Loner by Harloe Rae Page 0,35
been necessary for what little sanity I have left. Once I kill the engine, the silence is so complete it feels like a cocoon. For a brief moment, nothing is chasing me. The infinite loop of provocative images, and the corresponding catastrophe of errors, aren’t pounding into my skull. But the reprieve smashes apart with a pair of furious green eyes, luscious curves on full display, and tangles of blonde hair wrapping around my fist. A breeze picks up, delivering hints of coconut and fresh flowers. There’s no doubt the scent of tropical paradise is in my imagination, for an added dose of torture.
The mess with Keegan has been plaguing me this entire week. The only upside is I naturally avoid town, so the risk of running into her is slim. The war between my mind and body gains momentum with each passing second. There are several undeniable traits about her that create this internal feud. I find myself wanting another altercation with the snarky wildcat. A shaky vision alone is enough to spike my need, shooting too much heat below the belt. I shift in the seat as denim strains over my persistent arousal. The clinging desperation is ripping me in half. I haven’t been that hard since discovering porn during puberty. Maybe that makes me fucked up. I’ve never claimed to be normal, though.
These are the moments I almost regret not having any true friends. One-sided conversations with Patch aren’t productive, or very comforting. Nothing screams reclusive loser quite like talking to a dog about a woman. Being blackout wasted with a drinking buddy would come in handy right about now. I’m sure Decker or Grady would have some decent advice to pass along, especially over a bottle of Johnny Walker.
The feeling is fleeting, sweeping off with the wind after I consider the repercussions. I’m not built to have meaningful relationships, of any sort. The bloody massacre with Keegan is proof of that—a sure thing that ended in complete failure. I managed to fuck up the greatest one-night stand in the history of fantasies and wet dreams combined. Only I’m capable of such a colossal waste.
Was my behavior justified? Perhaps, but not to that extent. Now that my blood has cooled, I can admit my temper spun out of control. But she pushed my damn buttons too hard. Getting angry and playing the asshole card is my default. Squashing any possibility for more, regardless of the bullshit Keegan limits slapped down, needed to happen. This way, there is zero potential of us hooking up again. She hates me, and I despise how easily and quickly she wrote me off. Win, win.
Any crumbs leading to her would allow me to go sniffing around again. She doesn’t want that. Eventually, once this misguided lust dissipates, I won’t either. It’s best for me to forget about her altogether.
And here I go, spinning my tires bald again.
A car creeps by me, probably wondering why I’ve been straddling my parked bike for ten minutes. No, I’m not a stalker. This is what the unraveling of a man’s mental health looks like. I give them a choppy wave and they drive along.
This situation is dire enough to force me to make the hour-long trek to Gulligan Haven. My mother moved to a cozy suburb of Cheyenne after my dad discovered her infidelity. I dismount my bike and stride up the driveway. The woman waiting beyond these walls is my best, and only, bet to clear my conscience—not that I’ll tell my mom why I’m seeking retribution. Those fine-print details aren’t important.
The door swings open almost immediately after I knock. The woman responsible for raising me stands in the foyer, wearing a paint-splattered dress to match her crooked smile. “I was starting to wonder how long it would take for you to get up here.”
I scrub over my mouth, hiding a grin. “You knew I was here?”
“Only from the moment you pulled up.” Her laugh spreads warmth through my chest.
Of course she did. My mom is nothing if not observant. It probably works in her favor that no one in this cul-de-sac drives a motorcycle. “I was just enjoying the scenery.”
She peeks outside from over my shoulder. “Anything interesting?”
“Your lawn looks good.” I’d noticed the manicured grass during my so-called period of reflection.
The lightest shade of pink dots her cheeks. “A friend handles those chores for me.”
I snort at her choice of label. Friend, my ass. Kellie Carver has always caught more than her fair