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Without her attention on me, I allowed myself to peruse her luscious body at my leisure. A generous slit on the side of her long sequin dress revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her thick thigh and allowed the sparkling gold shoes she wore to flash with every movement. Her hips were wide and full, enough for me to grab onto as I plowed into her from behind. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder, making me want to run my lips down the curve of her throat while I threaded my fingers through her silky locks.
Maybe tonight I wouldn’t go home alone.
My appreciative glance had reached her generous set of tits when she turned to face the hostess, allowing me to see her face.
Holy fuck.
I should’ve known the one woman who could make my dick stand at attention from the second she entered the room was the one woman I avoided like the plague.
Trissa talked to the hostess, who gestured towards the bar. It didn’t matter that I rarely let myself think of her. The air had been sucked out of the room seeing her up close. She was so fucking breathtaking.
I found myself gripping my glass tighter, knuckles white with the effort of restraining myself.
“You alright, Killian?” the bartender asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Fine,” I muttered, tearing my eyes away from her and back to my drink. “Just saw someone I used to know.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Ex?”
“Something like that,” I replied, taking a long swig of scotch. The liquor burned down my throat, a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my chest.
As Trissa spoke with the hostess, memories flooded my mind. Lazy afternoons spent writing songs together, her off-key singing that always made me smile, and late-night conversations about our dreams for the future.
The way she believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.
But with the sweet memories came the bitter ones—the jealousy, the heart-wrenching pain of losing her to Peter.
After Peter’s betrayal, I was done with him. After everything we’d been through he still chose to leave me behind when he was scouted for a new record label. And he had the audacity to get a shit deal for me. A deal that was nothing more than placating Peter. I refused to sign the contract when I realizedthat it had no benefit for me in it at all. My supposed best friend would never have accepted the terms and conditions I’d been given. Although, he clearly didn’t care about my subpar offer. He’d been too blinded by his potential fame. It was all he’d cared about.
Tris didn’t understand my anger. She believed we should both be happy for Peter since the deal was a culmination of him getting what he’d dreamed of and worked so hard for. What she didn’t understand was that it was just one more thing Peter had gotten that I wanted.
Her acceptance of the situation signaled to me that it was time to go. Rage had filled me until I was vibrating with it—until everything in my field of vision took on a red hue. I’d been in love with her since I’d met her, but over the years, she’d fallen for Peter.
And the asshole either didn’t realize it, or he did and decided to ignore it and string her along because he needed her in other ways.
I never stood a chance. So I walked away and let our friendship die.
Now, ten years later, there she was, across the room. It was the closest we’d been to each other since that last day. Over the years, I’d learned to avoid them both at gatherings in the music industry and other events that they also attended.
Seeing her here was … unexpected.
I raised my glass to my lips and risked another glance. She’d only grown even more beautiful. It was hard not to feel like that angry, heartbroken kid all over again, and I needed to bury that shit deep.
“Another?” the bartender asked, gesturing to my empty glass.
I nodded gratefully. “Better make it a double.” The interruption reminded me I couldn’t afford to be distracted rightnow. The label was pushing my band to write and release a new album, and the guys wanted to set up another tour. The last thing I needed was to let Trissabelle Byrd into my head.
Not now.
Yet my traitorous eyes strayed back to her. She seemed to be waiting for someone, checking her phone periodically. I tensed each time she turned slightly, sure she would spot me. But my body refused to move, rooted to the spot by a potent mixture of nostalgia, desire, and unresolved hurt. I couldn’t deny that I wanted to know who she was meeting. Or that I wanted to rip out the throat of any man she deemed worthy enough for a date. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.
Beneath the longing, a current of resentment still flowed. She had chosen Peter. Clear as day. She let me leave without a second thought. The bitterness of that rejection would haunt me as long as I lived.
“You sure you’re okay?” the bartender asked quietly, sliding my new glass towards me. Any other time, I’d have sarcastically told him to mind his own fucking business, but tonight, the jagged edges of my heart had reopened, and I was struggling to put into place my usual detachment.
I saluted him with my glass and gave him what was likely a bitter smile. “Ghosts from the past,” I muttered.
I contemplated quietly making my way to the private room in the back before she noticed me. Ironically, I realized how unlike me this decision was and that it was in direct opposition to the more dramatic personality I’d taken on since childhood.