I DON’T REMEMBER leaving Aubrey’s house. Don’t remember the drive home. I had no clue how long I had been sitting in the driveway, white-knuckling the steering wheel and gritting my teeth so no emotion could escape. Holding myself on lockdown. Aubrey’s announcement felt like a sucker punch right in the stomach.
West had a girlfriend.
West had a fucking girlfriend.
The words played on repeat in my head.
Of course, he did. He looked like he could be Poseidon’s bastard son. It would be against the laws of nature for him not to be paired up. The man was made to procreate.
My phone chimed, the sound muffled by the detritus in my oversized purse. I reached for it and dug to the bottom of the bag, where my phone usually ended up hiding. I frowned at the unknown number.
You looked beautiful this morning. I hope I didn’t wake you when I left.
My fingers tightened around the phone. It was from him.
How did he even get my number?
I punched delete and then threw my phone down like it was diseased. It bounced off the passenger seat and settled somewhere in the foot well, the action not enough to calm my temper.
Blinking, I looked out my windshield and focused on the sky. The sun was just starting its descent. Dinnertime had long since passed, but I wasn’t hungry.
I tapped the steering wheel as I contemplated my camera bag. The memory card with Aubrey’s photos was stored safely inside. I could accidentally-on-purpose delete the whole session. Photoshop some zits onto her flawless skin. Maybe some wrinkles too. I could even make her ass and her boobs look saggy. An evil grin brightened my mood at the thought.
But I couldn’t do any of those things. I needed the cash too damn bad. And, if I was being logical, my real beef wasn’t even with Aubrey. It was with fucking West. And more than feeling hurt and angry, I just felt . . . stupid.
Stupid for not listening to Rue and her brilliant rules. Stupid for not leaving with that British guy instead. Stupid for thinking West felt those same crazy sparks I did when we touched. Stupid for secretly hoping that maybe, maybe it would turn into more than just a one-night stand.
Stupid for contemplating for even one minute that West would pick someone who looked like me over someone that looked like Aubrey.
With a drawn-out sigh of self-disgust, I grabbed my bag and trudged up the stairs to the cottage, ready to admit defeat.
Before heading toward my bedroom and the inevitable editing session, I made a pit stop in the kitchen, pausing to glance between the stainless steel, French-door fridge and the smaller wine fridge. Did the situation call for ice cream or wine? I tipped my head in contemplation. Nabbing a bottle of white and deciding I didn’t need a glass, I made it to my bedroom and tossed my purse and camera bag on my bed.
And stopped.
I couldn’t do this in here. I couldn’t edit photos of West’s girlfriend on the same surface I had fucked him less than twenty-four hours ago.
Closing my eyes, I replayed our night together. I could still feel his callused hands dragging across my skin. His lips tasting and teasing all of me. His cock hard against my hip as we pressed together.
And the whole time, he was cheating on his girlfriend.
This wasn’t the same situation as Asshole and me. I was the other woman this time. Suddenly, my skin crawled, and I felt dirty.
Leaving my stuff on the bed, I stripped down, snagged the bottle of wine, and headed to the shower. Turning the knob as hot as it would go, I drank straight from the bottle while I waited for the water to heat. When steam rose from behind the curtain, I took one last gulp, left the bottle on the back of the toilet tank for easy access, and slipped inside. Grabbing some gritty body scrub, I scoured every inch of my body, every part that West had touched. I repeated the process until my skin was pink and raw, and I no longer felt contaminated.
The water was starting to run cool by the time I finally stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel and retrieving the wine bottle. I’d drunk most of it over the course of my shower. Leaning my head back, I drained the last of it and then abandoned the bottle on my sink as I returned to my room.
Pulling on a soft tank top and some flannel pants, I left my hair wrapped in a towel turban and grabbed my laptop and camera bag. Settling on the couch, I dug the memory card out of my camera and loaded the pictures onto my computer.
Rows of thumbnails appeared, pieces and parts of Aubrey filling my screen. I started the process of culling the shots, deleting the ones where the focus was off or the lighting unflattering. Gritting my teeth, I went through the images one by one, picking the best of each pose for additional editing.
I swallowed painfully as I scrolled through them. I had very little actual editing to do. Aubrey was just that gorgeous. The contrast of her dark hair, olive skin, and white bed linens was classically striking. She was petite, curvaceous, and the embodiment of everything a guy could want. Dirty Barbie brought to life. Of course, West was with someone like her.
Finishing before midnight, I emailed the files to a twenty-four hour print shop in Beaufort. The fee for the rush job would be more than covered by what Aubrey was paying me. I’d drive over in the morning to pick them up, deliver them, and forget about West.
Resolutely, I shut down my laptop. After blow drying my hair, I climbed in bed with my phone. I sent a text to Rue, telling her I missed her, and that I needed a girl’s night pronto when she got back tomorrow. I was checking Facebook when I got a text back. I opened it, thinking it was Rue, but then I recognized the same number from before.
