Page 38 of Hate Wrecked

RILEY

My twenty-first birthday was a disaster.

We had a party at the house, unlike the casual and quiet affairs at my father’s.

After Rowan’s rejection, I had pressured Barry, and we were officially dating.

So my mother thought I would want something exciting, something wild— something to celebrate winning the game.

Though the prize left much to be desired.

And maybe I did want something wild, just to show off the man who wanted me in front of the one who couldn’t take half of me.

But that’s not how it went down.

There were models everywhere, including actresses who had worked with my stepfather and mother. Barry shmoozed them all night, and laughed—ignoring me for hours. Then he left. He left my birthday party with some models. Said he was talking to them about their careers.

I was drunk and crying when my mom found me in the laundry room. My spot to meet Rowan, but he wasn’t coming. He’d asked for the night off at the last minute.

“What’s wrong, my darling girl?” my mother’s raspy voice asked. She closed the laundry room door behind her, and the music drowned out, faded away.

“I think you fucking know,” I spat, wiping my eyes.

“He’ll be back. Don’t worry. He’s just…they’re like that.”

“Who is like that? He and Asa? And you’re trying to sell me on that being a good thing?” I barked out a laugh. “No wonder you’re so fucking miserable.”

My mother sniffed, wiping her nose. “And who would you rather be with? That bodyguard?”

I stiffened, my eyes darting to her. She cocked her head. “You’re my daughter. Don’t you think I noticed the way you are with him? Always sneaking off to the garden or driving away in your car. You’re lucky it’s just me noticing. He’s fortunate to still have a job.”

“He’s my friend.” He was. He was more, too.

“He's on the payroll, Glenne. You know that. You know it’s not what you should be doing. You have plenty of friends. Invite them over.”

“I hate when you call me that,” I mumbled. “And why would I invite my friends over here? So they can flirt with your husband? Flirt with my boyfriend? The sad thing is they’d hook up with Asa the minute you passed out. Maybe I’m doing you a favor,” I sneered.

My mother laughed as if I hadn’t just insulted her. She had a habit of ignoring my snide remarks, ignoring what I was really trying to say. I miss you. I miss how you were before him, before all of this. And now I ’ m becoming you.

“Don’t do me any favors. I’m fine, and you know it.”

I laughed, pushing off the washer, done pretending Rowan was coming to save me. “Yeah, you look fine. Where’s the coke? I want some,” I dared.

My mother rolled her eyes and left me in the dark.

* * *

After I cried in the dark for half an hour, I snuck out of the party, catching a cab to Rowan’s apartment. I paid the driver, then ran up to his apartment complex, bare feet on the sidewalk, hair wild. I reached for his doorknob, then pulled back. I raised my fist to knock, then dropped it.

We’d barely spoken since the pool. Since he’d rejected half measures, the flirting, our rides out of the city to up high on the hill. We no longer read books together and told each other our favorite parts in the laundry room or in the garden.

Bodyguard. Stepdaughter of the boss. That’s who we were.

I felt foolish, and when I turned back to the road, the cab was gone.

I walked around the building to where Rowan’s window looked out into the sparse courtyard.

Branches scratched me as I snuck through.

His curtains were open, and there were no lights on in the living room.

The light above his stove was on, casting the room in shadow.

It was two a.m., and he was probably asleep. I was a foolish, foolish girl.

I moved to turn away, but something caught my eye.

I noticed then that the TV was on, but I heard no sound as the light of a commercial showed me Rowan’s form on the couch.

There was a novel laid over the armrest, split down the middle, where he had left off.

Rowan’s head was thrown back, and I thought for a moment he might be asleep, but he swallowed, and I smiled.

I decided to knock on the door, but then I noticed the movement of his shoulder.

He was moving his hand up and down, a rhythmic motion—unmistakable, raw. Heat pooled in my stomach, and my heartache flittered away. Desire, feral and unchecked, was just a few feet away. Nothing but glass separated us.

I watched him stroke, his movements becoming faster.

I fought the urge to slip my hands down, to join him, to chase whatever high he was feeling.

The lingering alcohol in my body made me warm and desperate. I exhaled, closing my eyes and leaning my forehead on the side of the building.

When I opened them and peered through the glass again, Rowan was finished. One arm rested on the couch, and the other was on his forehead, kneading tensions away. His eyes were closed tight, and he didn’t seem relaxed, like he had felt relief in the act.

