Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2) Page 3

  She tilted her head. “I suppose. I guess I need to know what it is first, though.”

  I inhaled a deep calming breath as I lowered myself beside her, gathering her into my arms at the same time. “I know we’ve just met, but … honestly, you’ve hurt me twice tonight. I don’t like to play games, and I hate to date. Can we just … I don’t know … skip all the crap?”

  She laughed. “Wow! You’re a true romantic, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “Women can be so callous. I tell you that you’ve hurt me, and you laugh. Women say they want a man who’ll be honest, but I don’t think they do.” I bit down on my lip, pulling back from her again. “My ex … she cheated on me with a total dirtbag. I mean a total piece of garbage. Nowhere job, druggie, out of shape, and for the life of me, I swear he didn’t even look good. I went to his place when I found out who he was, told him he could have her. Know what he said?”

  “No,” Charity said as if she didn’t care either.

  I wanted her to hear this, though. I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk about my ex, but I wanted her to know this one thing, then I wouldn’t mention my ex again. “The dirtbag said, and I quote, ‘Hell, man. I don’t want her. I can’t afford her. She was just a good lay.’ Now tell me … Why would a woman cheat on her husband for that?”

  Charity shook her head. “I don’t know, Brock. I’ve never been married. Sounds like you’re still hung up on her, though.”

  “I’m not. But your actions tonight reminded me of my ex.”

  She reared back, crossing her arms. “What? I’ve never cheated on a guy.”

  “You jumped up from our kiss the moment that kid said your name,” I reminded her. “He dumped you eight months ago, and yet you ran to him.”

  As she’d done earlier, Charity dropped her defenses and leaned toward me. Then again, it was probably just a ploy, something women learned from the time they were little girls. Look weak, and the man will turn into mush. Not this guy. Not anymore.

  “I’m with you, aren’t I?” she purred seductively, her long black lashes batting over her baby blue eyes.

  I closed my eyes to cut off my view, doing my best to ignore the intense pounding in my chest. “Yeah, but I don’t know what he said to you.”

  “Does it matter?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, inching closer, her mouth so close I could taste the sweet lemon on her breath. “I won’t talk about him if you’ll stop talking about her. I don’t really want to hear about your ex-wife, and I definitely don’t like it when you compare me to her when you don’t even know me.”

  My heart pounded harder, almost painful, and even though I knew we’d never go anywhere, I wanted to believe for just a little while that she could be mine, that I could want a woman in my life again for more than a few hours. Putty, I was. Total mush. The day was nearly over anyway. I’d start standing my ground tomorrow.

  I pulled her to me, burying my head into her thick dark hair that felt like silk against my face. “Just for tonight, could we pretend …” Her breathing deepened as I worked my lips down her neck, over her bare shoulder. “ … that there’s no one else. That you’re mine.” The dress she wore, some sort of sweater dress with a neckline that rested on her shoulders, had been calling to me all night. Her creamy skin had made my fingers ache, wanting to skim the edges of that neckline, wanting to tug the fabric down a few inches to reveal the swell of her breasts that had increased in size when we’d kissed. She wanted me, too.

  “We can … pretend,” she gasped out between breaths.

  I moved my hands up her neck then, like before, and curled my hand around the back of her head and pulled her to me. My mouth crushed hard against hers, wanting to taste her again. My other hand found its way around her back, pulling her into my arms. I scooped her up, carrying her to my bedroom. I wanted her, and if she was willing to pretend she wanted me, I wanted her all night, every night. We’d work out all the other differences later. The one thing I knew without a doubt was that we’d be dynamic together in bed. It’d been three months since I’d had sex, so I was aching all over. It wasn’t everything in a relationship, but it was a damn good start.

  Charity wrapped her hands around the back of my neck, and nestled her face against my cheek, letting me know she was okay with me carrying her to my bedroom.

  The rap on the door came loud and fast, the kind of knock that made you know something was wrong. I lowered her to her feet.

