Page 107 of Double Down

It’s the kind of affection that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with who and what I am.

I let it happen for one heartbeat as I struggle to figure out what the fuck is going on.

I feel nothing.

No, not nothing. I feelwrong. This is wrong.

My body responds out of sheer muscle memory; my hands are on her hips, but my cock is barely interested, and my chest aches.

NO. No. No. This is not the woman I should be touching.

Images of Phoenix curled up next to me on the couch, her face when she sleeps safe in my arms, and the smile that makes warmth bloom in my chest all flash through my head.

With my hands firmly on the waitress’s hips, I push her back.

“What’s wrong?” she says, brown doe-like eyes staring up at me.

“I told you no. No means fucking no.”

I reach for the minibar because my reflex is to offer an appeasement drink when I disappoint someone. It’s the polite thing to do, always, to fall back on Southern hospitality.

I pour something expensive without really looking and press the crystal glass into her palm. “You’re great. I’m just…not here, and I told you no.”

Her face cycles through a slideshow—surprise, then irritation. Then her eyes widen, and she looks down where I am absolutely not pitching a tent, and her expression falls to a professional recovery. “It’s fine.”

I am not having a dick malfunction, but fuck it. If that is the story she wants to tell herself to save face, I don’t give a fuck.

What’s one more failure in the grand scheme of things? Hell, I deserve it for bringing her up here.

“It’s not fine,” I say, and mean it. “But it will be. Take this, take a breath, take the elevator back down. Tell Holden I told you to extend your break. He can call me, and I will verify the story.”

She looks down at the glass, studying its contents. Then she squares her shoulders, tosses back the drink in a single swallow, and nods. “Sure thing. It’s been a week for everyone, hasn’t it?”

“It has, indeed.”

I walk her to the door because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. My hand is on the small of her back as I reach for the front door, and it opens from the outside.

Phoenix is there. She takes one look at the girl, and I can see shock, confusion and understanding cycle swiftly across her face, until she settles on white-hot rage.

Her hand tightens around her phone.

What’s worse than being a failure?

Being a failure who fucks everything up again, and again, and again.

27

Phoenix

I openthe door to call out for Maverick and find a smile on another woman’s mouth and his hand on her back.

She’s blonde and vaguely familiar, staring at me with a sly smirk—the kind of grin that says,I win, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

As I watch, her hand slides to Mav’s chest and rests against his shirt. There’s an intimacy in her touch that makes the back of my neck burn and my stomach roll.

“I was looking for you.” Maverick won’t meet my eyes. He stares at the ceiling, the empty hallway behind me, even his shoes. Everywhere but me.

“I, uh?—”