Confessions After Dark (34 page)

“Alex,” Whitney began, but his hard glare effectively silenced her, and she took a seat to his left and quietly sipped on her piña colada. Alex grimaced.
A fucking piña colada! How fitting!
Convoluted, milky, cloyingly sweet and predictable. What a contrast to the rich earthiness, depth of color, and complexity of flavor of the various wines Angel preferred, each one with individual nuances, a surprise each and every time.

Alex shook his head and a bitter laugh burst forth as the parallels between the two women and their drinks of choice hit him right between the eyes. Whitney eyed him warily, her finely manicured brows lifting in question. She was clearly wondering at his crazed outburst. He laughed so hard half the scotch in his glass slopped over before he raised it to his mouth and downed the rest.

“Could this be any more goddamned ironic?” he asked to no one in particular. “I mean, seriously? Fucking hilarious!”

His shoulder was shoved back violently and he sobered, registering his brother’s large presence. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cole’s eyes skittered over the woman sitting beside Alex, her hand on his arm even as Alex ignored her. It was obvious Alex was furious, but he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Despite the ridiculous laughter when he approached, Cole knew Alex well and he sure as hell wasn’t one to drink excessively or let emotions dictate his actions. To do so would mean a loss of that precious control.

Alex glared at Cole and reached for the bottle of liquor behind him on the bar and started pouring another drink. “Getting comfortably numb.” He was just barely feeling the effects of the alcohol. Scotch had become somewhat of a friend over the last month when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t keep from turning on the radio, and couldn’t forget. Whitney’s hand tightened on his arm and, for the first time, he noticed she was touching him. “Maybe some much-needed recreation,” he said to Cole, taking a long pull from the glass, his eyes unavoidably drawn to the stage and the woman at the center of it. His chest tightened painfully. His mind was made up. He needed to purge the demon that possessed him.

The triumphant look on Whitney’s face disgusted Cole. He, who used to pick up chicks and fuck their brains out for no other reason than they were in front of him, found Alex’s actions abhorrent.

“Think about what you’re doing, Alex. You’re pissed off right now and out of your mind.”

“Pissed? Is that what I am?” He emptied his glass and began pouring again. “I’m tired of thinking,” Alex said. “It’s time I did something other than feel like shit.”

“You’ll work things out with Ang—”

Alex threw up his hand and stopped Cole. “Don’t say that name to me. Ever again! How can I trust you, anyway? You lied to me about staying with her.”

Everything began to blur—the room, the music, and his intentions—as the large quantity of scotch finally buzzed his mind slightly, but he was still way too lucid for his own comfort. He closed his eyes and still he saw large, liquid brown eyes, flowing dark auburn hair, and he swore to God he could smell the sweet and musky scent of her perfume mixed with sex, feel the luscious curves pressed warmly against the hardness of his body, and hear her voice breathing out his name when he made her come.

“Jesus Christ!” Alex muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

He threw back the drink and stood up from the chair, taking Whitney’s hand in his again as Angel’s voice blended with Kyle’s in a softer song. He was determined to do whatever he needed to forget, even if it ripped his heart out in the process. “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Alex followed Whitney into the apartment and the door closed behind him. His eyes didn’t recognize his surroundings; the alcohol and his pounding head blurred his vision. The events of the night still in effect, he clawed at the pain in his chest. It hurt and he was hot, despite the drop in temperature. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and then his mouth.

“Do you want a drink, sweetie?” Whitney cooed.

His stomach turned, and he tried to swallow the tightness in his throat, bile rising until the sour taste laced his mouth. Alex shook his head, stumbling into the living room and falling into a large chair. It was fluffy and over-exaggerated—not his taste at all.

“Uh-uh. No more. I shouldn’t even be here,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

Whitney’s low laughter fell around him in the small space. For the first time, he registered that this was not the apartment he’d paid for, though some of the furnishings were familiar.

“Of course you should, silly. I’ll take care of you. Just like before.” She dropped to her knees in front of him, her fingers closing around his thighs and raking upward toward his hips and groin.