  Charity’s eyes were wide and round. “No, Brock. Don’t answer the door.” She tugged on my hand as the knocks got louder. “It might —”

  “Just a second, darlin’. Something must be wrong. I never have company. My friends don’t even know where I live. I’ve only been here a little more than a month. Maybe it’s my boss. Tom’s been through a lot, and we’ve become good friends. If something’s happened to him, I’m all he has.” I touched her face as she stared up at me, looking more fragile and sweet than she’d looked all night. “I’ll be right back, Charity.”

  I walked to the front door and peeked through the peephole. It wasn’t Tom. It was a woman. It looked like she was crying. Her head was lowered so I couldn’t see her face, but her body was wracking back and forth. Maybe a neighbor.

  Just in case, I grabbed my gun off the shelf in the coat closet by the door. I’d heard of home invasions that started like this.

  I inched open the door. “You okay, Ma’am?”

  The girl … no, not a girl. Caitlyn. “Cat? What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  “I’m so sorry, Brock.”

  I stashed my gun back on the shelf and walked outside, pulling the door closed behind me. “What do you mean? What happened? Is your dad okay?” Other than something happening to her father, I couldn’t think of any other reason why my ex-wife would call me a hundred times, then show up on my doorstep.

  She wiped at her eyes. “I was so stupid, Brock, but thankfully it’s not too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Us … we’re not over.”

  I huffed out a laugh. Caitlyn was a spoiled girl who would never grow up. “Cat, we’re divorced. You had your father fire me. Yes, we’re over.”

  “We’re not over, Brock. We’re connected forever now, so we have to make this work. I’m gonna have your baby.”

  Chapter 3 – Charity

  “Well, that’s just great!” I brushed by Brock, not offering the weeping woman on his doorstep more than a fleeting glance.

  “Charity, wait!” Brock called behind me.

  I rushed toward the stairs, knowing he wouldn’t follow me. He wouldn’t leave his ex — at least I assumed the woman was his ex-wife — standing outside his door for a girl he’d met mere hours earlier. Especially since it was clear she wanted to reunite. He’d lamented over her more than once this evening, proving he still had feelings for her.

  At least she didn’t look like me. I’d only caught a glimpse, but she was shorter and auburn-haired. Good. At least maybe he hadn’t been thinking of his ex when he’d whispered all that nonsense in my ear. Pretend you’re mine. Pfft!

  God, I’d been so stupid. Once again, I’d thought that a man actually wanted me for me, not just sex. Although I knew we were heading toward ripping off each other’s clothes, it hadn’t felt like just sex. It had felt like he wanted me, the person inside of me, not just the exterior body. If he had only wanted sex, he wouldn’t have fought me not to go to the party. He wouldn’t have complained about buying alcohol. As most men I’d known, he would have done anything I’d wanted until he got what he wanted. The V was a powerful motivator.

  Clearly I was wrong, though. I was stupid! Apparently I didn’t have street smarts, since it was clear that I couldn’t tell when a man was dishing out a bunch of garbage. After all, Nathan had told me he loved me a thousand times, assured me that we’d be together forever.

  Brock’s hands latched onto my arm and waist, pulling me to a stop and turning m
e toward him as soon as I made it to the second floor. “Don’t run away from me, Charity.”

  “Your wife’s back, Brock,” I said through clenched teeth as I tried to wrench free from his hands, but he held me securely. “Now you can get back together and live unhappily ever after.”

  He slowly shook his head back and forth. “You are cold, aren’t you?”

  Chin lifted, I offered, “I’m a realist.”

  He tugged me closer. “No, you’re not. That guy tore out your heart, just like my wife tore out mine. Now you want to get back at all men.”

  “That’s not true!” I snapped, a bit too loudly, so I checked my temper. The last thing I wanted was to make a scene. “I believed your whispered words up there, Brock. I wanted to be yours.”

  He released his grip on my arm, but then rested his warm hand against my cheek. “Charity …” He sighed. “I meant what I said. I haven’t had sex with my ex in nearly three months. Not after I walked in on her with another man — in our bed. How do I know the baby’s even mine?”

