direction. I had cared for her, liked the way she took care of me, but I hadn’t been in love with her. And in that moment, I knew I never would be. I still don’t know if my rejection broke her heart or simply pissed her off. Jenny always kept her feelings close.
“It is what it is,” I mumble. The back of my neck feels hot again, the perfumed scent of strawberry making my nose twitch.
“You’ll be back.” Her blue eyes gaze up at me sweetly. “I know you will.”
Anna had said the same thing. Only she’d glared at me when she did, as if I’d better not defy her by arguing.
Tentatively, Jenny reaches out. Her fingers are cool, the tips of her manicured nails pressing into my skin. “I’ve missed you, Drew.”
One nail traces up my forearm. Her breasts are almost touching my chest, her lips parted in invitation. I could have her. I could follow her home and fuck her blind. Sex with Jenny was all about what she could do for me. Which sounds good in theory, but no matter how many times I asked, she’d never give me an opinion of her own. Knowing Jenny, she’d still let me do anything I want to her.
And I feel exactly nothing. Nothing except the ever-present creepy-crawly mix of anxiety and anger that has writhed under my skin since the hit.
She’s looking at me with a glimmer of victory in her eyes. As if she thinks she’s irresistible.
Maybe she is to some. She might appear flawless on the surface, but it’s what is underneath that I find lacking. And looking my fill of her has never given me the visceral punch of want that I get from just one glance of Anna.