I didn’t care then. I reached out and knocked on the glass. Rowan shot up, and my eyes devoured his disheveled appearance.

I heard him curse, then walk out of the room. I met him at his door and he grabbed me by my arms, pulling me in. I wasn’t able to speak before he slammed the door and pushed me against it, his forehead pressed to mine.

I could smell him, the heady scent of his desire everywhere.

His hands pressed into my shoulders, and I reached up, wrapping my hands around his wrists.

“What were you doing?” I whispered.

Rowan’s voice was low. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” he asked. He sniffed, and I knew he smelled the liquor on me. “Did you drive? You’re drunk.”

He pushed away, and I took him in. He had only his boxers on, nothing else, and his red hair was wet from a recent shower.

I pushed off the wall, walking to him. “I’m not drunk. Just tipsy. I took a cab. What were you doing?” I asked again.

Rowan sniffed, walking into the kitchen. “I think you fucking know, Riley. Now what the fuck are you doing here? It’s your birthday.”

“Not anymore,” I said, walking to him. “It’s officially tomorrow.”

“Yeah. And I need to get some sleep. I have to be at your bloody house tomorrow.”

“What were you doing?” I asked again.

Rowan grabbed a glass, filled it with water, then walked to me. He shoved it into my hand. “Drink this. You need to sober up.”

I brought the glass to my lips, drinking it down. When I was done, I wiped my mouth and fought the urge to spit it back up. My stomach was too empty.

Rowan’s hands were on his hips as he stared at me, his blue eyes narrowed.

I reached for him, pressed myself close to him. Rowan raised his hands to his hair and turned his face away. “Riley, let me get you to bed.”

I kissed his chest and rubbed my body against his length. I could feel him getting hard again. The alcohol had me warm all over, and I knew his arousal still lingered.

Rowan still didn’t look at me as I leaned forward, pressing another kiss to his chest. “I’ve missed you. I can’t stop thinking about the pool. I can’t stop thinking about your fingers inside of me, filling me, fucking me.”

“Riley, please,” he whispered.

I kissed his chest again, swirling my tongue over his nipple, then reached down with one hand to stroke the length of him. “I still haven’t done it, you know? I still haven’t been fucked. Do you know why?”

Rowan reached down, grabbed me by my shoulders, pushed me back.

His eyes were dark, and his jaw was set.

I kept working him with my hand. “How should I know? I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours.

You want me one day. Want him the next. I can’t keep doing this.

” His words said one thing and his body told me another.

“I only want you,” I whispered, bringing my thumb up to my mouth and licking it.

He closed his eyes, exhaling as I reached forward again, slipping my hand into his boxers.

I pressed my thumb to him, rubbed it over the slickness, and moaned as he shivered.

“Were you thinking of me?” I asked as his grip on my shoulders lessened.

“Yes,” he exhaled, “I was thinking about what he might be doing to you. Wishing it was me. I’m always thinking of you. Always you, Riley.”

I dropped to my knees then, pulling his boxers down, taking him into my mouth.

He cursed as I looked up at him, his hand in my hair, his other on the counter.

It didn’t take long for him to be pulled from the dream.

I lavished his head with my tongue, sighed as I tasted him, and gasped as he pulled out.

“What the fuck. Goddamit Riley,” Rowan whispered, pulling his boxers back up. I stood, reaching for him, but he pushed me away.

“No, not like this. You’re...how much did you drink?” he asked.

I laughed, and he clenched his jaw. The ride to his apartment, the sight of him on his couch, the water...I still felt the alcohol, but I felt the power of my want more than anything. “I stopped drinking hours ago. When he left.” I regretted the words before they left my lips.

When I looked at Rowan, I hated what I saw. Unfiltered heartache.

He swallowed, and I braced myself for the rejection.

Instead, he shook his head and then walked away.

When he returned, he had a shirt and a towel. “Here,” he said. “Take a shower. Put this on. I’ll take you home in the morning. And then—then you need to make a choice, Riley.”

“A choice?”

Rowan set his jaw and squared his shoulders. “A choice between whatever it is you have with him, and whatever this is with me.”

I didn’t speak; I didn’t argue that there was no choice. I didn’t argue that I knew who I wanted, and I was standing in front of him. I simply took the towel and the shirt that smelled like him.

I left the bathroom door open as I stripped out of my party dress and into the shower. And when I let the water cascade over my skin, when I pretended it was his hand making me come—not my own—I wondered if he was out there, watching me through the glass, listening to every gasp and cry.