Scared of Beautiful (Scared #1)(52)
The stench of beer and sweat greets me as I arrive at the local club. I notice more than a few familiar faces, and ignore each and every one of them before making my way over to the bar. The bar’s owner, Terry has tried in vain to rip off Hooters by having stripper waitresses work the joint, but in the hood, they just all look like coke whores with trays. The bartender, a leggy Puerto Rican with jet black hair, is about the only decent looking female in this shit hole.
Before long, I’ve had a few too many beers and one too many shots of whiskey. The world sways pleasantly around me, and slowly but surely the memories of my real life begin to dissipate. The bartender makes every effort to engage me in some random conversation every five minutes, and it’s not until I lose my senses via alcohol imbibing that I start to pay attention. She’s f-ucking hot, and I can’t say I hesitate when she takes my hand and walks me around the side of the bar to the back room. Her boss gives her a brief nod before she leads me into a small back office.
My mind may be totally f*cked up, but my dick knows what to do in this situation. She moves in to kiss me, but I bring my hands up to her shoulder and turn her away. This is not love. I don’t f-ucking want love, so we don’t kiss. I lean her forward over the office desk and pull her short leather skirt up over her ass. No underwear, easy access. Very nice. I like easy. In less than ten seconds, I slip a condom on and slide into her from behind with a force. She lets out a moan, and I want to tell her to shut the hell up. She doesn’t sound like Maia. She’s nowhere near as tight either. She moans louder. My hand comes up over her mouth. Shut the f-uck up. I close my eyes and slam my dick into her over and over again, all the while the memory of Maia riding me stays front and center in my mind. I come with a force that pushes the table forward a few inches, and I fall forward with my hands on either side of her. The hot bartender pulls her skirt down and turns to face me, smiling. She really is smoking hot. Not for me, but smoking hot. And just like that, wordlessly, I tuck myself into my pants and walk back out the door. I’ll barely remember this tomorrow, and that’s a very good thing. The old Jackson has returned. I’m back bitches, I think with sad smile.
Chapter 29
Maia
I replay in my mind over and over a thousand times why Jackson and I are where we are, and how we got here. But as much as I try to spin it, I’m to blame. It was me; I did this. I pushed him further and further away until I pushed him all the way back to Atlanta. With the exception of flinging on my Ugg boots and walking across to the Bean for coffee every morning, I have relegated myself to my apartment. And to sweatpants. Blake watches me curiously as I walk straight in and walk straight out, avoiding all eye contact with any other living human being. The sloppy bun at the top of my head flops heavily, pressurizing my already sore, sleep-deprived brain. Before Blake has the time to make eye contact and initiate a conversation, I’ve usually grabbed my coffee and made a beeline for the door.
This is what I had intended to happen at the onset of the college year. I was supposed to be a small blip on much bigger radar, virtually undetectable, so that I would never be put in the situation that I now face. That didn’t happen. Being in love with Jackson is, err was, amazing, terrifying, beautiful, and horrible. And now, now that whatever it was is over, I’d do anything to get it back. By the third day, with still no word from Jackson, or even from Jade about Jackson, the reality of our last conversation starts to sink in. I must admit that in keeping Jackson at arm’s length, not once in the whole few weeks that we spent together, did I think that he would actually leave. I’d like to think that he had his reasons, but my rational mind tells me that that he didn’t. He left quite simply because I was a bitch.
On day four, I actually put on a pair of jeans when doing my coffee run. Progress. The Clever Bean is packed with patrons lounging around to escape the rain after having breakfast. The weather is as dismal as my mood. Not to mention that the sight of food has been intolerable to me in the last few days. A familiar smile greets me as I walk over to the coffee bar.
“Hi,” Blake smiles warmly as I approach.
I greet him with a pained smile. “Hey,” I answer with very little enthusiasm.
“Why are you making coffee?” I ask, mildly half curious.
“Sick call,” he replies simply. I nod back.
Blake’s warm smile is a pleasant change from the stark neutral walls of my apartment. He doesn’t, however grab my attention like Jackson could, not with his smile, or his eyes. My heart seizes painfully as I realize, that I don’t think anyone ever will.
I suspect that Blake doesn’t really need to be at the Bean as much as he is. For any other red blooded female, this hot, well-bred and sweet man would be a godsend. For me, his presence just reminds me that I really don’t give a shit about anyone else who appears interested in me. Which in turn makes me miss Jackson. Nonetheless, after Blake’s incessant nagging and ramblings on about the medical necessity for food in one’s body, I agree to meet him later in the evening for a quick dinner. The invitation does absolutely nothing to improve my mood. I am aware that I’m moping, also aware that the moping is a result of my own actions, but none of those realizations will change how I feel. Back in the apartment, my fingers hover over the keypad on my cell, debating whether or not to dial Jackson’s number. I chicken out and call Jade instead.