West.
Narrowing my eyes, I deleted it without reading it and then powered my phone all the way off.
THE NEXT MORNING, I got up before my alarm even went off. Throwing on workout clothes, I drove straight to Krispy Kreme, ordered two coffees and two chocolate-covered cream-filled doughnuts. All for myself. I slid my sunglasses on, cranked the radio volume, and focused on the check this little field trip was going to net me. I’d finally be able to get that new camera lens I’d been wanting forever.
I picked up the prints, gave them a cursory glance to make sure they looked okay, and then I reversed directions, heading back to Reynolds Island. I’d make it to Aubrey’s early at this point, but I was fine with that. The sooner this was over, the better, as far as I was concerned.
It was just past ten when I dropped the envelope of prints off on her doorstep, not bothering to ring the bell or even turn the car off. I hightailed it out of her driveway and down the block. Stopping at the stop sign at the end of the road, I shot off a quick text.
Me: Aubrey, prints are at the front door.
I didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping in.
I left my address. Feel free to mail the check.
Then I revved the engine, heading for the public beach access halfway down the island.
Parking the car in the mostly empty lot, I pulled out my phone again. I held it at arm’s length, like it was a coiled snake about to strike, and waited for a response. Just when I was about to give up, it beeped.
Aubrey: *Squeal!* I LOVE THEM! He’ll love them! Worth every penny!
My stomach lurched, the coffee and doughnuts threatening to reemerge at the thought of West with the pictures. Would he get off to them? Isn’t that what photos like those were for? I dashed to the public restroom at the end of the lot and puked.
After washing my hands and splashing my face with cool water, I gripped the edges of the sink and stared at the mirror. He was just a guy. It was just one night. Nothing to get this worked up over. And if he was a cheating scumbag, better I learn it now. Better it be her problem than mine.
Feeling resolved, I went back to my Wrangler and gathered my phone, ear buds, a visor, and my water bottle. I scooped my hair up into a tight bun and pulled the visor on. Not the most attractive accessory, but with my long hair, it worked better than a baseball hat.
Scrolling through my playlists, I searched for something with more edge than my normal stuff. I stopped on S. Seether, Stone Sour, Avenged Sevenfold, Eminem. Okay, so Eminem was a stretch, but he was the real Slim Shady, so I put him on the S list with the others. I queued up his “Monsters” and took off down the beach, setting a punishing pace.
I wanted this run to hurt. I wanted my muscles to burn and ache so badly by the end that I wouldn’t feel the twinge in my chest when I thought of West or when I looked at my bed.
I wanted to pound his memory into the sand with my shoes and leave it behind in my footprints, to be washed away at the next high tide, erased forever.
The thing about running, though, is even though your body’s busy, your mind is free. And if I was honest with myself, I didn’t regret my night with West. I might feel bad about the aftermath, but that was more of a problem for West and Aubrey to deal with, not me. If the lying piece of shit even came clean to her. I wouldn’t be telling.
My night with West was a wake-up call. Sex with Asshole had been pretty good, if I was telling the truth. Annoying to admit now, but true nonetheless. West was on a whole other level. Tepid words like pretty and good would never apply to him. He made me feel wanton, greedy, primal. I wouldn’t settle again. If West could do all that to me in one night, who knew how many other guys were out there, just waiting to rock my world?
Rue had the right idea. Quantity was probably the best approach. Try enough flavors until you found the one you couldn’t live without. Guys did it by default, it seemed. No reason it wouldn’t work for me too.
When I spotted a Weimaraner up ahead that made me think of General Beauregard, I took stock of my surroundings and slowed my pace. I didn’t want to risk seeing West, so I turned around early, before I passed his house, and headed back the way I came, increasing my intensity to make up for the shortened distance. The sun was in my eyes going this direction, and I’d forgotten my sunglasses again. I pulled the visor lower and dipped my chin, watching the ground. I headed higher up the beach, to the looser, dry sand, forcing my legs to work harder. My calves burned, but I relished it.
I had a plan now, one that didn’t include West. Intent on shutting my brain down, I dug into the sand harder and focused on the driving beat of the music in my ears. I pressed the button on the side of my phone, raising the volume until I couldn’t hear anything else, especially my own thoughts.
When I reached my Jeep, I was gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. I chugged what was left in my water bottle and bent over at the waist with my hands on my knees, trying to slow my racing heart. I took my time stretching and felt the protest in every single muscle in my legs.
Exhausted, I hobbled around to the driver’s side, climbed up, and buckled in. I was about to turn the key when something white caught my eye. I frowned. Something was stuck under my windshield wiper.
My quads almost buckled as I got back out of my Jeep. Groaning, I snatched the paper and reentered the car with as few movements as possible.
I stared at the paper in my palm in confusion. It was shaped like an airplane. What the hell?
