Birthday Girl(114)

Cole wouldn’t have invited him. He must be crashing the party.

Scissors sit on my desk in front of me, and I eye it, instinct kicking in.

“Cole broke up with Elena,” Jay tells me. “You gonna take him back?”

Broke up? Were they really together? I look down at my thumb, seeing the small scar in the darkness and barely feeling anything anymore. How he could always tug at my heart, but now, it seems like ages ago Cole gave a damn about me. I can’t even muster an ounce of longing tonight for the connection we once had.

Survival mode has kicked in. My brain is in control now, and it won’t give me the keys to my heart until it’s sure it can take it.

“You want a little revenge first?” Jay taunts, and I can hear his voice growing closer. “Come on, Jordan. I’ll give you a good fuck right now, right here.”

“As opposed to the terrible lay you always were?” I retort.

He says nothing, but I can just imagine the little snarl playing on his lips and the tingle he’s feeling in his hands that’s begging him to make me pay for that remark.

Taking the scissors in my hand, I turn and twist it around in my fingers, playing with it as I look at him.

He stands just inside my doorway, dressed in his jeans and T-shirt with his cold eyes glaring at me under dark brows.

“What you must have told yourself to convince that pea brain inside your head that you made me come so good,” I say coolly. “The three times we did it were so bad, I would lay there confused, and then amused, before finally breaking into tears that there was nothing about you that wasn’t absolutely pathetic.”

His top lip twitches, and right now, he’s gauging how likely he is to get away with what he wants to do to me with a backyard full of witnesses right outside my window.

“Now I’m simply terrified for every woman I see you with,” I continue, “but also secretly smiling, because I know after they fake how much they love your cock in bed, they’re in the bathroom, fingering themselves to a mental image of any guy in town who’s not you.”

He lurches forward a step, and I straighten, dropping my hands and squeezing my fist around the scissors. His eyes flash to the tool, and he stops.

“Get out of my room,” I tell him, my tone calm and even, “and don’t ever speak to me again.”

He hesitates a moment.

“Now,” I state.

His chest caves with heavy breaths, and I can hear the anger fuming inside of him.

He wants to rush me so badly.

But I’m not even scared. I feel nothing.

It takes his pride a moment to realize he won’t get far if I decide to scream, but after a moment, he backs away and finally turns, disappearing down the hallway. His footfalls hit the stairs, and I wait to hear the backdoor slam closed before I risk moving again.

He may not stay out of my way for good, but he has a track record of deciding I’m worth minimal effort before he moves on to someone else. Let’s hope he keeps doing that.

I finish packing my clothes and slip into the bathroom, collecting my toothbrush, razor, and shampoo, stuffing everything into my bag and zipping it up. Swinging both bags onto my shoulder, I leave the room, resisting the urge to look back, and head down the stairs and into the living room.

Pike stands just inside the front door, though, and I stop, both of our gazes locked on each other.

Shit. I was almost out of here.

“I was out looking for you,” he says. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His gaze drops to my bags, and his fist curls around his keys. His voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t what?” I step forward. “Don’t leave or don’t tell Cole?”

The party rages outside, and we stand in the darkened room, locked in a no-win battle. It’s simply a question of who gets hurt, and it’s a choice he still thinks he can get out of making.

He wants me, but he’s a coward.

“This had to end, right?” he chokes out, speaking only loud enough for me to hear. “In ten years, I’ll be nearly fucking fifty. I’m not going to saddle you with that. This was going to end. You know it always was.”

I do now. My eyes burn, tears welling, but it’s strange. I’m not sure I’m sad. What he says is almost a comfort, because I know this story. I’m used to it.

I walk for the door.

“I’m not ready to let you go,” he tells me, stepping in front of me. “Just not yet. I’m not done...” He searches for the words. “Talking to you and…loving you.” He takes my shoulders, moving us behind the front door, my back against the closet. “Let’s go somewhere. Just us. There’s a midnight showing tonight. Let’s go. Get out of here and away for a couple hours, and we’ll talk.”

I peer up at him. “Somewhere dark, right?”

In a theater where we won’t be seen?

He looks at me like that’s exactly what he was thinking, and he’s sorry for that, but it’s the way it is. “We’ll figure it out.” He plants his hands on both sides of my head on the door behind me and leans in. “Just not yet. Don’t leave yet.”

The numbness I’ve been feeling since last night wavers, and I hear him in my head. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere…