Page 26

Beer isn’t gonna cut it. Not even close.
I rummage around in the cabinet above the fridge, shoving bottles aside until I find what I want. Unscrewing the cap, I toss it in the sink before tipping the bottle of Jameson to my mouth. There’s about a fourth left in the bottom of it and I’m guzzling like a man dying of thirst. The booze hits my empty gut like a nuke but I ignore the wildfire spreading through my abdomen and cut a glance at the douche in my living room. Another James clone—expensive watch. Expensive haircut. Trendy clothes. Probably drives a Porsche. There’s been a steady parade through here since Cari moved in but none of them stuck until now.
I want to kill him almost as much as I wanted to kill James.
The front door is still hanging open but he’s now standing by the coffee table, watching me. He looks a little scared of me and to tell the truth, I like the way that feels.
“Sorry, my manners are for shit—want some,” I say, lifting the hem of my t-shirt to wipe at the rim of the whiskey bottle before holding it out to him.
“Ahh... no. Thanks anyway,” Tim/Travis says, giving me a head shake along with a look that says he thinks I belong in a zoo. “Is Cari ready?” He looks down at his watch, “Our reservations are for...” He trails off, when she walks into the room. “Damn, baby—you look hot.”
“Thank you,” she says, giving him a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s hates it when they call her baby.
I take another dying-of-thirst guzzle, this one draining the bottle. Tossing it in the general direction of the trash can, it bounces off the rim and clatter onto the floor. I grin like an idiot for about two seconds before I catch her looking at me. Cari doesn’t look confused anymore. She’s clear-eyed and she’s looking at me like she knows exactly what happened in her room. Like she did it on purpose.
Now I don’t feel like grinning. Now I want to punch myself in the fucking face. Or maybe in the dick. That stupid thing still hasn’t figured it out. She’s just messing with us. Like that night in my car. Like every time she changes her clothes with her door open, or puts her hand on my leg while we’re watching TV. This whole time, here I was, thinking it was my problem. That I was the one making things weird. Perverting everything. Taking advantage of our friendship and the fact that she had nowhere to go so I could be closer to her.
But I was wrong.
It’s been the other way around this whole fucking time.
“Wow…” I laugh, bracing my hands on the kitchen counter and lean, letting my head hang between my shoulders for just a moment before I lift it, looking right at her. “Have fun,” I say, cutting her a look that says something else entirely.
I watch Tim/Travis help her into her coat, shooting me quick looks like he’s trying to hurry and get her out the door before I hulk out and rip his face off. So, maybe he’s not as stupid as he looks.
Coat finally on, Tim/Travis guides her through the open front door. “See you later, man,” he says, dropping his hand to her waist to push her along.
“God, I fucking hope not,” I say out loud, lifting the beer I opened and didn’t want to my mouth, draining it dry. I get the stink-eye from Tim/Travis and I give him a smile.
Fuck him. Fuck ‘em both.
“Goodnight, Patrick,” Cari says, reaching for the door to pull it closed behind them. I can feel her eyes on me. Watching me. She knows she’s finally pushed me too far and is probably wondering if she’s going to need to sleep with a can of mace and a steak knife from now on.
Probably wouldn’t hurt.
As soon as she’s gone I head down the short hallway to my own bedroom. There, I change my clothes, pulling on a crisp, white cotton button-down and a clean pair of jeans. In the bathroom, I do a quick assessment. My dark brown hair is about 2 weeks past a haircut and I could use a shave. In the end, I settle for running my fingers through my hair and brushing my teeth before I head out the door.
If Cari wants to fifth-date fuck her latest douchebag, that’s fine by me. I didn’t need five dates. Hell, I don’t even need one.
No more Mr. Nice Guy.
Sixteen
Cari
Have fun.
As soon as he said it, I knew Patrick figured it out. He’s knows I’ve been chipping away at his self-control on purpose and he’s not happy about it. I want to tell Travis to leave. That I don’t want to date him anymore. That I never really did. With him gone, I could explain things to Patrick. Apologize. Tell him how I feel. What I want.
Instead I run like a scared rabbit.
For months, Tess and I have been working on getting Patrick into my bed. Curling up next to him on the couch while we binge-watch Real Housewives. Sneaking my panties into his laundry basket. That ridiculously thin excuse for a bathrobe. That was all her.
But hanging a mirror in the living room, directly across from my bedroom door? Forgetting to close it when I change my clothes? Asking him to help me into my dress and then bending over so I could grind my ass into his cock?
Those were my bright ideas…
Why am I going out of my way to help Tess with this stupid bet?