Always Have: A Bad Boy Romance(52)

The best part about love was the high. I rode it all the way to the f*cking sky, soaring above the world. Until I had Kylie, I don’t think I was ever really happy. I had happy moments, but they were brief and fleeting. With her, I lived each day filled with contentment—the sort of feeling that makes the rush of a hookup, the burn of whiskey, the adrenaline surge of doing something crazy all seem pointless. Those were quick hits that faded almost immediately. Kylie was steady. She made me feel open, like I could finally break down the walls and be who I am with another person.

The crash, though. The crash is killing me.

It was like jumping out of a plane with no parachute—on purpose. The free fall lasted for days. I spun out of control, no idea which way was up or down. I worked out like a maniac, got drunk as f*ck, but nothing helped. I just fell, plummeting through the air, knowing I was going to hit the ground, not sure if I’d survive. Or if I wanted to.

Then I hit the dirt. I got home one night and fell into bed, still dressed. I couldn’t move. I spent two days barely functioning. I canceled my appointments, turned off my phone, and let myself drown.

When I turned my phone back on, I knew I wouldn’t have any messages from her. It still hurt like a kick to the gut to see that I didn’t.

Eventually, I got my shit together. I went back to work. I put in extra hours at the gym. I saw my sister. I kept it all in, clawing my way to a new normal.

Because this is life, now. Life without her.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t get her face out of my mind. The way she looked at me that night—so angry. I expected her to be hurt. I steeled myself to see her cry. In some f*cked-up version of it, I think I even imagined holding her, being the one to soothe the pain, even though I was the * causing it. I wasn’t prepared for such rage.

I’m well aware of how royally I f*cked things up, but at this point there’s nothing more I can do about it. I just have to get used to this hollow ache in my chest.

I sit at the bar, staring at my glass of Jameson. I hung out at home for a while after work, but it was too damn quiet. I didn’t even think about where I was going, just took a walk and found myself here.

I glance over at the two blondes sitting nearby. It’s Friday night, and the place is busy, but these two stand out. They’re not here with anyone else, and they’re both dressed like they mean business. Low-cut shirts, tight skirts showing a lot of leg. It’s after one, and their shimmery makeup tells me they probably started out clubbing.

They’ve been watching me for the last ten minutes.

There are several shot glasses in front of each of them, although they’ve been sipping water since I got here. They cast obvious glances at me, looking me up and down. Then they lean toward each other and talk quietly, smiling and laughing.

I could probably have both if I wanted.

They have that look. The one that says I’m in the mood to do something f*cking crazy tonight. I could go over to their table, and in five minutes have both walking out the door with me, one on each arm.

I’ve never done it before. A threesome would be uncharted territory for me. I’d act confident, like I have so many women throwing themselves at me, I do it all the time. Like I’m so f*cking incredible, they all have to share. And I’m sure I’d make it work. I’d lose myself in their skin, their tits, their pussies. For a little while, they’d make me forget.

“Hi.”

I saw them coming and didn’t turn. I’ve given them nothing—no eye contact, no sly smile. Apparently I didn’t need to.

I take a sip of my drink. “Evening.”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” one of them says, the smell of tequila coming off her. “I’m Amy. Sabrina and I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been sitting here all by yourself.”

I nod, still not quite looking at them. “Yeah.”

Amy lifts her ass up onto the barstool next to me and slides on, crossing her legs. Sabrina stands next to her, chewing on her lower lip.

“Do you want some company?” Amy asks.

I take a deep breath. Do I? I’ve felt like shit for weeks, and nothing helps. It would be nice to feel something else, even though I know it won’t last. I look at Amy out of the corner of my eye. She licks her lips, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I buy time by taking another drink.

“In case we’re not being clear,” Amy says, leaning close, her voice sultry and low, “Sabrina and I would both like to know if you want company tonight.”

I swallow. They’re not looking for emotion—no truth, no expectations. Just sex. Just a wild and crazy experience with some guy they don’t know. I could take them home, f*ck them both to pieces, and send them on their way. It would be everything they’re looking for. No one else would have to know.

I’d know.

“Amy,” I say, finally turning toward her. Straight blond hair frames her face, and her thick eye shadow sparkles, even in the dim light. Her lips have a hint of bright pink lipstick; the rest probably rubbed off on the glasses of all the drinks she’s had. Her eyes aren’t quite focused. “I love that you came over here to talk to me. That was really brave. But, as tempting as you are…” I look her up and down, like I’m enjoying what I see, then do the same to Sabrina. “I’m afraid I have to decline.”