City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(109)
This is a guy I care about, and some part of him doesn’t want to do this, and if I let him, it’ll be guilt and shame and That was a mistake and It won’t happen again and awkwardly avoiding each other. And it’ll be more than that. It’ll be heartbreak, because I care about him, more than I really want to care about any guy, and when it’s over, I’ll have sacrificed something good for five minutes of passion.
His hands drop to my waist again, pushing my jeans down, the lust reigniting, the kiss deepening, his breath coming harsh as he sees the end in sight and— I pull back. “No, Eric.”
He doesn’t seem to notice, just pulls me to him again, pushing between my legs as he flips open the button on his— “No, Eric.” I put my hand on his chest and push him. “Stop.”
He blinks. Then he pulls back, sucking in breath, and before I can even catch a glimpse of his expression, he steps away, letting me drop, and then turns and strides off.
Two
Dalton storms off and leaves me struggling to get my jeans on, and I feel like I’m back in tenth grade, kissing Matthew McCormack behind the school when his hands slide under my shirt and I push them out, and he takes off in a snit, never to speak to me again. Which is understandable at sixteen. It is not understandable at thirty, and as I watch Dalton walk away without a backward glance, I slam my fist into the tree, which is absolutely the stupidest thing I could have done, and I bite my lip to keep from yowling.
I cradle my hand, eyes closed, rage and frustration whipping through me so hard the pain almost feels good.
Damn him. God-f*cking-damn him. And damn me, too, for not stopping him the moment he pushed me against that tree.
If you didn’t want it, *, why did you start it? Start it and then tell me twice you didn’t want to, like I’m a witch who cast a spell over you? Sweetest damn thing a guy has ever said to me.
I’m going to f*ck you, but I really, really don’t want to.
I almost slam my fist into the tree again. I settle for stomping the ground, and not caring if I look like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. I should throw a tantrum. My life needs more of them. More? Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I lost my temper, and God knows I have good reason.
Everything that brought me here was a lie. When Diana refused to go to the hospital, I felt so bad, so f*cking bad for her. She was so beaten down and yet so strong. Strength? Bullshit. It was lies. Lies so she could be with that sadistic bastard.
She brought me here for the same damned reason as always. I was her rock. The dependable friend who would be there for her no matter what. Time to go to college? Find one near Casey, so you don’t need to be alone. Can’t shake your ex? Convince Casey to move to a new city with you. Need to escape after stealing a million dollars? Run far, far away … but don’t forget to take Casey. Diana’s security blanket. Diana’s guard dog.
I take a deep breath and look at the path. I don’t want to go back to Rockton. Not yet. I want to do exactly what Dalton is doing. Walk it off out here, in the stillness and the silence, where no one can interrupt and say, “Hey, what’s wrong?” and force me to put on a happy face. I’m hurt and I’m angry and I want to indulge that. For once, I want to indulge that.
I consider searching for the ATV keys, but I’m not even sure where I threw them. I still can’t believe I did that. Completely irresponsible. And I don’t regret it for a second. Fuck all this. I’m going to start being a little irresponsible and immature. I’ve earned it.
That does not mean I stalk off the path. Nor do I head away from town. I’m being reckless, not stupid. Yet I get barely twenty steps along the trail before I see Dalton in the distance, just standing there with his back to me.
I’m cutting across to avoid him, and I know exactly where I’m heading—I’m on the proper angle—when I hear a twig crack behind me. I turn and see a distant figure. It goes still, mostly hidden behind a tree, but I recognize the build and the height and the glimpse of dark blond hair. Dalton.
Asshole.
Yes, following me when I’ve wandered from the trail does not make him an *. Under any other circumstances, it’d be a considerate thing to do. But in this mood, I resent the implication that I can’t handle this on my own and change direction, planning to stay off-path a little longer.
Am I hoping to provoke him? Bring him over here, snarling and snapping? Yep, because I’m in the mood to snarl and snap back. When I do immature, I don’t do it by halves.
Except there is a reason I don’t do immature and irresponsible. Because eventually it does cross the line into reckless and stupid. I’m so focused on goading Dalton by staying off-path that I’m not paying nearly enough attention to where I’m going. Then I stop catching those distant glimpses of him, and I’m sure he’s sneaking up—I even hear twigs and needles crackle nearby—so I pick up my pace, weaving through the forest, hell-bent on annoying the shit out of him.
That’s when the noises stop, and they stay stopped, and I walk for a few minutes more before I realize Dalton’s not there. I lean against a tree, waiting for him to catch up. Only he doesn’t, and the woods are silent, and I’m alone.
I head off in the direction that I’m sure will take me toward town. After about ten minutes the terrain changes, growing rockier, which means I’m nowhere near Rockton. That’s when I realize I’m lost.