Hell, we got this place together a little over eight months ago. We’d both gotten out of rough relationships and agreed to be roommates, then one thing led to another. Now I’m betting he didn’t have a rough relationship at all. It’s more than likely he fucked it up the same way he did with ours.
Sucking in a deep breath I take a swig of the wine and let the dry alcohol burn my throat. Thank goodness it’s the weekend and I don’t have to worry about being sober enough to go to work tomorrow.
Don’t get me wrong, I cared for Scott, but it felt like there was something missing between us. I never even told the man I loved him, but I thought staying with him was the right thing to do. I thought over time my affection for him would grow into something more, but it hadn’t. Maybe I should’ve ended things before we even started, and I’ll take the blame for it . . . but what I don’t understand is what I’m doing to attract the same type of people into my life.
I’m an attractive, capable woman, who’s really smart. I don’t just say that to fluff myself up either. I was valedictorian in high school and in college, and I graduated with honors. When I put my all into something, I put my all into it.
Hell, I even canceled my spa appointment so I could sulk around Cameron’s apartment and try to understand what went wrong. This is like, the fifth or sixth relationship I’ve had as an adult that’s ended with some sort of cheating or wandering eyes. I mean . . . why is this happening? Cameron’s stuck at work for another couple hours, so she gave me the code to open her apartment door and told me to help myself to a bottle until she got home, and to not drunk text anyone. Not that I’m even drunk. I’ve been taking the tiniest sips of this stuff, still trying to wrap my head around it. I’m totally psycho obsessing.
“God dammit, Scarlett. Maybe you’re just a fucking mess and all the decent guys know it,” I mutter to myself, falling back onto the plush white duvet Cam’ has in here. God, the room is gorgeous. It looks like an IKEA showroom, honestly. If she wasn’t such a damn good immigration attorney, I’d tell her to be an interior designer.
“Not that you asked, but I don’t think you’re a mess at all.” His deep, almost stone-cold voice pops out of nowhere and practically makes me piss myself.
I fly up on the bed and stare at the open doorway, seeing no one other than Preston Ortega leaning against it with his brows raised. He has a plastic bag hanging from his hand with a smiley face on it that reads ‘thank you’, and from the smell, it’s some damn good Mexican.
I’ve known Preston and Cameron since I was about nine. They were the first people who had the balls to leave our small suburban town in Northern Florida. I actually went to the same college Cameron did and we managed to be roommates, but Preston . . . Preston’s a little over eight years older than us. While we were starting our careers, he was already getting once in a lifetime promotions. He’s a lawyer too, just like his sister, but he focuses in different areas.
“W-what are you doing here?” I immediately question him, hoping he wasn’t paying attention to my silly stutter. I can’t help but do it when I’m nervous or thrown off guard. Ever since I was a kid I’ve been doing it, and alas, I’ve never been able to rid myself of the silly habit.
“You really gonna ask me that? Think about who you’re living with now.” Preston laughs as he walks from the doorframe and heads into the main area of the apartment. There’s not much of a dining room area, but I notice he’s heading toward the island. “You coming to get some grub or what? I won’t wait for you all day, Allen.”
Allen.
I haven’t heard him call me that in years, but then again, I’ve avoided my best friend’s hot older brother like the plague, for obvious reasons.
I rise from my bed and bring the bottle of wine with me, walk into the main area, and set the bottle of wine down on the island while Preston makes himself at home, digging through the cabinets grabbing plates, silverware, and glassware.
I know I’ve just been broken up with, but I can’t help but stare at the way his suit fits him perfectly, or the subtle black and gray checkered pattern. “You work late tonight?” I question, needing something to fill the air. The silence is too much for me, pulls me further into my own head.
“No, I had to go by the club and handle a couple things.” The club . . . oh yeah, he’s lawyer by day, outlaw by night.
“How’re the boys doing?”
Preston turns around, opens the bag, and begins putting food on the two plates in front of him, “Most of us are good. Shadow’s being a pain in the ass, but what else is new. The old man talks more than he should, and I don’t know why Kodiak keeps his ass around. He’s too much trouble, but not my business. We shouldn’t be talkin’ about me though. How are you?”
I run a hand over my hair and breathe in through my nose. “I’m okay.”
Preston raises a brow, like he’s calling me out on my bullshit. “Seriously, I’m okay. The truth of it is I don’t think I ever really loved him, it was more a relationship out of convenience more than anything.”
Preston shakes his head and starts to hand me my food, causing me to grow curious. “What? I can tell you’re holding yourself back. Tell me what’s on your mind,” I speak up, needing to know whatever he’s thinking. When I was younger, Preston used-to-be blunt as all hell. He never cared about hurting anyone’s feelings, but I think years of law made him realize he needed to have empathy if he was going to make it work.
Staring me dead in the eyes as he places the plate directly in front of me, in his gravelly tone he speaks, “A woman like you should search for passion, not convenience. You never know where you might find it,” as soon as he finishes speaking, he turns around and opens the fridge. For what, I have no idea, but I highly doubt by the time he turns around that the warmth will be gone from my face, or my heart will stop beating so quickly.
Chapter Four
Filthy
I saw her face flushing with the deep mauve color, telling me just how much my words impacted her. I’ve played the protective type for far too long. Cam’ asked me to come over here and make sure Scarlett’s alright, and from the looks of it she’s perfectly fine. A bit aggravated, sure, but she isn’t heartbroken at all.
I’ve kept myself an arm’s length away from the woman because she’s my little sister’s best friend, but in reality, I think doing that only made things worse. For the last couple years, I’ve tried to slowly integrate myself into her life, waiting for the right moment, but fuck I’ve been lying to myself. There are no right moments, only golden opportunities.
I grab a bottle of the bougie sparkling water from the fridge my sister’s constantly buying and twist it open. I saw an open bottle of tequila in there, and some unopened bottles of wine, but I won’t be drinking tonight. Not when Scarlett already is and I’m sure she’s still trying to wrap her head around the comment I just made.
I could walk over to her right now and tell her exactly what I think. I could get straight to the point with her and lay down the law, but I won’t. Not today. Not tonight, when so much has already happened in the last twenty-four hours. More importantly, not today when she’s already been drinking.