Alex cringed. She never took care of him. She’d only slaked his lust. These were not the hands he wanted. His eyes closed, head dropping back as he remembered Angel on that damn stage with Kyle. She was so beautiful, ethereal, and untouchable… by him at least.
Kyle has no problem touching her
. Heat seared in his gut and pain pierced his heart.
Just forget her. She’s killing you. Forget her any way you can.

His head snapped up as he forced his eyes open, trying to bring Whitney’s face into focus. Her lips were too red, her voice too shrill, her body too skinny, and those plastic, out-of-proportion tits poked toward him as if in some absurd 3-D film. Alex’s lips lifted in a sardonic smirk and he almost laughed out loud. He should just let her suck him off and try to forget his world had been reduced to a series of torturous lifetimes punctuated by a few blissful, mind-blowing moments.

He reached out and wrapped some of her blonde hair around his fist. She sighed, her eyes victorious. Her hands moved up his thighs toward the closure on his jeans and he let her, telling himself to just close his eyes and be a man. He should just fuck her senseless and get back to his life. Back to unfeeling, uncomplicated…
unbeautiful
. Easy, controlled, and empty.

Whitney’s hands rubbed over his cock beneath the denim, and he willed it to get hard. He pulled her onto his lap, his hands rough as her wet mouth found his. His cock responded as he imagined a different woman in his arms.

“Oh, Alex, I missed you.”

Please, stop talking,
his mind screamed.
That’s not the voice I need.

His lips took hers roughly, his tongue pushing into her mouth and his moved, searching for something,
anything
to make this happen, but after a minute or two of frantic groping and her grinding on his crotch, his heart ached more and more. It seized even more when his cock twitched unwillingly under her continued kneading. He could fuck her, his traitor body would respond, but he didn’t want to. It fucking killed him that it was even possible.

He turned his head away in disgust. Her mouth was too sloppy, too loose, and not Angel’s. Whitney was making loud mewling noises, frantically panting and still clutching at his hair, trying to turn his head back.

“Alex, please,” she begged. “I want you.”

“I… I’m…” Alex shook his head to clear some of the alcohol-induced haze. “I can’t do this, Whitney. It isn’t going to happen.” His hands found her upper arms to stop her body from rocking into his. “Stop,” he said as he tried to still her.

She continued to pull on him, trying to kiss him even as he turned away, desperate to have him back, desperate to get him away from the other woman.

“I said stop it!” He commanded as his hands closed around her wrists and held them between them.

She stopped moving and looked at him, unable to deny the truth she found in his eyes and his hard expression.

“I’m in no condition to do this, even if I wanted to.”

“But, you don’t want to,” Whitney stated simply, her eyes filled with tears as her face fell.

Alex pulled in a breath as he pushed her from his lap and stood, beginning to straighten his clothes and doing up his jeans quickly. “No. I’m sorry.”

Whitney sat on the ottoman where he’d deposited her and didn’t bother to pull down her skirt or replace the strap on her shoulders as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Her breasts were grotesque to him now when he used to find her beautiful. Now, no one was beautiful. Except
Angel.

“It was wrong of me to come here. Wrong to let you think there could ever be anything between us again. I have no excuse and I’m an asshole. I’m sorry, Whitney.”

“Why don’t you want me?” she asked quietly, though her tone was bitter. “Why didn’t you
ever
want me? Why am I not good enough?”

Alex ran both hands through his hair and cringed at the differences as he turned way. Angel would never cower and cry at his feet, begging like this. There were times when she’d begged him to fuck her, sure, but it always felt more like a demand or a siren’s song he couldn’t resist. He wanted to go to her. Even with another woman sobbing in front of him, Angel was all he could think about, the hurt on her face when he left her up on that stage, her voice singing to him as he left with Whitney, was ripping at his guts like acid. There was a woman in pain in front of him, yet all he could think about were the soulful brown eyes, hardening in determination to get through her set even as her voice audibly cracked. He knew he’d hurt her like hell and it disgusted him. He felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in around him. He had to get the hell out of there.

Alex rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to lose the feeling of the kisses that he’d just been party to. He felt guilty, dirty… and deeply sad. “It wasn’t your fault. It was always me,” he murmured, turning back to her with a slight shrug.

She cried harder, and Alex moved toward her, pushing the straps of her dress up over her shoulder again then pulling her to her feet, before turning away.

