Page 23 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Fifteen

LOGAN

The first time I had whiskey, I was far too young.

Dad used to keep his liquor cabinet unlocked, and back in those days, the bottles were plenty.

I was thirteen when my parents had another one of their world-war blowouts.

It was the same song and dance. Mom screams at Dad, Dad screams at Mom, Mom storms out of the house to go God knows where, and Dad reaches into the cabinet to pour himself an amber glass of denial.

For the most part, Dad had self-control—even though his marriage was crumbling and slipping through his fingers as he tried to grab hold of a woman who ran off more nights than stayed home.

He only used whiskey to ease the ache from the constant fighting.

But it never got to a point where I couldn’t recognize him.

Even through his tired, sad—apologetic—eyes, I could still see Dad.

So I wasn’t concerned. He always stopped after two drinks. But that night, he didn’t.

I was thirteen when Dad slipped into a deep slumber on the living room recliner, the shadows of whatever late-night show flashing on his tired face as he slept like the dead.

He never slept in the recliner. He’d usually pull himself together and drag himself to bed, leaving the light above the kitchen stove on for if and when my mom decided to come home.

The liquor cabinet was wide open, and Dad had just bought a dozen cans of cola that were lined neatly in the door of the fridge.

That night, I poured myself a hefty, tall glass of Jack Daniels with a splash of Coke.

I remember the burn from the alcohol trailing down my throat; it caused me to wince.

But then the sweetness from the Coke remedied the burn, and I finished the entire drink in less than two minutes.

I passed out cold on the rug in my room, never making it to my bed that night. I threw up for most of the following day, swearing to myself I’d never drink a Jack and Coke ever again.

Swear now broken, I watch the bartender pour my fourth drink of the night—that same depressing amber liquid I watched Dad pour into a glass-filled tumbler.

More whiskey than Coke, per my request to numb myself.

Thirteen-year-old me would be so disappointed at my drink of choice, but I don’t care right now.

I’m doing what I do best. Running away from my problems without giving a damn about who I hurt in the process.

Thanks for that, Mom.

I’m close to plastered, the voices of my coworkers surrounding me loud and booming in my eardrums. Once Roy bought a round of shots, I knew I’d be done for.

Tia and I haven’t talked all day. The deep well of turmoil I’m stuck in is too deep to crawl out of, and here I am, stuck at the bottom of the pit where the only person who can get me out is her.

I thank the bartender with a quick nod as he passes me the glass of self-loathing I ordered. The warmth from the whiskey does little to ease the ache in the center of my chest, no matter how hefty my gulps are.

Tia’s sweet, soothing voice could heal me better than the smoothness of this whiskey. I’m desperate to have her in my ear right now if I can’t have her here in person. With drunken determination, I fumble my cell phone out of my pocket, fingers already typing out her name on instinct.

Please, give me reprieve from my pathetic wallowing in the middle of the bar.

As my finger hovers over the call button, a set of ruby red, manicured nails grip my wrist, pushing my phone out of the way.

Krista.

There’s no open stool next to me, so with confidence, she sits straight on my lap. She’s still in the tiny skirt from earlier, and I hate that my eyes cast down on her bare thighs as she makes herself comfortable.

Why I don’t shove her off of me, I’ll never know. My brain is hazy from the whiskey, my heart cracked from my unresolved feelings for Tia, and whatever I have left of my morals is out of reach, walking out the door, flipping me the bird.

“Hey, stud,” she drawls into my ear, causing me to shiver as her breath hits the shell of my ear.

Get her off your lap, you dick.

My hands grip her hips on their own accord, and she whimpers at my touch. I don’t want my body to react, but it’s betraying me—for the second time today—waking my hardening length under her thighs.

Her scent floods my nostrils, making the room spin faster from the flowery smell that’s so far off from Tia. It feels all wrong, yet my fingers dig into Krista’s hips, unable to shove her off of me.

“Quit messing around, Krista,” I slur. I make a piss-poor effort to nudge her off, but she anchors herself to me, wrapping her slender arms around my neck.

The blonde wisps of her hair tickle my jaw as she leans in to whisper, “The way your dick is hard tells me a different story.”

Her voice drips with seduction as she discreetly rolls her hips over my dick.

The tip of her tongue traces along my ear, nipping lightly on my earlobe.

Inside, I’m screaming, this is all wrong.

But my eyes close to slow the spinning. I force my eyelids open, desperately searching around me for someone to pull me out of her temptation.

All of my colleagues—Roy included—are too far into their debauchery to throw me a life jacket.

I’m drowning in Krista-infested waters, and the one life boat I need to get me out of here sees me as a friend.

Only friends.

Krista’s lips coast along my jaw, her breath fanning me with gin and citrus. She’s just as drunk, clearly putting on the moves while I’m weak. Vulnerable. Hurting.

“Let’s get out of here,” Krista whispers against my lips in a barely there kiss. I don’t press mine against hers, but I don’t tell her no when she laces her fingers with mine, dragging me off the stool toward the exit.

I don’t tell her no when she asks for my address, requesting a ride share back to my condo.

I don’t tell her no when her hand grips my cock through my jeans in the back of the car, sucking and claiming my neck while we drive into the night with a stranger in the front seat, smirking in his rearview mirror as if I’m a lucky bastard about to get a hot girl in my bed.

