Tristan
I’m pacing again. There’s going to be a path worn into this carpet by the end of my stay in this apartment if things keep on like this.
But I can’t be still. I’m keeping myself moving so that I won’t go the one place that I actually want to be. Megan’s room. I need to give her space, though. Let her have time to process what went down today and come to her own conclusions.
Like I’ve said, I’m patient. I can wait it out. Bide my time like I have all season.
But this is fucking hard. I want to go to her and make sure she’s okay.
This morning was a fluke. A slip in my firm grasp on my self-control. Something that can’t happen again. I shouldn’t have let Madden get to me like he did, provoking me like that. I should know by now how much he likes to drag me into his games. It’s how he plays things. He likes to get his hands dirty. Play dirty. And sometimes it works for him.
I knew better than to respond to his shit. But fuck, when he started talking about Megan being wet for him, I lost it. I can count on one hand the times I’ve lost my cool like that. And I know exactly why I did today. It’s obvious.
I care about Megan.
She matters to me, means something. If she didn’t, none of that shit would have gone down. No way would I have let Madden push my buttons. But he knew exactly which ones to push.
A knock on my door stops my pacing in its tracks, and I just stand there for a minute, staring at the door until another knock gets me moving. Who could it be? Megan?
My pulse speeds up at the thought. Maybe she’s ready to talk. Then I can explain to her that I only reacted like that because I care about her so much. That I couldn’t stand hearing those things come out of that asshat’s mouth.
But when I pull the door open, the smile fades from my face. Some random production assistant I’ve never seen before is standing there staring at me, all wide-eyed and hesitant.
I raise my brows, irritated that it’s not Megan. “Can I help you?” The way I say it should be obvious that it’s code for tell what you came for then get the fuck out of here.
“I, um… I’m supposed to give you this.” He thrusts a tablet into my hands, then makes a hasty retreat.
Fuck.
What now? The last time I got an unexpected tablet delivery, Madden showed up and swept my woman away from me. Right out of my fucking arms.
I sigh and scrape a hand over my stubbled jaw, staring at the tablet in distaste. I automatically know I’m not going to like whatever it is I’m about to see. I toss it on the bed, debating if I should actually watch it.
I do things to distract myself. I take a shower. I shave. I sit down with my computer and stare at the blank screen.
And still, all I can think about is that damn tablet. Fuck it. I’m going to have to watch it at some point.
Pushing my chair back, I retrieve the tablet from the bed, then drop down to sit on the edge. I open the tablet, and there’s a video all queued up, ready and waiting to torment and torture me.
I already know what this is, even without pushing the arrow to play it. And I know I really don’t want to see it. But my body seems to move all on its own, my finger tapping the icon that brings the still images of Megan and Madden to life.
I immediately wish I hadn’t. Because what Madden said on the plane is totally true. She was wet for him. So fucking wet I can see it even on the video. As his hands are up under her dress, doing fuck knows what to that sweet pussy. As she grinds on him so hard, her desperation clear on her face. As she strips for him—I have to stop for a minute here because fuck, that was supposed to be me with her last night at dinner. In the limo. Her stripping for me, her pussy glistening with juices because she was hot for me. Not Madden.
But it’s right here in way too vivid color. I must be a glutton for punishment because I watch the rest of the video—Madden making my girl come on his face, then sticking his cock in her mouth.
I’m so fucking pissed that I’m shaking. I want to punch a hole through something. Preferably him.
Goddammit.
This is fucking hard. I knew it would be once I started to care for Megan on a different level. And I knew they would do things on their date. But seeing it for myself makes it way too real. And it fucking hurts.
The worst part? Madden is nothing but a player. He always has been. Okay, that may be the pot calling the kettle black, because I’ve had my fair share of women come and go on the regular. But not like Madden. The difference is that he’s way too reckless. He doesn’t give a shit. He goes through women like they’re a daily multivitamin—taken for their purpose and immediately forgotten.
Whereas I only get involved with women who know what they’re getting into, who know where we stand. I make sure no one gets hurt. Madden gives zero fucks who might get hurt.
And that’s not okay. Not when it comes to Megan. She’s too sweet for him. I won’t let him have her. Not in the end. But I sure as hell won’t let him hurt her either.