Wretched (Never After Series)(15)

Dorothy laughs beside me, covering her mouth and shaking her head to stifle the noise. “Please, Evie never eats here.”

Eveline’s gaze burns through mine until I feel it in my toes.

“Why’s that?” I prod. “You too good for bar food, sweetheart?”

She straightens, but she doesn’t say a word, just keeps watching me with those lethal fucking eyes of hers.

“They’re good for a quick indulgence every once in a while,” she finally replies. “But other than that, there’s nothing really special about them. Hardly remember they were ever in my mouth once I’m done.”

Dorothy makes a face. “Gross, Evie. Why’d you say it that way?”

“That sounds pretty pretentious,” I cut in, annoyed that she’s hinting at our night together as forgettable. I stretch my arm across the back of the booth, settling deeper into Dorothy’s side.

Eveline gives a small grin, a fake one. The type that shows no teeth and barely tips up in the corners. But it’s enough to light a spark in my stomach, knowing I’m getting a rise out of her.

Does she remember the name I gave her?

Maybe she hooks up a lot, and I’m just one in a long line. The thought causes a twinge of discomfort to squeeze my middle.

It’s weird she isn’t calling me out about it, and I can’t decide whether I want her to remember or if I’d rather she forget. The latter would be the easiest. But deep down, I know the truth, as much as I wish I didn’t have to acknowledge it. I want her to remember every second of our time, the same way it’s been burned into my brain ever since it happened.

And now she’s watching me.

In fact, she hasn’t stopped watching me since the moment I walked in, like she’s peeling back my layers one by one and rearranging them to fit in her head.

I feel vulnerable, exposed, almost at her mercy. Which means she’s a huge liability.

My throat closes, nerves racing underneath my skin.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Excuse me,” I say, my hand reaching out to press against Dorothy’s shoulder, suddenly needing to have a few minutes to gather myself.

Her brows draw in, bottom lip puffing out the slightest bit. “You okay?”

Forcing a grin, I nod. “Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

She moves, sliding out of the booth and standing, and I’m right behind her, slipping past as I head toward the dark hallway that leads to the restrooms.

But it isn’t her gaze I feel searing into my back.

My legs burn as I hustle to the small bathroom, throwing open the door and closing it quickly behind me, then rushing to the sink and turning it on, cupping the cold water in my hands and splashing it on my face. The icy sensation shocks my nerves back into a steady state and my knuckles tighten around the edge of the counter, water droplets dripping off my nose and into the sink’s basin.

Get it together. This isn’t a problem. She isn’t a problem.

Cracking my neck, I twist to the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a handful. I wipe off my face before blowing out a deep breath and talking myself into a fake confidence I don’t truly feel as I walk out of the bathroom and back into the dark hall.

My footsteps stutter when I run into Eveline, resting against the wall, where she’s clearly waiting for me.

Her eyes are downcast as she inspects her nails, her black hair pulled back, showcasing the flawless expanse of her neck. My gaze trails along her figure, drinking her in like she’s water in the desert. She’s so different from who she was the night at that club, with her ripped oversized band tee, black skirt, knee-high stiletto boots, and silver rings, but this suits her more; the deep purple on her lips somehow even sexier than the bubblegum pink she was wearing the night we met.

“Nicholas.” Finally she glances up, straightening off the wall and tilting her head. “Or should I say Brayden?”

She takes a step closer, and as much as I try not to, flashes of her small frame in my hands fly through my mind. How she molded perfectly to every inch of my body. How pliable and warm she was when I wrapped her around my waist and split her with my cock.

I clear my throat, running a hand through my hair.

“Yeah,” I wince. “Sorry about that.”

Her eyes narrow and she takes another step. “About what?”

“What?” I repeat.

“What are you sorry about, exactly?”

For everything. I’m sorry I met her then. I’m sorry I know her now. And I’m sorry she isn’t anywhere near the person I imagined her to be. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I stuff Nick Woodsworth away, deep down inside where I won’t be able to find him, and I let Brayden Walsh take center stage.

I shrug, adopting a crooked grin on my face.

Her eyes flash, lips pursing the smallest bit. She takes another step closer. “There’s two options, Brayden. You either lied to me about your name then or… you’re lying now.”

“It’s not that deep, sweetheart.” I laugh. “I’ve met your type a thousand times. Lonely girl at the bar, playing hard to get but desperate to get fucked. All the classic signs of a clinger.”

My stare dips along the expanse of her neck as she throws her head back and laughs. “Please, I’m not the one who was begging for a name and following me into private spaces just to get a taste.”