Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(42)

“Weston?”

“Yeah?” he said at the door without turning.

“I miss our talks.”

His shoulders flinched almost imperceptibly. A pause fell between us in which the air grew thick. Then he sliced through it with his cold tone.

“What talks?”

I slumped against the kitchen counter. “Nothing. Have a good day.”

Weston hesitated a moment more, than grunted from his throat and headed out, shutting the door hard behind him.

The silence felt thick and heavy and the apartment seemed cold and dim now. I went back to Connor’s room. I changed out of Weston’s shirt and put it in the hamper, then reached for my dress that was a crumpled ball on the floor.

“Got your coffee?” Connor mumbled.

“No, I need to get back to my place anyway,” I said, buttoning my dress up the front. “Shower and change.”

“‘Kay.”

I grabbed my shoes and purse, then bent to kiss Connor.

“Have a good day,” I said. I hesitated for a second, then bent to kiss him again, trying to recapture the warmth of the morning that Weston’s cold snap had ruined.

Connor’s lazy smile widened. “You sure you can’t stay?”

“No, I’ll be late.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” I said. “Bye.”

I hurried out of the apartment, one of my father’s sayings in my thoughts.

If you hear the snake’s rattle, best to listen to it.

Weston was an asshole. That was his rep, and I had no concrete reason to think otherwise. He’d hardly spoken a handful of words to me over the last month. He left a room minutes after I walked into it, often with a cutting remark. And yet…

I always felt there was more to Weston than he let on, and that he did nothing to alter his asshole reputation because it guarded him. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew it. Instinctively. And it made me immune to his crankiness.

But it hurts a little, I thought as I walked home, shivering in the gray, misty morning. Just a little.





Weston



Shit shit shit…

I fled the apartment as if it were on fire, my blood running just as hot. I thought those two fucking in Connor’s room all night was the worst thing that could happen.

How wrong I was.

Last night, I ran at the track, pushing myself faster and faster, trying to marathon Autumn out of my system. I ran until I puked, then walked home hollowed out with exhaustion. I’d opened the door to the unmistakable rhythm of a headboard banging against the wall, and Autumn’s cries filling the rooms of the apartment.

It slammed me in the chest. Rock bottom. The absolute worst. Nothing could bring me lower.

I’d immediately turned around and headed for Matt Decker’s place, and a sleepless night on his couch, but had forgotten nearly all of my books for class. Naturally, I timed my return to get them perfectly with Autumn emerging from Connor’s room. There she stood, straight from Connor’s bed, looking freshly fucked and so damn beautiful I could hardly breathe.

“Why the hell was she wearing my shirt?” I muttered under my breath as I stalked down the quiet street toward the university, trying to outpace the memory of Autumn, her copper hair tousled, her legs bare and showing porcelain skin. My shirt barely covering her nakedness.

A raging hard-on began to strain at the front of my jeans.

“For fuck’s sake.”

I walked faster, nearly a jog, but I couldn’t get away from how badly I wanted her.

Feeling like the world’s biggest jackass, I found a bathroom on campus—mercifully empty—on the first floor of the Business and Economics Building. I locked myself in the handicap stall, grabbed a wad of toilet paper off the roll, yanked my fly open and took myself in hand.

I was rock-hard. Autumn in my shirt and nothing else would haunt me until I died if I didn’t do something. I closed my eyes, letting my fertile imagination reset the scene as my hand worked to give me some relief.

“I thought you left,” she says, biting her lower lip that's still swollen from my kisses. She rests one bare foot on the other and her eyes rake me up and down. The way we fucked all night with relentless abandon is reflected in the hazel depths of her eyes, darkening them with renewed want.

“I did,” I say, my voice thick with need. “I came back.”

“For me?” she asks coyly.

I nod. My bag drops to the ground.

“What are you waiting for?” Then her sweet smile fades and she lowers her hands to the tops of her thighs, lifting my shirt an inch. “Come here, Weston, and put your mouth on me.”

In three long strides, I’m in front of her, kneeling, pressing my tongue into her…

I bit back a sound and barely managed to contain it to a grunt. Tasting Autumn in my fevered imagination, I came hard. My body shuddered with release, delirium suffusing me and leaving me drained.

I leaned against the stall with one hand, sucking in deep breaths. Someone came in the bathroom to take a piss. I tossed the wad of paper in the toilet, tucked myself back in my jeans and flushed.

Fucking pathetic, I thought, grabbing my bag.

I washed my hands and got the hell out of there, hoping the cold air would bring me around. Hoping that jerking off to my best friend’s new girlfriend would relieve some of the deep ache in my gut—and heart, if I were being honest. The physical lust was satiated for the time being, but that pang of longing ate away at me from the inside out.