And I don’t tell her no when we stumble into my condo, leaving a trail of clothes in the path toward my bedroom with her lips fused to mine.

This is who I am. This is what I do. I use my charm to get pretty girls in bed so I can detach myself further from reality. I detach myself from the idea of commitment and what it means to love another woman.

I can love their bodies and the sounds they make and the way they scream my name when I make them come. That’s all I have to offer.

And maybe for a moment back in Donovan’s vineyard, when the one woman I trust with my life was beneath me, looking up at me like I hung all the stars in the fucking galaxy—maybe I saw myself in a way that wasn’t so broken.

Maybe I could give her what every woman yearns for.

Was it such a foreign concept to give my heart so freely to a woman who more than deserves it?

But of course, I’d fuck it up in the end. Because this is who I am. She proved it to me at the airport when I had a moment of weakness, begging for her validation that what was happening between us was real. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Krista lies naked, sprawled out on my mattress like a free meal. The whiskey pumps through my veins, sending me further into a spiral of delusion. Tia’s voice echoes in my head, telling me to stop.

“Ah! Shut up!” I yell out like a crazy person. This is why I don’t drink whiskey in excess.

Krista’s eyes widen, scooting herself up to the edge of the bed where I stand at the foot of it, wearing only my underwear.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she coos, sliding her hands up and down my thighs. Her thumbs hook into my waistband, pulling them all the way down until my cock bobs in front of her at eye level.

“Let me make you feel good. Just relax.” Krista scoots off the bed and moves to kneel on her knees.

She takes my length into her hands, stroking me slowly.

I can’t even look at her. My eyes squeeze shut, my mind working overtime to shut out Tia’s face.

But it only makes me more hard when those hazel eyes stare back at me, and I’m suddenly imagining her on her knees before me.

The second I feel Krista take me all the way in her hot mouth, working over my cock with languid licks and slurping me like her favorite ice cream cone, I lose control.

Gripping her hair in my hand, I bring her up from her knees, flipping her onto her stomach and pinning her to my mattress. I clumsily open my bedside table drawer to pull out a condom, tearing the foil packet in record time, sheathing the rubber on me.

My mind plays tricks on me when all I see before thrusting into her is long black hair and that sexy-as-sin tan skin that drives me fucking insane.

I pound into Krista relentlessly, hearing the breathy moans and cries, but all I hear is Tia. Tia’s infiltrated my depraved and starved mind, taking up residence there as if to fucking punish me for sleeping with her enemy.

It’s Tia I see beneath me, taking every inch of my cock as I make her writhe and beg for more. It’s her silky hair I’m tugging as I wrap it around my fist, pulling her back so I can piston deeper into her wet heat.

“Oh, fuck, Logan. Use me. Please, use me. Don’t stop,” Krista whimpers, and it only angers me further.

The voice is all wrong. I see blonde hair threaded through my fingers.

The skin on her ass is too pale underneath my punishing grip.

I blink my eyes in rapid fire, willing myself to go back to my fantasy, where it’s my raven-haired beauty I’m burying myself in.

Sweat beads on my brow, dripping down my temples with every hard thrust of my hips.

Skin slaps skin, and I don’t dare open my eyes to see the reality of the woman I’m actually fucking.

It’s not her.

I’m numb, falling deeper into that pit, knowing that tomorrow morning, I’ll still be lying at the bottom—naked, weak and helpless.

I will my brain to let me see her, to let me see her perfect face so I can end this misery I put myself in.

With both hands, I grip the flesh of Krista’s ass and keep my eyes glued shut, driving my hips faster as I imagine Tia’s skin on mine.

Krista’s cries of pleasure are loud, but Tia’s voice in my head is louder as I imagine it’s her demanding me to fuck her harder—to give her more.

To make her come until she sees the whole goddamn universe.

“F-fuck, Tia, ” I groan as I bury myself to the hilt, coming violently into the condom.

Pulse after pulse, I keep my focus on Tia’s full, cherry lips, covered in my cum.

It’s a filthy sight, one that’s kept safe within the confines of my thoughts, forcing my orgasm to draw out in long, euphoric waves.

All because of her. The woman I don’t deserve.

As soon as my climax wanes, my eyes stutter open, noticing the drips of sweat gathered on the small of Krista’s back.

Fuck. Krista.

The moment sobers me as guilt overtakes my body in an overwhelming assault.

Sick to my stomach, I quickly pull out of her to escape to my bathroom.

I leave her there face down on my bed, shutting the door closed with a bang.

My heart thumps so hard against my ribcage that I put my hand over my chest to catch my breath.

The cum-filled condom is still on my softening dick, and I rip it off of me, tossing it in the trash can right before I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

A soft knock thuds at the door. “Logan? Are you okay?”

No. I’m so far from okay.

“Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.” Flushing the toilet, I pull myself up on shaky legs.

The second my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror, I can’t stand to look at the man staring back. My face falls as I hang my head between my shoulders in defeat.

“Logan?” Krista’s voice cuts through the other side of the door, piercing through my muddled thoughts, pushing the guilt-ridden knife deeper into my chest.

Fuck. What have I done?