I unfolded it carefully. It was made from cheap, lined notebook paper, one side ragged, like it had been torn from a spiral-bound notebook. Turning it so it was right side up, I read the message written in bold, black Sharpie. Playing hard to get? It’s working. Quit playing games and call me. West. His phone number was scrawled after his name.
I snorted and wadded up the paper in my fist. Arrogant bastard didn’t like being ignored? Well, I didn’t like being lied to.
I started to toss the paper into my Krispy Kreme bag when I hesitated. I’d let the situation with Asshole get the better of me and run me off, and I didn’t want to be that same pathetic girl anymore. I wanted to be a strong, take-no-prisoners woman who stood her ground. Time to call West out on his shit. Then we’d see what he had to say for himself.
Smoothing out the paper as best I could, I added West’s number to my phone and then sent him a text.
Me: I just left your girlfriend’s house.
I smirked at my phone. Yeah, West, what do you have to say about that?
West: What girlfriend?
My eyebrows lifted. Was he really going to try to play dumb with me?
Me: Aubrey.
West: Aubrey’s not my girlfriend.
Me: She thinks she is.
West: She is most DEFINITELY not.
I hesitated, thrown off by his continued denial. Maybe it was semantics.
Me: Did she used to be?
There was a definite pause before he answered this time.
West: No. Last I heard, she was with some NFL player.
Me: Have you hooked up with her though?
West: Yeah, but not in a long time.
His quick response surprised me. I’d expected him to deny it, since he’d denied their relationship.
West: You were better.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop my smug smile or the feeling of victory those three little words gave me. The catty side of me bitch-slapped Aubrey with that juicy tidbit and then rubbed it in her face for good measure.
West: Meet me tonight.
I wavered. Could I have the situation all wrong? I mean, Aubrey had seemed pretty genuine yesterday, but my gut didn’t trust her motives. Maybe West was being honest, and Aubrey was a lying skank. I preferred that scenario. It meant another serving of West in my future, and God knew, I had an appetite for that man. My resolve began to evaporate like raindrops on a hot sidewalk, disappearing like it had never been there to begin with. The truth was, I wanted to see him again.
My mind screamed a warning at me to slow down and think this through, but my body hollered at me to give in and enjoy the feast. I had to buy myself some time, regain my equilibrium.
Me: I can’t. Girl’s night.
West: Fine. Tomorrow. 7 @ the Wreck. K?
Me: I don’t know.
Yeah, so I admit, I wanted to meet him. I just wasn’t sure I should. I needed a day to try and figure out what the hell was really going on with those two and then I could confront him in person if it came to that.
Not wanting to be a liar myself, I quickly texted Rue.
Me: Dinner tonight? Girl talk?
Rue: Can’t. Business dinner. After?
Me: Sure. Ice cream and doughnuts?
Rue: Absolutely!
Later than night, while waiting for Rue to get home, I watched bad reality TV, which seemed to reinforce the likelihood that West was a dirtbag who only thought with his dick and that I was probably being played, along with Aubrey, and whoever he’d done at the hotel the night he gave me a ride home. My anger was rising when my phone buzzed.
Rue: Sorry, girl. Saw this Adonis as I was leaving and am having drinks.
Quelling my frustration, I turned the television off and picked up a book instead. Two hours later, I was convinced West had to be some poor, misunderstood prince-in-disguise who just needed the right girl to open his heart of stone. Someone like me.
My phone buzzed again.
Rue: I’m sorry, but I can’t resist! He says he’s pierced! You know how long I’ve been waiting to try that. I’ll bring Krispy Kreme for breakfast, I promise!
Me: Be safe and have fun. Forget about the doughnuts, meeting Theo at the gym, then work.
Rue: Ok! Sorry! Later this week?
Me: Sure. And I want details!
Rue: ;-)
I wanted to be mad at Rue for flaking on me, but it was hard to hold onto it when I pictured her following a hardware-sporting Adonis with her tongue hanging out and a zombie-like expression on her face. In my mind, zombie-Rue was under Adonis’s spell, blindly trailing him and whimpering, “Must see piercing!” while she clutched at his shirt.
Happy for Rue, but annoyed with myself for letting West consume my thoughts, I tossed the book aside and booted up my laptop. I had one last backup method to take my mind off him. Calling up Pinterest, I typed “male model” in the search bar and daydreamed. The girly side of me enjoyed the eye candy for what it was, reminding myself that there were plenty of hot guys out there besides West. The photographer side of me took notes, paying attention to camera angles, lighting, poses, props, and staging. I tried not to compare the guys I was ogling to West, and was only partially successful.
My flimsy resolve annoyed me. I was turning into the kind of girl other girls mocked on those reality TV shows I was watching earlier. I like him. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. No, I really don’t. Yes, I do. Barf. It made me think of that bug from the cartoon movie, the one that was mesmerized by the bug zapper and kept drifting toward it, crooning, “I can’t help it. It’s soooo beautiful.”
Zap!
I did not want to be just another West Montgomery casualty.