Page 57 of Playing for Keeps

But it all went too fast and I couldn’t get him to stop.

And all I kept thinking the entire time was how wrong it was.

How I wanted it to be someone else.

“Are you kidding me?” Aaron jumped off the couch, dark eyes wide. “You were thinking of someone else?”

Blinking up at him, I went to open my mouth, only to realize those thoughts in my head had spilled free from my tongue. My hands flew to my face, sliding along my tear-soaked cheeks as I tried to take the words back, to erase the hurt in Aaron’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” It came out a ragged whisper, a sob riding on its back. Aaron didn’t respond. Only pulled the condom off and shoved his dick back in his pants.

Because he was a good man, he tied off the condom and tossed it in the trash in the kitchen, coming back just to stand at the end of the couch. He dragged his hand down his face, then raked it through his hair.

“I don’t know what to say, Jen. I’m...” He shook his head, looking around the room as if there was some clue there on how to proceed. “It’s been months. Months that I’ve chased you. Stood by your side. Fucking protected you, hoping that someday you would see in me what I see in you. And this...”

He blinked fast, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “If you had any idea what I’ve done for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I can’t—”

“Don’t,” he said, holding his hand up to stop me. “I can’t do this with you anymore. You and me? It’s over. Have a nice life.”

Aaron spun on his heel and was out the door before I could stop him. I yanked up my pants, racing after him only to slam my hands against the closed door. I let out a sob, pounding a second time, then fumbled with the dead bolt until it was locked.

On autopilot, I moved to the bathroom. Stripped off my clothes and took the hottest shower I could stand. I scrubbed Aaron off my body, his scent, his sweat, the slimy feel of him pinning me down.

Back in the living room, I tore my comforter off the couch, bundled it up, and tossed it in the trash. I cleaned up the living room, then grabbed my phone from my purse.

There were no messages from Aaron. No I’m sorry, or I hate you, or Can we still be friends? Instead, there was a text from Mom checking to make sure I was okay, and a new email that didn’t show properly on the home screen.

I shot a text off to Mom, telling her I still felt a little sick, then I stumbled toward my bed. When I crawled in, tucked under only my sheet and a thin blanket, I opened my email app, then blinked hard at the email I’d received.

An email from me.

One by one, pictures loaded, starting as a blurry square and turning into a nightmare.

Aaron.

Each and every one of them showed Aaron with a girl.

Blondes, redheads, brunettes.

Tall, skinny, short, and curvy.

All of them recent.

One of them time-stamped with yesterday’s date.

His arm was around her shoulders, his lips close to her ear. Standing outside a nightclub, their body language screaming that the night was still young.

My stomach rolled and bile crept up my throat. I’d let him touch me. I’d let him fuck me. I’d felt bad when he ran out of my door. And here he was, hanging on these girls, these girls hanging on him, the entire time I’d known him, the entire time we were supposed to be together.