Page 17

Charlie

Why is it that the things you can’t have are the most tempting? Like a kid with a cookie jar or an alcoholic in an AA meeting.

By the time I get to the gym, my shoulders ache from being so tense lately. After last night, I seem to be struggling to remember the reason I never fucked Bailey. Perfect little body, sexy little smile, and fuck, that voice. It’s been engrained in my head all day, moaning my name while she came.

If that cop hadn’t shown up, I would have taken her to the backseat. Thank fucking God or whoever was looking out for me because even I’m not that big of an asshole.

Bailey deserves better than what I can give her and I think that’s why she’s always pissed me off. Hating her isn’t about her. It’s self-fucking-preservation. She deserves candles and rose petals and all the rest of that romantic shit that I don’t buy into. Someone who will bring her flowers home once a week just because and someone who won’t have any problems opening up about their feelings.

Not me. And definitely not fucking Drew.

Let’s just say, if I ever see him in New Orleans, I’ll beat his ass on principle. The fact that he still works for her stepfather tells me all I need to know about her family. When you side with the man that abused your daughter over your own child, I take an issue with that.

Seeing Bailey on the sidewalk outside Camille’s house reminded me of her at her parent’s mansion in California. She didn’t look like herself. The Bailey I know, the sweet, unguarded Bailey, is the one that works her ass off at the bar and buys weird shit at the art show. The same Bailey that slow dances with me in rundown crawfish joints and busts my balls any chance she gets.

Don’t get me wrong — the Bailey I saw on the sidewalk is beautiful, but she’s not happy. I almost kissed her because she’s been stuck in my head since we separated last night, but it didn’t feel right. Like she had her walls up, blocking me out.

Sam and I go hard, sparring for most of the afternoon until neither of us can take anymore. I’m out of breath, wore the fuck out, and I feel fucking fantastic. Or I would if I didn’t have the feeling of Bailey’s lips on mine burned into my senses.

“What’s gotten under your skin today?” Sam asks, nursing his lip with a chunk of ice. I’ll admit, I hit him a little too hard, but the motherfucker was talking shit.

“Nothing,” I murmur. A little blonde with a fucking attitude I can’t resist. “Just feeling it today, I guess.”

Sam tosses me a clean towel and I drape it around my neck. I’m soaked in sweat and my muscles hurt. I haven’t gone this hard at practice in a long time. Probably since I got out of jail for fucking up Peter.

“Well, whatever it is, make sure you use it for your fight, too. You do that, you’ll fucking blow Martinez out of the park.” Martinez is the guy I’m supposed to be going up against in a couple weeks. He’s beaten half the guys at our gym. He’s notorious for breaking people’s faces until they need stitches.

Sam might as well have told me to use steroids. Bailey is the closest thing to a drug that I’ve ever taken. One minute she’s fighting me, spewing wit in my direction and the next she’s moaning into my mouth and grinding on me.

Fuck . . .

I’ve got to get her out of my fucking head. Priscilla was just a cheap imitation to the thing I really want. Even Bailey can’t get Bailey out of my head. She’s a curse and I’m the fucking fool that accepted it with open arms.

Too bad my sister would kill me for fucking her best friend. That might be the only thing that quells my taste for her.