“What have these arseholes told you?” I ask, running a hand over my face.
“That you’re a grumpy bastard who’s a nightmare to live with,” my housemate deadpans. “Wanna tell him I’m lying?”
I wish I could.
It’s been three weeks since I slept with my masked pixie and fucked up my head even more. I don’t know why I thought sleeping with her would get her out of my system. The addictive personality I inherited from my dad is why I gave up drugs, I don’t smoke, and I’m careful with how much alcohol I consume. I learnt that lesson the hard way—detoxing is the worst, and it nearly killed me the first time around. Having one more hit of her to forget was messed-up logic, but no one ever accused me of being smart.
I’m miserable.
If I thought it was bad after I kissed her, spending time with her and having her body wrapped around mine has made things a hundred times worse. Watching her drive away after our night together damn near brought me to my knees.
When I haven’t been at school, training, or games, I’ve been working myself into the ground at the gym until I’m too tired to think about her.
Has it worked?
Fuck, no.
I can’t help looking for her on the streets of Beckford, wondering what she’s doing, where she is, who she’s with. My obsession has pretty much consumed my every waking moment.
How did I let this happen?
I’ve spent the last eleven years keeping people at a distance, not letting them inside these walls I’ve built. If I don’t let anyone in, I can’t hurt them. Seeing the fear mixed with disappointment in my sister’s eyes, and knowing I put it there, made me realise I’m defective. I refuse to turn into my father.
Two nights with this woman, and every resolution and every plan I had for my life has gone up in smoke. She doesn’t even know she’s taken a sledgehammer to every brick I’ve placed around my dead heart—a heart that died with my mother.
I don’t even know who she is, and I’ve got nothing to fucking go on to find her. No name. No way of contacting her, and I know there’s no way she’ll set foot in Euphoria again. It’s not her scene. I got lucky once; it won’t happen again.
This has to be a punishment for my past. Tease me with something good, then rip it right out from underneath me. I don’t deserve to have someone like her in my life.
Fuck, I’m pathetic.
No wonder my housemate, teammates, and friends are sick of my shit.
“What’s the plan other than dragging me out of bed this early on a Saturday?” I groan.
“I’m here for the weekend, and you’ve got a game tomorrow, so we’re gonna make the most of today,” Ritter chirps. “Go shower, dude. You stink.”
“Why are we friends again?” I ask, flipping him off.
“Because we’re the only ones who put up with your grumpy arse.”
“Oh, andhere I thought it was because I carried you all to a championship last year,” I shoot back.
Everett snorts. “Someone thinks highly of himself.”
I smirk at him. “The stats don’t lie.”
Zac, the pragmatic one of our group, shakes his head at our banter. “I’ll admit, whatever’s going on with you has been good for your game, but there’s more to life than soccer.”
“I’m sure your boyfriend would love hearing that.” My words fall flat because right now I’d give up soccer if it meant I could have another shot with her. Whoever she is.
Shoving Ritter off my bed, I get up and head for my ensuite bathroom. “You fuckers better be out of here when I get out of the shower, or you’ll be copping an eyeful.”
“You’ve got ten minutes,” Everett warns, checking his watch. “Then all bets are off.”
I flip him off as the guys trail out of my room.
It’s seven in the goddamn morning. What the hell have they got planned that has them dragging my arse out of bed this early? We have a game against our rivals tomorrow. We need to be on our A-game to beat BHU. With the way my head is at the moment, spending time with people is going to mentally drain me. I hadn’t planned on leaving my room except to go to the gym for a light workout before lunch.
