Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(66)

Dirty’s heart exploded.

He was done.

Motherf*cking done for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


“So, is it just your arms or do you have other tattoos?”

I jerked my eyes away from the window and back to the man across the table. “Hmm?”

He gestured at my arms with his hummus-covered fork. “Your tattoos,” he said. “Do you have more?”

“Oh,” I said blandly. “Yeah, I’m covered.”

“That’s so hot,” he replied, grinning. “I love women who don’t conform to society’s ideals.”

Slumping back in my chair, I raised an eyebrow. Why the f*ck had I agreed to this? Oh, right, because Hayley is a persistent bitch determined to marry me off to some douchebag.

Last week it had been a personal trainer named Todd who obviously frequented a tanning salon more than most women did. He’d loved talking, but only about himself and how crazy awesome he was. Halfway through dinner, unable to stomach another second of Todd’s love affair with himself, I’d shoved my chair back, got to my feet, and said, “Really, this was great, I absolutely loved hearing all about your body mass index and how sexy your abdominal muscles are, but I’m really late for an important date with a screwdriver.”

Poor thing had looked so confused.

“A screwdriver,” I repeated. “I need to jam one into my skull to try and erase this last excruciatingly painful hour of my life.”

And this week it was David, the computer analyst. He was decent-looking, I guessed. Another hipster, like there weren’t enough in this f*cking city already, with shaggy hair and a love of skinny jeans. But he was boring and had the personality of a rock. I’d almost prefer to be with Todd the Tool; at least then I’d have something to mentally poke fun at.

Sighing, I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I’d promised Hayley I’d see this shit through but more importantly, I’d promised myself that when I got back from Miles City I wasn’t going to wallow in everything that could never be.

I’d told myself, in no uncertain terms, that I would give ZZ the boot in the kindest way possible and then move on to giving another man a fighting chance. I told myself that I would finally start working toward my goal of someday becoming a novelist, but most importantly, that I would keep myself busy so as not to resort to self-pity, self-loathing, and ultimately self-destruction.

So far, nothing I did was working. ZZ hadn’t come back yet, and I was a goddamn train wreck.

Fuck Deuce. Fuck that mean old bastard.

Doin’ this for your own good, Tegen. Cage ain’t never gonna change. Seen this shit before, him thinkin’ he’s fallin’ for a bitch and then it all goes down the same in the end. Him gettin’ bored and goin’ back to stickin’ his shit in all sorts of filth.

Deuce had been right. Cage had played the same game for years. I’d watched him, jumping from woman to woman to woman to woman to woman.

Why should I be any different? Just because I wanted it so badly?

Ha.

Three weeks ago, the moment my plane had landed in San Francisco, self-pity had taken root and self-loathing said hello the very second I’d walked into my empty apartment. I had no doubt that self-destruction was waiting just around the corner like a goddamn pickpocket bouncing on his heels, just watching from the shadows, waiting to pounce, anticipating the moment my guard would be down.

I couldn’t let it go. It was every inch as painful the last time I’d had my heart broken. Only…no, this was so much worse.

That stupid motherf*cker had told me he loved me. Positioned over top of me, easing himself slowly into my body so that I felt everything, every stretch, every quiver, every clench of my muscles, all the while staring down at me, into my eyes.

I love you, Teacup.

And suddenly I wanted to run straight back to Miles City, to the clubhouse, to Cage.

You know exactly what you’re gonna f*ckin’ do here. You’re gonna put your skinny ass on the back of my bike, you’re gonna move into my f*ckin’ house, you’re gonna cook and you’re gonna clean, and you’re gonna f*ck me whenever the f*ck I want it.

I’d been so close to throwing away everything. What about what I wanted from life? One weekend with Cage and suddenly none of that mattered to me anymore?

Yeah, whatever. I was such a flake. I didn’t even know what my own wishes were anymore. A f*cking wishy-washy bitch with a bad attitude. Flip-flopping like a dying fish on the shore. I could get another million tattoos and piercings, but it still wouldn’t cover up what I’d been trying to hide all these years.

That I didn’t have a clue who I was. Or what I wanted.

It was official. I was an * with a permanently broken heart.

I stared vacantly across the restaurant, feeling a million different things. Shame, lust, love, pain, guilt, humiliation, anger, bitter acceptance…

And hate.

Yep, I hated myself for letting myself feel anything, for letting that man inside of me again. For being so completely and utterly weak when it came to him that if he touched me, all was lost. Every brick in the wall I’d built up around myself would instantly crumble and I’d immediately succumb to the feelings I’d always had for him. Feelings that I was terrified were never going to die out.

“I don’t have any, myself,” David said. “I’m not a fan of needles but I respect anyone who has the pain threshold to withstand the amount of tattooing you have.