“I think you’re really cute and interesting,” she continues, closing the distance between us. “I don’t know if you’re just playing hard to get…but whatever you’re doing is working because I can’t get you off my mind.”
Vaguely, I hear the sound of someone screeching in the distance.
“Did you hear that?”
Amber gives her head a shake. “No.” She leans in, cupping my cheek. “Am I the only one feeling this thing between us?”
Usually, I really dig the assertive approach. Especially since it’s almost always me who’s the clingy one.
And if this was a month ago, I’d be all over her like white on rice.
“Amber—”
“Wait,” she whispers, placing her finger over my lips. “Before you finish that sentence…let me do this.”
Next thing I know, her lips are on mine.
And while I should be enjoying this kiss, because she’s gorgeous and sweet, and knows exactly what she wants.
All I can think is…
She’s not him.
I’m about to break the kiss and let her down gently, but when I glance up, a pair of dark gray eyes are staring down at me, piercing straight through my heart like an arrow.
My vision turns hazy, causing everything to shift out of focus.
Except him.
“Preston?”
The second I utter his name, he’s gone like a flash of lightning in the dark.
For a moment, I’m convinced I’m hallucinating due to being hit on the head earlier, but the intense, indecipherable feeling in my chest tells me he’s here.
Or rather, he was.
“Preston.” I chase after him like a kid chasing an ice cream truck.
I know he hears me calling him, but his footsteps pick up speed, like he can’t get out of here fast enough.
Picking up my pace, I sprint past him, blocking the elevator. “What are you doing here?”
I can feel everyone’s eyes on us. Including Juan’s.
“I came here to make sure you were okay.” The look he gives me feels like a dagger to the heart. “But clearly you’re doing just fine.”
I’m not sure how he knows what happened, but it doesn’t matter. His anger is practically coming off him in waves as he reaches past me and slams the button for the elevator.
“Why—” I stop talking when I put the pieces together.
He walked in on Amber kissing me.
And now he’s mad.
But he has no right to be mad.
Not when he’s the one who walked out and left me.
Not when he’s leaving me…again.
“I can explain—” I start to say but he doesn’t give me a chance to because the elevator doors open, and he steps inside.
Every part of my body aches to join him, because then he’ll have no choice but to hear me out…
But I’m always the one chasing him. Begging for scraps.
Preston once told me I couldn’t lose something that belonged to me, but I’m not so sure that’s true anymore because I feel him slipping farther away with every breath I take.
He didn’t want me.
And even though it shouldn’t hurt, because I shouldn’t want him either.
It does.
It hurts so fucking much I feel like I’m drowning in the pain.
Tears prickle my eyes as I reach for my necklace.
However, it’s the glimpse of stark hurt I catch in his eyes before the elevator doors close that cracks what’s left of my already fragile heart.
Chest heaving, I slam the wall with my fist, hating him for making me feel all these things.
“All right,” Juan calls out behind me. “Show’s over.”
My tears threaten to spill over, but I squeeze my eyes shut. The last thing I want to do is fall apart in front of all these people.
Juan seems to sense this because he places a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “You got it?”
I shake my head, because I don’t got it. Not even close.
But I force myself to pretend like I do as I walk back to my office.
“You’re shaking,” Juan says after he closes the door behind us.
Only because I refuse to let myself cry.
Not even when he wraps me in his arms. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly, because it’s the truth.
However, I leave it at that because as much as I love Juan, I can’t tell him this.
Shame snakes up my spine. I can’t even find the strength to tell myself.
Because then I’ll be kicked out of the club. The one that accepted me with open arms and no questions asked.
And my homophobic grandmother will win.
And I’ll lose the parts of myself that I’m desperately trying to hold on to.
Because it’s all I have left.
“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Juan says with a sad chuckle. “I’m having a shitty Valentine’s Day too.”
I peer up at him. “Today’s Valentine’s Day?”
His face screws up. “Yeah. How did you not know that?”
Because I try not to pay attention to the made-up commercial holiday designed to make people feel like crap because they’re single and have no one to spend it with.
But that isn’t what has me cursing under my breath.
It’s the realization that today isn’t just Valentine’s Day…
It’s Preston’s birthday.
Chapter 11
Preston
I bring the glass of whiskey to my lips. “Call.”
The guy sitting across the table smirks and I realize I’m about to get fucked.
Especially since I’m only holding a pair of twos.
When the dealer calls the river and—surprise—the asshole reveals he has a straight, I signal the waitress over so I can order another whiskey.
I’m hoping if I drink enough, it will help erase the image of Kit making out with some girl from my cerebellum.
“Two more whiskeys,” I tell the petite blonde.
“You got it.”
I stare at her ass as she walks off. From the back, she could almost pass for Kit.
Something deep inside my chest knots, because I know damn well there is no one out there like Kit Bishop.
Just like I know that no matter how much I want her…I can never fucking have her.
It’s not in the cards for me.
“Call.”
I’ve got another shit hand, but it doesn’t stop me from trying my luck anyway.
Because Lady Luck is my mistress—cruel, cold, and calculating when she wants to be. However, just when you’re ready to say fuck it and walk away, she opens her pretty little mouth and sucks you off like a dirty, filthy whore.
And that’s exactly what keeps you crawling back for more.
The waitress places two glasses of whiskey in front of me, and I down both of them. The amber liquid burns as it slides down my throat, and I hope like hell it will be enough to numb the acid burning a hole in my chest.
It’s ironic how I walked in there wanting nothing more than to see her…only to walk out of there, never wanting to lay eyes on her again.
“Keep ‘em coming,” I tell the waitress.
The guy next to me raises out of nowhere. Given he hasn’t raised once this entire game it should be enough of a warning for me to fold.