Christ.
She’s the fucking sun.
Her tongue gains confidence, stroking mine, and I make a low sound in the back of my throat. I lose myself in the wet heat of her mouth, my body reacting to every glide and flick and stolen breath. I’ve never been this hard from one kiss. My cock strains against my pants, eagerly pressing against her thigh, craving relief.
Stop this.
The warning finally penetrates, and it’s almost violent how I tear my mouth from hers. Our faces drag apart. Her eyes flicker with surprise. Her lips are still parted, swollen from our kisses, and the sight makes my dick twitch.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “We can’t. This is a mistake.”
“Why?”
Because you mean too much for me to destroy you.
“Because I’ve had too much to drink,” I lie. “I’m not thinking clearly.”
Disbelief fills her eyes. Then she starts to laugh. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
I gulp. “Of what?”
“These stories you tell yourself. That you’re too drunk. That you’re a fuckboy who’s incapable of catching feelings. That your dick is all you can offer a woman. That you can’t succeed as a musician unless you do it without a shred of help from anybody.”
The accusation throws me off-kilter. I don’t even know what to say to it, but she doesn’t give me the chance anyway.
“You’re like some old dude who’s so set in his ways that he can’t adapt to new experiences or change with the times. Except in your case, you’ve committed so fucking hard to this story of who Wyatt Graham is, it’s like you can’t see all the other paths you can take. And that’s what keeps you stuck in your life.”
“I’m not stuck,” I mutter, discomfort squeezing my chest. “It’s just writer’s block, for fuck’s sake.”
“No, it’s everything. But fine. Pretend I’m wrong.” She brushes past me, jostling my shoulder.
“Blake, stop. Come on.”
“What?” she says, keeping her back to me. She sounds cold and unimpressed. “I’m not jumping off the roof anymore, so just relax. I’m going inside, back to my room, where I don’t have to listen to your goddamn bullshit anymore.” She pauses at the stairs, finally sparing me a look. “Is that all right with you, Daddy?”
I clench my teeth. “Blake—”
“Fuck off.”
She gives me the finger, then disappears down the stairs.
THE CHEATER
You know what? I’m fucking pissed now. And I’m sick and tired of you constantly calling me a cheater like I’m the worst person on the fucking planet. I’m not going to apologize for this shit anymore, especially when YOU basically pushed me into doing what I did.
So I’M to blame for YOU cheating? Go fuck yourself.
You act like you’re so above everything, Blake. You’re so calm and collected and sarcastic, like nothing ever fucking touches you. I never knew what you were thinking. Ever. Being with you felt like I was constantly trying to impress someone that can never be impressed.
You never knew what I was thinking because you never fucking asked, Isaac. You fawned all over me in public, and then in private you were only sweet when you wanted sex or attention.
I’m not saying it was all bad. It was really, really good at times. You felt like my safe place, like you were this steady thing in my life and I wanted that.
I’m glad I was your safe place. Too bad you were never mine.
But I also wanted you to look at me like I was the most exciting guy in the world. I always felt like I was chasing some version of myself you might actually care about, but you never cared about making me feel wanted. You never let me in and you were never really there with me. So maybe think about that before you decide I’m the only one who ruined this.
You wanted me to look at you like you were the most exciting guy in the world? Well, I wanted you to look at me, period. But I was invisible until you felt like taking me off the shelf to play with me.