  I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at his full lips, still slightly swollen from our making out. And shiny … from my lip-gloss. My hands twitched, wanting to reach up and swipe away all remnants of our night, but instead I released a long breath and turned my head away from his too warm — too sensual — touch. “I’m too young for this, Brock. Ex-wife, kids … drama, that’s not me. Not on the first date, anyway.” He pushed out something sounding like a chuckle, but I hadn’t really meant it to be amusing, and I knew he didn’t find the situation funny either. “It’s apparent we aren’t meant to be. The entire cosmos has been hell-bent on keeping us apart. Maybe we should listen.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t believe in fate. We make our own destiny.”

  “Well, you may have made yours upstairs.” With that, I twisted out of his embrace and charged to my car.

  As I squealed out of the complex, I remembered I’d left the hard lemonade in his apartment. Oh, well, there’d be plenty of alcohol at the party. I cranked up the radio — a hard-rock station — in an attempt to drown out his ridiculous words that kept replaying in my head, like a stupid jingle I couldn’t get out of my brain. Unconcerned with getting a ticket, I slammed down on the gas and headed back to Morgan’s, hoping Nathan would have already hooked-up with someone by now. It wasn’t as though every girl in Pinellas wasn’t hot for him, which was sad. He hadn’t been anyone before I met him.

  Nathan had been hot, but none of the girls had noticed him. He’d played football, had a great sense of humor, had a hotter-than-hot body, but he’d only dated one girl before me. One of the things I had liked most about Nathan was that he’d never seemed interested in my money, and he didn’t get upset when I paid. And for some reason, my dad had loved him, too. My father had no problem taking Nathan on vacations with us, letting him stay overnight.

  But then Nathan changed. Suddenly everything was about money. How rich he’d be some day. He’d become jealous and paranoid, too. He stopped treating me like I was special, and then had broken up with me over spring break. And yet, any time I tried to date someone else, mysteriously, he’d send me a text, as if he’d known. For a second, I’d thought maybe Nathan had been the one at Brock’s door, the reason I begged Brock not to answer it.

  Determined to push everything out of my head, I pasted on a smile as I pulled into Morgan’s yard. More guests had arrived, and the party had overflowed from inside to the outside deck.

  As I stepped out of the car, I flicked my gaze to the dock. Brock’s kiss had been the best ever. I pondered for a second how good he would have been at everything else. One of the girls I knew in school had said that married men were the best lovers. I might be many things, but I’d never date a married man. The thought sickened me. Besides, how could a woman ever trust a man who had cheated on his wife with her? How could Brock ever trust his ex-wife? is what I really wanted to know. I shook the thoughts from my head. It didn’t matter. We weren’t meant to be.

  “Hey, babe!” the familiar voice wrapped around my head at the same time I felt his arm drape across my shoulders. But he was drunk — again. Nathan’s biggest problem: he liked to drink. He’d told me when we were dating that drinking was the only way that he felt human, the only thing that silenced the demons inside of him, which I was pretty sure was the exact opposite. When Nathan drank, he became more depressed, more paranoid, and would often start mumbling about his past, how he never should have been born. And, sadly, he wouldn’t let up on me until I was wasted, too. I’d stayed sober for the last eight months, but I didn’t have to drive anywhere tonight, so maybe I could silence Brock’s whispered words by getting drunk.

  “Hey, baby,” I crooned back. “We good?”

  “You’ve always been good,” Nathan slurred.

  I sighed. Normally I wasn’t so far behind him. Suddenly I realized how silly it all was.

  “Here!” He shoved his hand forward, trying to give me his cup of — what I knew was spiked — punch. “Drink up!”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Come on … baby. Did ya leave that stiff behind? Who was he … anyway? Haven’t seen him ’round.”

  I shrugged out from under his arm. “No one, Nathan.”

  “You were kissing him!” Nathan stumbled forward, spilling some of the punch, then he whipped around so he was facing me. “D’you love him?”

  “No, Nathan. I just met him tonight. I was driving him home as a favor for a friend.”

  “D’you love me?”

