that looked made for a toddler—and a pair of black high heeled shoes. “I have to head out. It’s a work thing. I probably won’t be back tonight. Sometimes these things go on all hours.” She wouldn't look at me. She spoke breezily as if she didn’t really care if she was convincing or not.
“You can stay here, I guess. But work’s crazy this week. I’m not sure how long you’re planning to be out here, but I doubt I’ll be able to be much of a host, so maybe a hotel would be better. One of those places where you can get a package deal on Hollywood tours or something.” Whitney shrugged her shoulders and scratched at her nose. “So, yeah, that’s probably the best idea. Maybe we can meet up again before you go …” Her voice drifted off as if she had given up on any attempt at niceties.
She was throwing me out. I had never felt so cheap and worthless in my entire life. Damn.
I cleared my throat and readied myself to let her have it. To ask her who she was talking to on the phone. To demand an explanation as to why she would screw my brains out, then leave me to meet up with another guy while wearing a sexy dress she definitely hadn’t put on for me. A guy she apparently ‘loved’ even though she had just spent the last hour having sex with me.
I wanted to tell her that I thought she was different. That I remembered her to be someone who was kind and gracious. Someone who volunteered her time at the old folk’s home and made blankets for newborns at the hospital.
I wanted to tell her that I loved the girl from Southport, who made everyone feel special just by being in her presence.
But the words froze in my mouth. I watched her gather her things and leave the room without waiting for a reply. She didn’t care what I did; she just didn’t want me there.
And that hurt.
No.
It broke me apart.
Feeling like I was moving through quicksand, I got dressed. The man who had taken these clothes off was a mile away from the man who put them back on.
Something had died inside of me in the last thirty minutes. Something I didn’t think I’d ever get back.
When Whitney came back into the room, she was dressed to the nines. She was a makeup artist. I sincerely doubted she wore a little black dress and stripper shoes to work. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was going out—without me.
Even though I was angry and hurt, I couldn’t deny that she was gorgeous. Her skin glowed, and her hair was piled at the back of her neck, a few strands falling loose around her shoulders. Her long legs looked amazing, and I forced myself not to think how they had been wrapped around my waist not long ago.
The dress put her magnificent breasts on full display. The strapless number accentuated her neck, and I felt my groin tighten in response. This was a woman made for sex, and she knew it.
She was a complete stranger.
I realized at that moment that I didn’t know this Whitney Galloway. And I was pretty damn sure I didn’t want to. Because this Whitney Galloway didn’t seem to care that she had just stomped all over my heart—and my pride.
She grabbed a beaded purse from the dresser and turned to leave, then as if remembering I was still there, she finally looked my way.
Our eyes met briefly—the first time they had since I had my dick inside her. Something flashed there. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was an apology. I didn’t really care at that point. She could go to hell for all I cared.
Perhaps if I kept telling myself that, I’d actually believe it.
“So, you can find a place to stay, right? I just don’t want you to be bored since I won’t be around.” She grimaced as if in pain. Served her right.
“Right, because you’ll be working,” I said pointedly, giving her revealing outfit a slow once over. It was very passive-aggressive, but it was the best I could do.
For the first time, she looked almost contrite. Embarrassed even. “Kyle, I—” She stopped herself, her expression hardening. “I didn’t ask you to come. Am I supposed to put my life on hold because my sister’s buddy decided to make an impromptu visit?”