Collide (Collide, #1)(35)
She sucked in an indignant breath as her lips pulled down at the corners. “You wouldn’t!”
“Fucking try me.” He turned away and ran smack into Colton.
“Whoa, little man, you look furious.”
Gavin glanced over to where Emily remained seated at the bar. “I’m fine. What’s up?” he sniffed.
“Mom needs you in the kitchen,” he said, raking his hand through his hair. “I don’t know—something about someone down by the gates, trying to get onto the property that’s not on the authorized list.”
Emily nodded in Gavin’s direction when she caught his gaze from across the pool. He was holding up a finger to her as though letting her know he would be right back. She watched as he quickly vanished through the crowd, making his way into the house. She recognized the woman he was speaking with from the bar a few days before. She wondered why he would invite his ex to the party or why she would show up. It was obvious to Emily that they still had ongoing issues.
As Emily ordered a drink, a tall muscular man around her age approached her, the smell of booze seeping clear out of his pores.
Smoothing a piece of his brown hair away from his forehead, he gave her a crooked smile. “Pretty cool party, right?”
Emily glanced at him as she accepted her beer from the bartender. “Yes, it is,” she smiled.
“So are you here with anyone, or am I just the f*cking luckiest guy at this party to have stumbled upon a hot-looking single girl?”
That’s a killer pick-up line, *, she thought. “Sorry, I’m here with someone.”
He let out a superior huff. “Who? Cause I know everyone here. I just may have to give him a beat down.”
This is getting better by the minute. “Dillon Parker.”
The man furrowed his brows. “You’re not with Dillon Parker. He’s still with Monica Lemay.” He took a large swallow of his drink. “At least I thought he was.”
Now you have my attention, jerkoff. “Who’s Monica Lemay?”
“Do you know Gavin?”
Emily quickly nodded.
“She’s the piece of blonde-haired prime meat he was just talking with by the pool.”
This moron is definitely drunk. “No, you must be confused. The woman Gavin was just speaking with is his ex-girlfriend—not Dillon’s.”
The man adamantly shook his head. “Gavin’s never dated Monica. We grew up together; he can’t stand her.” He downed another shot before continuing. “I’ve spent many Fourth of July parties at this house,” he pointed a finger across the yard. “And I’ve witnessed Dillon and Monica stumble out of that very guesthouse many mornings after, barely dressed. They definitely f*cked.”
As she stood up, dazed at what he had just revealed, Emily tried to swallow. Her throat felt like razor-sharp blades were sliding into her esophagus.
“Hey, so you wanna give me your number or what?”
Without a backward glance, Emily pushed her way through the crowd. Their screeching voices, laughter, and jovial faces were a distant blur—a complete fuzz in her mind. A thin sheen of sweat beaded over her flesh as panic set it. She made her way toward the beckoning glow of the house. Walking past the kitchen, she spotted Gavin talking with his mother. He looked in her direction as she stormed into the living room.
When Emily rounded the corner to the hall, air whooshed from her lungs as her heart imploded into a gut-wrenching burst of effervescence upon seeing Dillon with Monica. The organ suffered another devastating blow when she saw Monica snaking her arms around Dillon’s neck, drawing him into her, and then it happened—the kiss. Unable to fully comprehend what was going on, Emily cupped her hand over her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. Incapable of witnessing their exchange any further, she spun herself around, her body colliding against Gavin’s chest. He caught her by the arms, flicking his eyes down to her face and then over her shoulder as they narrowed on Dillon and Monica.
“I…I…have to leave,” Emily breathed out, her voice bleeding with pain. “Please. Call me a cab,” she begged as she rapidly made her way to the front of the house and out the door.
Digging in his pocket for his keys, Gavin followed behind her. When he emerged, he found her trying to catch her breath, sitting on the stoop with her head cradled between her legs.
He walked over and knelt astride her. Placing his hand under her chin, he brought her face up to meet his. “Let me take you,” he whispered.
She shook her head vehemently. “No, your…your party…” She wiped the now flowing tears from her eyes. “You can’t just leave. Please call me a cab or have your driver take me back.”
With his hand still under her chin, he gazed into her eyes. “My driver isn’t here right now, and I’m not sending you back to the city in a cab. I’m not worried about the party; just let me take you back.”
Without saying a word, Emily swallowed, stood up, and walked toward his driveway. He directed her over to his BMW and opened the door for her. She settled herself into the seat and watched as he made his way around the car, her nerves still reeling from what she just saw.
The two-and-a-half hours back to Manhattan was quiet without a word spoken. As the sky melted into hues of orange, purple, and pink with the setting sun, Gavin searched his mind for something to say, knowing he played a role in Emily believing that Monica was his girlfriend. Her grief was so tangible that it nauseated him.