  I sighed again. “Nathan … we’ve been broken up for eight months. What’s goin’ on?”

  “I love you, Char. I’ve always loved you. I know I said I jus’ wan … ned … to be friends … but that’s ’cause —” He fell into my arms, so I ushered him to a couch. “I’m sor … ry, Char. I’m so sorry.”

  I took the red cup from him and set it on the side table. I had no desire to drink now. “Why are you sorry? We’re … friends.” Well, not really. Other than texts — some a tad scary, others downright funny — we hadn’t spoken since the night he’d broken up with me, even though he said we’d always be friends. But I’d never viewed Nathan as an enemy. We could be friends again. At least, with Nathan, neither of us had to pretend; we each knew who the other was, as we’d practically grown up together.

  Nathan dropped his head, shaking it back and forth. “For what I did … was wrong. I … jus … I was upset.”

  “What are you talking about, Nathan?”

  “Hey, Char!” Morgan stooped down in front of us. “Hey, Nathan. You okay?”

  Nathan lurched back on the couch. “’m fine!”

  I looked between the two of them, wondering when they’d become friends. Questioning why Morgan would have told Nathan I was coming to the party. “He’s just drunk, Morgan. He’s upset about breaking up with me, but it’s coming out tonight because he saw me with another guy.”

  “Oh … Okay,” Morgan said as she stood. “You can take him up to my room to sleep it off if you want. Everyone else is going to crash down here so no one will bother you.”

  I rubbed my free hand — the one that Nathan wasn’t latched onto — down my face. “We’re not back together, Morgan. He’s just drunk.”

  “But he wants to get back together with you?” Morgan whined, her voice going up at the end as though her statement had been a question. Morgan’s interloping confused me. Why would she care? What difference was it to her whether Nathan and I got back together? I hadn’t told her that I wanted to get back with Nathan, so why would she all of a sudden take an interest in my personal life?

  “Is that why you invited me?” I asked.

  Morgan shrugged. “I thought it’s what you wanted — what you both wanted.”

  Eight months ago, I’d thought I wanted to get back with Nathan. Before Morgan and I had really started hanging out together. But I couldn’t remember ever telling her I wanted to get back with him. And now … nope. That ship had sailed. I had no
desire to get back with him, so he’d have to carry his guilt around.

  “Come on, Nathan.” I stood, allowing him to hold onto me, escorting him to Morgan’s room, a role I was familiar with. I’d lost count how many times I’d had to take care of Nathan after he’d drunken himself into oblivion. This was good for me. This was a reminder of how much better I was without him. Why we should only be friends, and not lovers. Truly, I think the reason I’d stayed with him for so long was because I’d been worried about him, worried that he’d do something stupid, as he’d threatened in the past. But he’d managed eight months without me, so obviously he was fine.

  Nathan wasn’t completely gone; he stumbled alongside me, his hands latching onto whatever he could. I thought about smacking the hand away that had taking residence on my breast, but I was pretty sure he didn’t realize where he was grabbing; he was just trying to stay upright at this point. “Here ya go.” I directed his body down on Morgan’s bed, and he pulled me down with him.

  Nathan glanced around the room, then buried his head against my chest. “I’m sorry, Char.”

  “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

  “You do?” he mumbled.

  I shrugged, even though I knew he couldn’t see me with his head buried against my chest. “I’m okay, Nathan. I’ve moved on.”

  He fell back on the comforter, curling himself into a ball. “I can’t forgive myself.”

  Damn. I can’t believe he’s making me feel bad because he broke up with me. I slid my legs off the bed, then stooped down beside it, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. He should be sorry for having such beautiful hair. Most girls would kill for his thick hair. I held back a laugh that threatened to escape. I really was over Nathan.

  “It’s okay, Nathan. Go to sleep. You’ll feel like yourself tomorrow.”

  “But if I hadn’t cheated on you …”

  He might as well have slapped me. I reeled back from him. Cheated? When the hell had he cheated on me? Before he broke up with me? “What are you talking about, Nathan?”