You're to Blame(34)

“This is your shit officially blowing up.” Lydia pats me on the shoulder.

We take orders until the bar is nearly empty. When I notice Charlotte and Rachel gone, Randy assures me he walked them to Charlotte’s car since she hadn’t been drinking all night. He also reminds me how big of a pussy I’m being.

“Okay, boys, it’s time to go,” I usher a group of guys to the entrance, corralling them to leave.

“Did you see her? The bitch wanted me bad. I’d a fucked her until next Sunday, whether she wanted it or not, if it wasn’t for that fuckin’ bartender,” one of them says.

Standing in the middle of the group is the guy who had harassed Charlotte earlier.

“Excuse me?” I bark. “What the fuck did you just say?”

The guy spins around, clearly drunk out of his damn mind, stumbling to catch his footing as I push him over the threshold and into the parking lot.

“Got a problem?” he challenges, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

Is this guy for real?

“Yeah, we got a real problem, asshole.” I reel back and land one good hit. The guy tumbles like a rock down a steep hill.

“Fuck!” Lydia shouts. “Randy, will you please go make sure he doesn’t kill this guy?”

As if Lydia’s request is a warning to the rest of them, his friends bolt in opposite directions.

“So far, he’s still alive.” Randy stays back, knowing damn well I wouldn’t put my hands on another person unless I have a good reason.

“Hit me,” I taunt the jackass, poking my cheek and blowing him a kiss.

He swings his arms to loosen them and reels back, readying to throw his first and last punch if I have a say in it. His fist hits me square in the eye. The spot he punched throbs, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The pain is something I’m willing to endure over and over again if this guy learns a fucking lesson.

“Don’t ever step foot in this bar again, do you understand me? Or I’ll do the world a favor and castrate you,” I shout.

When Randy moves closer, I shake my head. He’ll wait for the right moment to step in, but not before I rattle a few more punches off on this mother fucker’s face.

As my anger carries me to an unexpected place, I check out.

I wake up thinking it was a dream, until I look in the mirror. The rest of the night, how I got to my apartment, and showering, it’s all a blur.

Even with a night sleep, my nerves still tingle in the morning. I pace up and down the hallway, anxious to release some pent-up energy. Nothing will take away this urgency until I work out. The gym is a refuge. My mind focuses on stretching the limits of what my body is capable of. High school is where it all began.

My football coach saw I needed an outlet from the outside world. He made me take a weight training class with him, and a few weeks into the semester, my anger dwindled. Most nights, it was the only thing keeping me from losing my cool. My adrenaline flows, and endorphins seep into my veins like crack to an addict.

A mile and a half into my run, I finally look up to see my sweat streaked face in the mirror. The black eye is a reminder of how far I’m willing to go for her.

When my phone vibrates against my thigh, my hand slams down on the red button. Lydia’s name illuminates the screen.

“Hello?” I take a lung full of air to try to catch my breath.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” she sings into my ear. “How are you feeling?”

I pull a paper towel from the holder and wipe the sweat from my face. “I’m in the gym, so what do you think?”

“What are you doing, Duke? What’s the end game?” Her voice rings with command.

Even if I do sleep with Charlotte, where will it get me? She’ll still be with Jacob, and I know once with her will never quench the thirst she causes.

“I’m not doing anything, Lyd.” She can’t see me, but I roll my eyes anyway.

“I see the way you two watch each other across the room,” she huffs, knocking me on my ass.

“That’s enough. I know you worry about me, but stop.” I pull the phone away to look at the time. “I have to go.”

“Through all of this, don’t forget you’re a good guy.” The call goes silent, and I allow her words to sink in.

“I’ll see you later tonight.” I hang up and jump back on the treadmill.

With my headphones secured in my ears, I blare the music and pump out another two miles. My shoes connecting with the tread is a perfect form of therapy. My muscles straining to perform is what I need to drown out Lydia’s accusations. Acknowledgement makes it a real sort of bullshit that will never work.

By the time I finish my long workout, it’s eleven. I rush through my shower and glance at my phone to see if I have any missed texts or calls. Nothing. I open the HOME screen and skim through my contacts, passing Charlotte’s name several times before starting a new message.

Hey — No, that won’t work.

Want to grab dinner? — Too fucking needy.

Why didn’t you say goodbye last night? — Jesus, I better check to make sure I haven’t grown a vagina.

I toss my phone on the bed, running my fingers through my damp hair and tugging at the ends. This is a bunch of bullshit. She’s not my girlfriend. How her day is going is none of my business. Fuck. I want it to be.