I watch the flicker in her expression—shock, then offense, then somethingferal.
She stands.
No words. Just calm precision as she rises, straightens her skirt, and thenspits.
Right in my face.
A thick stream of my own release splats against my cheekbone, some splashing into my eye.
“Swallow your own sorrows, then.”
And she walks out, slamming the door closed behind her.
Back straight. Head high. Tori leaves me standing in that copy room like the fucking asshole I am.
And the worst part?
I deserve it.
I don’t move.Not right away. My pants are still open, halfway down my thighs, my shirt rumpled, my face sticky with my own release and… yep. It’s no longer just on my face, but has traveled down my jaw, to my neck, and if I don’t find some sort of napkin or paper towel or?—
Fuck it. I use my shirt sleeve like a toddler eating spaghetti to clean up my neck, then my cheek and around my eye. There’s probably cum smashed into my facial hair, but I’ll have to wash that out in the shower.
I’m honestly shocked that she 1) hadn’t swallowed, because who wants to sit with jizz in their mouth for that long, and 2) actually had the audacity to then spit it in my face.
Who even does that?
Victoria Foster. That’s who.
And, fuck, she was right. Because what she did? That wasn’t cruelty. It wasn’t malice. It was the kind of thing only someone who actually gave a damn about me would do.
She followed me here. After the funeral. After seeing me in that room with Stephanie. After every reason in the world to walk away from me and never look back—she still came. She didn’t want me to be alone. She wanted to take care of me in the only way she thought I’d accept.
Our banter—that shit was fire. And I, like the absolute prick I am, couldn’t just let it be what it was. I had to push. Had to say something stupid. Had to remind her that no matter how close I let her get, I’ll find a way to ruin it.
But she accomplished exactly what she came here to do. Sheswallowed my grief right out of me, even if only for a few minutes. And Christ, if I’d shut my mouth—if I’d just let her give without trying to twist it, without turning it into some ugly game—maybe tonight would’ve been different.
Maybe she would’ve gone home with me. Maybe I could’ve held her, just held her, all night. No words, no explanations, no past, no future. Just the heat of her body against mine, her breath steadying me, her presence keeping me from drowning. Even if we hadn’t had sex, even if nothing more happened, I could’ve slept beside her. I could’ve woken up tomorrow morning not empty, not alone.
Instead, I’m here. Alone in a copy room with my dick out and remnants of my release smashed into my scruff.
I didn’t think I could feel any worse today, but alas… here I stand.
I zip up. Straighten my clothes. Run a hand through my hair like that’ll fix anything. It won’t. The damage is done.
And now, the whole reason I came here—to avoid the bottle, to avoid making a mistake with someone who means nothing—feels like it just went up in smoke. I can’t stay here. Not after this.
Instead, I think through the options, already knowing the answer.
I’ve already fucked things up with Tori enough for one night. I won’t make it worse by finding some random body to sink into, pretending that will numb me. It won’t. It never does.
George would hate seeing me like this. The thought of me hiding away, covered in shame, debating whether to drink myself blind. He’d tell me to stop wallowing, to go home, to try again tomorrow. He’d tell me I was worth more than this. And I want to believe him. I do. But right now? I don’t feel like that man. I feel like the fuckup he never wanted me to be.
I won’t call Dexter because I don’t want to ask him to leave Alis and Sunny to come to my place. Or maybe because right now I don’t feel like I deserve any more sympathy. I won’t go to Skye,won’t ask her to sit with me, because she already made it clear she’s furious. I can’t go to Linda’s because her boys and their families are there, andfucking Stephanie.
I still just want to be away from people. The only exception to that rule was Tori.
So I’ll go home. I’ll shut off my phone. And without the comfort of her warm, sweet body curled next to mine, I’ll get lost in a warm, smoky bottle of Scotch instead.
