Crazy Stupid Love (Crazy Love #1)(11)
Grabbing the glass in front of me, I sling back the contents in one large gulp, finding comfort in the way the liquor seers my throat on the way down. And while it somewhat takes the edge off, it does nothing to cure the deep ache in my groin left by Kimber.
All I can see is her face: those big blue eyes, the way loose strands of hair fell across her perfect skin, how f*cking incredible her ass looked in those tight little skinny jeans she was wearing. I can’t even start on how damn delicious she smelled.
Fuck me.
I don’t know why this f*cking girl is so under my skin. I know I’m going to have to f*ck her. I won’t be able to think straight again until I do.
“So you know the chick from last night?” I ask when Gavin reappears in front of me, moving to refill my empty glass.
“What about her?”
“She was the f*cking waitress at the restaurant.”
“Wait, the one you were just at?” he asks, seeming surprised by this funny little twist.
“The very one.”
“So did you hit it or what?” he asks like it’s any other question.
“I told you, it’s not like that. Besides, I’m fairly certain she couldn’t handle me.”
“When is it ever really not like that with you, Deck? You forget who you’re talking to.” He rolls his eyes as he pushes the refilled glass of whiskey in front of me.
“Okay, so I thought about it,” I admit, grabbing the glass.
“Well then, why didn’t you?” He laughs, knowing full well that when I want something, I rarely hesitate on taking it.
“Some dude showed up and was hanging on her, seemed like they were an item.” I shrug, pouring my second drink into my mouth.
“Since when has that stopped you?” He lets out a laugh.
“I don’t know, man. I’m all f*cked up over the bullshit that happened at lunch. I guess I’m just off. Trey was really on it today.” I grunt, sliding my empty glass to the edge of the bar.
“I don’t know why you even agreed to go, dude. Fuck him. He’s not worth your f*cking time.” He stops directly in front of me, his tone falling serious. “Look, dude, you’ve had a shit way to go. You can’t f*cking punish yourself forever, and you certainly can’t let Trey do it for you. We got a good thing here,” he says, gesturing around the bar. “Focus on that.”
“Thanks,” I say, Gavin reminding me why I keep his ass around. At the end of the day, dude’s got my back like no one else.
“That’s what brothers are for.” He gives me a nod, knowing he’s more my brother than Trey will ever be.
“You got shit covered here then?” I ask, checking the clock behind the counter to see it’s just after six.
“Yeah, I’m good. Sunday and all.” He shrugs, knowing it will be a pretty slow night.
“Perfect. I’m gonna go hit the gym,” I say, pushing away from the bar.
“Have fun,” he calls over his shoulder as I push my way through the side door that leads up to my apartment.
Climbing the stairs two at a time, I shove the key into the lock and step inside the small space. The moment the door closes I feel almost claustrophobic, like the walls are slowly closing in on me.
Yes, the gym is exactly where I need to be. I need to release some of the f*cking tension that is built up in various parts of my body. I need to take my aggression out on something other than a f*cking bottle of whiskey.
I’ve spent too many nights staring at the bottom of an empty bottle as is. The gym is the only other place where I can somewhat numb away the ache that has permanently attached itself to the pit of my stomach since the accident. When I’m there, I push my body so hard that the only pain I can feel is physical. It’s one of the only ways I can find even a moment of peace.
Making my way into the open kitchen, I grab two bottles of water from the fridge before crossing into the living room-bedroom combo. It’s not much, but the space is large enough for a full wrap around couch on one side and a king size bed and large dresser on the other. It’s nothing spectacular, but it serves my needs perfectly.
Grabbing my already packed gym bag from the floor next to the closet, I immediately head out of the apartment through the private entrance at the back. Climbing down an outdoor set of stairs, I cross the parking lot that separates the gym from the bar.
Sliding the key into the back door of Louie’s, a private gym primarily used for training amateur fighters, I push my way inside the moment the lock clicks. The gym is dark and silent, just how I like it. Louie never opens on Sundays, says it’s his sanity day.
Luckily for me, Louie is a fan of his scotch and as such we trade off services. He drinks at my bar for free, and I have unlimited access to his gym anytime I want it, including after hours, which is usually when I come.
Flipping on the hallway light, I immediately head for the locker room to change, taking in the silence that somewhat seems to calm the chaos between my ears.
I like being alone, having access to any room and any equipment without being disturbed by other people. Working out is one of my major releases, and I can’t have people f*cking with me while I try to let out some aggression.
Switching on the stereo system that is wired throughout the entire gym, I settle on a rock channel, the beat of the heavy drum matching the pounding I feel coursing through my veins. After taping up my hands, I step in front of one of the large punching bags, taking a couple jabs before really getting into a rhythm. My body feels lighter with each punch I land.