while his eyes gave away the true magnitude of his hurt and concern.
“Sure, man,” he answered quietly. “Whatever you say.”
I didn't stick around after that. I hurried out of there before he could say something else, before he could coax a confession out of me. Because deep down, beneath the need to chase the next high and disappear, was the part of me that didn't want this. The part that wanted to go back and be better. But there was no way in hell that he could rely on the rest of me.
And as I hurried away from the bar and the neon signs glowing in its windows, it was that small, nearly undetectable part of me that teared up and wanted desperately to cry and beg my friend for help.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ANDREA
“How'd it go with Elle?” Vinnie asked as I entered the living room.
“It was okay.”
I knelt in front of the coffee table and opened one of the dime bags, while also reading my husband's body language. He wasn't rushing to join me in our nightly routine. Instead, he remained seated on the couch, his arms folded over his chest and a stony look on his face.
Tapping some of the powder onto the mirror, I casually asked, “So, what's up?”
He hugged an incoherent sound, then said, “Went and saw Goose tonight.”
“How's he doing?”
His lips pinched and he slid his eyes, full of contempt, toward me. “He knows what we're doing.”
I stopped mid-pour. “What? You told him?”
“No, I didn't tell him,” he snapped, dropping his head back against the couch. “He fuckin' guessed, and I didn't really do much to prove him wrong.”
He was wound so tight, so full of stress, and I wanted him to feel good. And, I thought, as I resumed my task, I need his father to go away.
As per usual, Vincent was there to greet me the moment I got home. I couldn't stand the look on his face, or that he was still here and hadn't moved on. Over time, my desperation to make him go away had strengthened, as did my dependence on the drugs.
I hated how good it felt.
I hated that I felt I needed it.
Really, I just hated it.
But Vinnie was with me. And as long as he and I were together, everything felt okay, on the surface at least.
“Here,” I said, cutting him a line and making it neat. “Do this.”
“Andy,” he groaned. “I'm fuckin' tired, okay? I'm tired and I'm stressed. So, just ... not tonight.”
My jaw dropped at the chill in his voice. He sounded like he couldn't stand me and like he was disgusted by my presence.
“Fine,” I said, leaning over and doing it myself. Sitting up I rubbed at my sniffling nose and looked back at Vinnie, to find that he wouldn't look at me. “What is your problem?”
He slouched forward and rested his forearms over his knees. “My problem is that I have this shit with Goose to worry about now, on top of everything else. And all I want is to catch a fuckin' break.”
My heart pounded with sympathy toward my husband and I crawled to him on my hands and knees. I let my fingers wander from his knees to his inner thighs as I said, “Let me make it better.”
“Christ, Andy,” he groaned, head falling back as my fingertips ran the length of his hardening erection, moving upward to skirt the waistband of his gym shorts. “I'm not in—”
“Not in the mood?” I teased, pulling the shorts down to expose him to my eager mouth. “What's this, then?”
I took him in to the back of my throat in one smooth, languorous swallow. Vinnie groaned again, this time out of pleasure, and I responded with a moan. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping and pulling, as I worked him with my tongue and lips. I sucked and hummed my personal approval as he came closer and closer to climax, his groans escalating as his hold on the back of my head tightened.
And then ...
“No.”
He gently pushed me away, to stand from the couch and pull up his shorts. He shook his head in adamant protest as I sat there on the floor, stunned and utterly rejected.
“W-What's wrong?” I asked, now acutely aware of the persistent buzzing in my nerves.
“I can't right now. I just ... I can't. I have too much shit on my mind. I have to ...” He sighed loudly, pushing his hair back with both hands and cursing under his