Real (Real, #1)(30)

I stop in front of her, lips so f*cking close I can taste them, and she lifts that chin of hers up in a non-verbal f*ck you. That defiance I find so goddamn sexy is in full effect but right now I’m also scared shitless because the hurt I see mixed with it is my doing … and my undoing.

What the f*ck am I doing?

My head is such a clusterf*ck of emotions and thoughts. The biggest one is hurt her first. Deliver the first blow. And I know it’s not right, know it’s the worst kind of way to be, but my chest hurts so goddamn bad I can’t think straight.

“What the f*ck are you trying to pull, Rylee?” I ask. I know the answer, payback’s a bitch, but I don’t care because bar-boy shifts behind her and his eyes lock and then glance away from mine.

Good. At least he knows who’s calling the shots here. Too bad Rylee doesn’t.

And then she reaches back and pats his knee. I have flashbacks of the Merit launch party and Surfer Joe, the déjà vu almost comical.

Almost.

Because then she was just an addictive challenge I had to conquer and now … now she’s part of my f*cking world. I’m a man with something to lose and that’s not a good place to be.

“What business is it of yours?” she sneers as my eyes keep flickering back and forth to her hand on his knee.

And I can’t help it, need to take it off of him, so I reach out to grab her arm and she yanks it away from me. I know why she did it, but the look she gives me mixed with the action flashes me back to my other hurt. When I fought away from any touch at all because of what would come next. The calling to my superheroes.

I’m staggered.

And f*cking furious.

At her for fighting me and at me for making her feel that way. It takes a moment to pull me from the thought, to separate the two events that just melded when one has nothing to do with the other and f*cked up my head even further.

I look in her eyes—see the hurt, the defiance, the sadness—and use what I see there to gain my bearings again.

“I don’t like games, Rylee. I won’t tell you that again.”

“You don’t like games?” she says, her tone laced with disgust. “But it’s okay for you to play them?”

Fuck yes I played them, but that’s not the point. The point is right here, right now. At the Merit party she gave me the choice: go or stay. Now it’s my turn to ask.

“Why don’t you tell your little boy toy he can run along now before things get even more interesting.”

Watcha gonna do, Ryles?

Pick me.

Go with me.

Fix this shitstorm I started and get us back.

She shoves against me as hard as she can. “You. Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac!” spewing from her lips as she falls into me.

And every part of me stands at attention at the feel of her against me, wanting and needing but knowing I can’t have, because she sure as f*ck didn’t give me the answer I wanted.

“What the f*ck are you trying to prove?” I ask, wanting her to say she wants me, wants to fix this, believe I didn’t cheat on her.

But she doesn’t. Not even f*cking close.

“I’m just testing your theory,” she says with a smirk.

“My theory?” What the f*ck is she talking about?

“Yeah, if losing yourself in someone helps get rid of the pain.”

Ah f*ck. In a single second I rein in everything that tumbles inside of me at the thought of her being with someone else, everything but my anger. I sure as shit hold onto that.

“How’s that working for you?” It’s all I can think to say because her rejection stings something fierce.

“Not sure.” She shrugs with a smirk. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

And I’m so focused on that look on her face when she pushes away from me that I don’t even notice the f*cker’s hand in hers.

When I see it, anger turns to motherf*cking fury. “Don’t you walk away from me, Rylee!”

“You lost the right to tell me what to do the minute you slept with her.” She says, her voice breaking through the haze of my colliding emotions. “Besides, you said you like my ass … enjoy the view as I walk away because that’s the last you’ll be seeing of it.”

I snap. No excuses, no regrets. My fist is clenched, fury ready to unleash on bar-boy.

But none of it f*cking matters because I feel the steel grip of Sammy on my arm before I get my chance. And then the melee ensues.

Rylee is screaming at me, insults and names. Sticks and stones, baby. Sticks and stones.

You got to me.

You beat me at my own game.

At least it’s Becks leading her away from me and not the f*cking bar-boy. I’ll take any kind of victory I can get at this point.

The crowd’s buzzing seeps through my rage, drowns out her voice as it fades. And then Sammy’s arm is around my shoulders leading me out of the bar and down a hallway.

“Calm the f*ck down, Wood.”

My pulse pounds in my ears, my head all over the place, and my chest hurts even worse. “Just let me the f*ck go, Sam,” I grit out, my only thought is: Fuck the race tomorrow, I need to visit with Jack and Jim for a bit.

“Nope,” he says, ushering me into an elevator in this damn maze of a resort. All I want to do is walk, run, pound out this anger then get f*cking plastered so I can’t feel the emptiness inside of me right now.