Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,70

Lying to Stella before was inexcusable, but what you just did? That was straight-up cruel.” She cocks her head to the side slightly, an accusatory look on her face. “You’ve done some idiotic things in the past, but you’ve never been mean like that. You’d better pull your head out of your ass pretty damn fast, or you’ll lose her for good,” she starts backing away, “and right now, I’m not too fucking fond of you either.” With a mocking salute, she turns and disappears into the crowd.

Mentally flogging myself, I thread my way to the keg and cut the line. Red solo cup in hand, I take a sip only to have it remind me how much I hate keg party beer. Wandering aimlessly around the main floor of the Emerson house, I set my still full cup down on a side table and run my fingers through my hair miserably.

What do you do when it feels like half of you is missing? Not missing like you can never see them again, but missing in the sense that you’re forced to see them all the time, but they aren’t beside you anymore. I think that’s almost worse. That feeling of desire, of want, of a craving you can’t satisfy. Having to watch them live their life without you keeps twisting the knife a little deeper.

I need to get out of here.

Doing an about-face, I tour back through the living room and tell the guys I’m going home. None of them look remotely surprised, and for once, they don’t give me a hard time about leaving. But of course, that was too easy. As I cross the makeshift dance floor, the blonde is back, this time bending over and grinding her ass against my very flaccid, very uninterested cock. With a frustrated sigh, I reach forward and grab her around the waist with one arm, my plan to force her to stand up before I push her away. But because this is the shittiest day in the history of shitty days, there’s Stella, on her way back to Sunday and standing right in front us, the chick I’m grabbing telling her to “move, bitch”.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Yanking the blonde upright, I grit my teeth and drag her away toward the kitchen while she whines at me the entire time. The crowd in the house has thinned somewhat, so it’s a little easier for her to hear my voice when we stop near the patio doors. And I need to make sure she hears me.

“First, never speak to her like that again. In fact, never speak to her again, period. Second, take your fake tits and your fucking twerking and find somebody else to play with. I’m not interested.” She looks like she might argue with me for a second, but the scowl on my face changes her mind, and she flounces off to join a group of football players standing nearby.

Outside, the night air cools my skin, but it does little for the shame and self-disgust I feel. Typically, my car, the wind, and loud music do wonders for my psyche—I tend to drive like I fuck, hard and fast—but tonight, I need something else.

Tonight I need the ocean.

I need to walk on the beach, my toes in the sand, and confess my sins to the moonlight.

When I turn down the dirt road, my headlights glint off the sleek black car already parked in the clearing above the beach, and my heart jumps into my throat.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I see somebody can’t keep a secret. How else could you possibly be sitting on my beach right now?”

I’m lost so deep in my heartache that for a minute, I think I must have imagined Poe’s voice and don’t bother looking up. The light clink of glass on glass is what shakes the cobwebs loose and startles me back to reality.

Shit. He really is here.

My head swims temporarily after I jump up too quickly, forcing me to stand still for a minute and give my blood pressure a chance to catch up to the rest of me. Poe reaches out a hand to steady me but pulls it back quickly when he sees I’ve stopped wobbling.

“Your beach? I don’t see any signs saying ‘Property of Assface Halliday’,” I snark. My sorry attempt at a dig doesn’t faze him, and he continues on like I didn’t say anything at all.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks flatly, setting the six-pack he’s carrying down in the sand.

“I have a blanket.” After