She followed without hesitation, her friends giggling as I led her down a side hallway branching off from the main room to a small office no one had used for anything holy in decades, just a room with a desk someone had left behind and windows so dirty they barely let in moonlight.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder, the hinges groaning, metal scraping against metal, and pulled her inside, enclosing us in near darkness. Dust motes floated in the dim light filtering through the filthy window, suspended in the air like ghosts. I had no desire to see her face. In truth, I had no desire at all, not for her, but she was nearly the same height as Kaylor, and perhaps it would be good enough for my imagination.
She pressed closer immediately, not wasting time as she slid her fingers up my chest. “I’ve had a crush on you for years.” Her perfume was too sweet and wrong. She didn’t smell like Kaylor, and the sense of smell was a harder sense to trick, but I could do something about the sound of her voice.
“Don’t talk.”
Her mouth found mine instead and…
Fuck.
I felt nothing.
Not a damn thing. No spark. No pull. No heat building in my chest, in my blood, or in my fucking dick. Just emptiness. And annoyance. Everything she did irked me.
I tried anyway. Forced myself to lean into it, to let my body respond the way it was supposed to, to make my hands move to her waist and pull her in. To kiss her back. I smashed my mouth to hers, hard, but all I saw, even with my eyes shut, even with her pressed against me, was big light-blue eyes and full, kissable lips. The way Kaylor smiled and laughed, how her small hand felt in mine, how she weighed next to nothing. What the scent ofher shampoo did to me. We’d never kissed, never done anything beyond a hug, but I’d thought about it. A lot. Too damn much.
“Fuck,” I muttered against this stranger’s mouth, breaking away abruptly.
She blinked, confused, her hands still on my chest, lips swollen from my brutal kiss. “What’s wrong?”
I had a reputation, and this wasn’t going to enforce what everyone thought. Why hadn’t I grabbed another drink? I wasn’t drunk enough for this shit. “Nothing,” I gritted out.
She cupped me through my jeans. “Maybe you just need a bit more encouragement.” Her fingers fumbled with my button, unclasping it before tackling the zipper. Dainty fingers slipped into my boxers, finding my dick and wrapping around me.
My body reacted. I was a guy after all, but it didn’t mean I was enjoying myself. Just the opposite. I felt sick. This wasn’t what I wanted.Shewasn’t whose mouth I wanted, but I didn’t stop her as she dropped to her knees. My head fell back against the wall, and I weaved my fingers into her hair, messing up the perfectly styled curls.
She had skills, but it didn’t matter. My growing irritation overcame any pleasure she gave me.Fuck it.
I stepped back, putting space between us, dragging a hand through her hair and gripping hard enough to hurt. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” She tilted her head, trying to read my expression in the dim light. “Did I do something?—”
“Turns out, you’re not my type.”
Hurt speared over her features. “You don’t have to be an ass.”
“You came on to me.” I was definitely being a jerk, but that was nothing new about my character, and it wasn’t her fault. This was a me problem, a problem that would take more than a one-night stand to cure.
Before she could curse me more or say anything she would regret, I yanked the door open and walked out, leaving her alone in that dusty room with whatever expectations she’d brought in with her.
The narrow hallway pressed in around me as I stalked back through the crowd, shoulders bumping into people who were too drunk or too high to care, making my way toward the makeshift bar again. I needed another drink. Because if this was supposed to be fun, if tonight was supposed to help me forget, supposed to be the distraction Mason promised it would be, then something was seriously, fundamentally wrong with me.
Grabbing a bottle this time instead of bothering with a cup, I took a drink straight from it, the burn familiar and grounding. Mason found me twenty minutes later, leaning against the stone wall near the back of the church, bottle nearly gone.
“You good?” he asked, eyeing me with concern and amusement.
“Great,” I lied.
“You look miserable.”
“I said I’m great.”
He studied me for a second longer, then shook his head. “You’re a disaster, you know that?”
“Yeah.” I took another drink, the vodka doing nothing to fix whatever was broken in my head. “I’m aware.”
The shithead grinned. “You’re so losing this bet.”
