“Shut up,” I hiss and take the lead to lean in toward him.
Ian’s eyes widen as the distance between us shrinks to barely an inch, but my movement is cut short by a burst of shattering glass across the apartment. Every head in the area snaps toward the direction of the commotion, breaking our almost kiss.
“Sorry, Mitch!” A slurred voice draws out from across the room.
“Fuck,” Mitch groans, his hand squeezing the back of my neck. “Don’t go anywhere,” he barks at both of us and wanders off to check the damage.
I bring my attention back to Ianand find thathe’s already put a few feet of distance between us. It shouldn’t feel like a slap in the face, but it does. Honestly, this feeling would be easierto manage if Ian had actually hit me. Then I could point to my swollen cheek and knowthatis where the pain is coming from. Instead, I’m left with this lump in my throat and a rejection in my chest and nothing to point to that would easily explain why I’m feeling this fucking horrible.
I love Mitch, but I also fucking hate his guts for planting these intrusive feelings inside of me against my will. It’s hard enough pining for a man I know is too good for me, let alone developing a rush of unwanted and unwarranted urges for his best friend, who despises me as much as I despise myself.
I never asked for this, yet here I am, carrying a heart heavier than I deserve.
FIVE
Feeling nothing is easy. Once life has beaten the shit out of you enough times, feeling nothing is more desirable than literally everything else, but I’m standing here with no way to ignore the distance between us.
Suddenly, the rejection I’ve refused to feel for the past six months is real, and it’s staring at me from four feet away when our lips were barely an inch apart a few short breaths ago.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
I dig my hand into my purse and fish out my keys. My lifeline. My getaway car to ride off into the sunset, never looking back at the trail of misery that always manages to catch up to me.
"You're leaving?" Ian asks, and I swear I can almost hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.
He seems so severe. His usual playfulness has vanished, replaced with something less himself and more…dark. His light has dulled, however temporary it may be, because of me.
Because of me.
“As fast as fucking possible,” I reply, squeezing my keys in a fist. The cold metal presses into my palm like a comfort blanket. No matter what happens, I know my car is outside, and I can disappear. I am a runner, after all. A motherfucking track star. But the only track I’ve ever run is the one that puts as much distance between me and everyone else. Ian showed his hand, and like a good girl, I’ll make it my priority to ensure the gap between us stays as wide as possible.
“At least wait until Mitch gets back,” Ian suggests.
I stare at him, unable to stop wondering what could have been. Would it have been just one night? Would it have started something, or, more likely, would it have been the end of everything? I may not be able to read his eyes like Mitch, but I’ve seen those eyes light up at the slightest connection with random strangers, and the dead eyes looking at me are the same punch to the gut they always are.
“I’m sure you’ll make Mitch forget he ever wanted me here. You seem to be really good at that.” I turn away from him before he has a chance to spew out some bullshit reply, and I head straight for the front door. I nearly make it all the way when Paul stops in my path and blocks my exit.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I hope he can recognize the annoyance burnt into every line of my face and leaves me the fuck alone.
“Roxy!” Paul exclaims, stopping way too close for comfort, clutching a bottle of vodka in one hand and a shot glass oddly fisted in the other. “Hey, I’m so sorry about earlier! My friends—they can be fucking assholes,” Paul slurs, barely able to stand. While unsteady on his feet, his eyes are firmly planted on my tits.
“What the fuck do you want, Paul?” I yell over the music, bringing his attention back to my face.
“Have a shot with me!” he says, holding up the glass, still oddly held in his fist, then fills it with vodka. “Consider it a peace offering.”
I take the glass from him without hesitation, thankful for the offer to numb my senses. I lift it to my lips, but it never reaches its destination. Ian appears out of nowhere and stumbles into me, knocking the shot glass out of my hand and onto the floor.
“Oops,” Ian says with an odd monotone edge. His hands hold onto my waist to steady me. “My bad. Everyone is just so clumsy today.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he lifts his eyebrows to his hairline before turning his attention to Paul. “You know,Paul, it’s funny to hear you apologize for your friends like your hands weren’t the ones all over her ass,” Ian spits with a sinister edge. Something disastrous happens inside of me, and while I don’t hate it, I hate that it’s Ian making me feel it. I want to ignore the flush in my cheeks as his hands linger on my waist, and I don’t feel the urge to push him away.
I’ve fought so many battles on my own that I stopped caring when I lost, which was often. Having someone step in the line of fire for my benefit is still a new and overwhelming feeling.
“Oh! Well, I was just trying to keep her steady, you know,” Paul stutters. “It looked like she was about to fall over.” The lie on his breath is putrid.
“That was very generous of you,” Ian says with a smile, as charismatic as ever, but there’s an undertone of sarcasm that I’m sure goes over Paul’s inebriated head.
“Thanks, man! Take a shot with me,” Paul asks, holding up the bottle of vodka, too shit-faced to notice the venom in Ian’s smile.
