Vince threw up his arms, feigning disdain. “See? This is why I left the party. I specifically wanted to avoid this whole conversation where you expect me to fucking bawl into my beer so you can pat me on the shoulder and tell me it wasn’t my fault and I need to move on. Does that about cover it? Because I don’t have any beer, bro, so the rest of the image just has to suffer a bit.”
Pound dropped his arms but didn’t leave, and Vince wanted to throw an uppercut at his jaw. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the balance with his leg all messed up, so he just stood there, seething.
When the Pound spoke, it was in a low tone, his voice quiet. “You’ve been a nutcase since she died, Larson. I was there that night, and I held you back when you tried to go for the doctor who told you she didn’t make it, like it was his fault. You’re a mess, bro, and you’ve made some really bad decisions since then. I’m not saying I’d be any better if someone I loved that much left me like that, but you shouldn’t have been alone tonight. I knew that, and I should have held you back tonight the way I did a year ago.”
“I don’t need a pity party.” Vince’s words were clipped. He didn’t give a shit.
“Maybe not, but apparently you need a babysitter so you don’t go trying to kill yourself and then latch on to some broad who would much rather scrape you off the bottom of her shoe like some bug she stepped on.”
Vince stared at him, incredulous. “Is that what you think happened tonight? You think I was trying to kill myself?” From the expression on Pound’s face, Vince could tell the man was dead serious. How could his best friend think something like that?
“I’ll tell you something, Pound. I’m a lot of things, and not all of them are good. But I’m not and never have been suicidal. I miss Kristi, but I sure as hell don’t want to follow in her footsteps.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely.” If he’d wanted to die, he’d be staring the devil in the face right now, not Pound and his annoying concern.
“And what about this chick?”
Vince threw up his hands. “What about her? She was a good lay. You saw how hot she was. I was a dick to her on the way to the hospital, and when I apologized, I thought I’d see how far I could take it. That’s it.”
Pound narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It really wasn’t just some ‘fuck you’ to Kristi’s memory?”
This time, Vince laughed for real. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “No way. Even I’m not that cruel. I loved Kristi, and I hope her soul is at peace now that she’s had enough time away from me. And I hate what she did. It screwed with my head for a long time. But tonight was all about a good ride and an ego boost. It felt really good to make a proud bitch swallow her opinion of bikers.”
Apparently relieved of his worry, Pound finally grinned, the dimple in his right cheek betraying that hard expression and reminding Vince of the kids they’d been together. “Man, you had me freaking out, you know. I thought maybe you’d checked out.” He stepped forward and smacked Vince on the back. “If you want, I can crash on the couch, keep you company. I’m still not sure you should be alone.”
“No way, I’m fine. Besides, you probably still have women at the clubhouse waiting for you to come back so they can jump your bones.”
“That’s true.” Pound turned on the charm and cocky confidence Vince had come to expect from him. “Alright, I’ll get out of here and take Jude with me. But I swear, if I find you dead tomorrow, I’ll find a way to bring your ass back so I can beat you to death myself, you got me?”
“Loud and clear.” Vince practically shoved him out the door. Finally, he was alone, and he could hear himself think.
Only maybe he should have let Pound ramble for a while longer, since the thoughts he had only made his head hurt even more. He could still feel Ariana’s hands on his chest, her lips on his neck, and he could hear her moaning as she came. He slammed his hand against the door, not caring about the pain. He just wanted to erase the whole incident, but he couldn’t put her out of his mind, and he had no clue what to do about it.
Maybe a second round with her, somewhere a little more private and comfortable, might work her out of his system—but that sure as hell was never going to happen. He didn’t even know her last name. Heaving himself up, he limped to the couch and grabbed the remote, intending to turn on the television and try to blast the memories away.
Instead, he sat there in silence, wishing that what he’d told Pound was true. Vince wanted to believe it was all about the conquest, but he knew damn well he could charm a nun into the sack. Ariana hadn’t exactly presented the biggest challenge of his life. No, he’d had other reasons, reasons he wasn’t about to share with even the closest of his brothers.
How could he tell bunch of roughriders he missed and needed the tenderness Kristi had given him when they’d first gotten together? It was embarrassing, and the guys would call him a pussy. And they would be right.
He didn’t understand his own penchant for it, and he certainly couldn’t describe what Ariana’s touch had ignited in him tonight. Not only had it reminded him of the way Kristi made him feel when she was sober; it had been even better, even more satisfying. He’d never felt like Kristi’s tenderness was personal—it was just the way she was with people. Ariana’s touch was completely different, as if she softened her touch just for Vince.
Ridiculous! He was being sappy, and it pissed him off. He had to get over himself and stop blubbering. He could easily get through this, if he could just get Ariana out of his head. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone but the brothers in his club.