“But, why her and not me? This is because of
her
!” Whitney yelled after him.

“I can’t tell you something I don’t even know myself. We were over before Angel and I met. I never meant to hurt you.”

He turned again and began to walk toward the door.

“But why
her
?” she screamed after him.

Alex stopped and turned. “It’s beyond me. I can’t control what she does to me. She…
creates needs
… only she can ease.”

“Well, you won’t find it so easy this time, Alex! After Allison told me… Let’s just say that seeing is believing.”

“Goddammit! What did you do?” Alex demanded.

“Thanked her for her advice. But, it was enough. She got my point. I made sure of it tonight! It will serve you right when she tells you to fuck off, and you get what you give. Finally.”

*****

Her heart was breaking, falling in shards, ripping and tearing her flesh as they fell. Angel buried her face in Kyle’s shirt and sobbed uncontrollably. How fucking ironic was this? Sobbing her eyes out in the arms of her ex-lover was certainly the last thing she ever thought she’d do. She never thought she’d cry like this over a man.
Ever
.

“Shhh, honey. Angel, it’ll be okay.”

She shook her head without moving away. “No, it won’t,” she said simply. “I feel like I’m dying, Kyle. I’m—fucking dying!” Her shoulders shook softly as she continued to cry, soaking his shirt. “How could he do this to me?” Her lungs wouldn’t pull in the air she needed. “How could he leave with her?”

Kyle rubbed her back over and over, hushing her and doing his best to soothe her hurt. “He’s a guy and he was pissed, Angel. Alex looked like he wanted to kill something. He was crazy with jealousy. He obviously cares about you.”

“The hell he does! He’s only upset because, for once in his life, he isn’t getting what he wants. He doesn’t care about me. If he did, he would be here with
me
, not fucking
her
!” She knew she sounded crazed, and her heart protested at her lack of control. He’d shown he cared before, but it was such a contradiction to his actions now.

“You don’t know that’s what he’s doing. Stop doing this to yourself.” Kyles voice took on a soothing tone.

Angel pushed back and looked up. Her eyes were swollen, and her tears left tracks of mascara and smeared make-up down her face. “He was holding her hand! That was his way of making sure I’d know his intentions. How could he be such a bastard?” Her face crumpled again and a quiet sob broke free of her chest. “He knew what it would do to me!”

Kyle’s arms wound around her as she burst into a new fit of tears. “Angel, you’re going to make yourself sick. You have to calm down. You were amazing tonight, and he had to have seen it.”

“So what? He’s more interested in convincing me he doesn’t give a shit and that he never loses his precious control!”

Kyle sighed. He had to admit, if positions were reversed, he might have done the same thing. “He doesn’t want to seem vulnerable, Angel. But, he is. That’s easy to see.”

“Uh-uh,” she cried. “He’s fucking
fuh—fine
!”

They were sitting on the floor in front of her couch. She’d fallen apart the minute her door closed, somehow managing to hold it together through the last set. Allison and the boys, even Crystal, hadn’t said much when Kyle had offered to take her home. Allison had pulled her phone from her pocket and began texting furiously. Even Cole let her leave without stopping or following her. Angel didn’t protest about leaving her car behind or Kyle putting her into his, a sure sign of her fragility. Maybe it was an attempt to get back at Alex, unsure if she wanted him to know he was killing her or that she didn’t give a damn either way.

A few minutes later, Angel quieted, and Kyle nudged her chin up with his thumb. “Do you want some wine or something? I saw a bottle of red on the counter. It might help calm you down.”

Angel nodded wearily, pushing her tear-dampened hair off her face. She could smell the hairspray and she wrinkled her nose. “The glasses are hanging there.” Her hand waved in the direction of the kitchen as she scrambled onto the couch and curled up in a ball on her side. Her nose was stuffy and she sniffed then wiped at her eyes.

Drawers opened and a hollow rattle of metal on metal echoed as Kyle dug around in the drawer for a corkscrew. Angel’s damp eyes were tired and refused to focus. The Chicago skyline blurred in the frame of her great room window, becoming nothing more than a multicolored smudge, a blurry rainbow of dark and light.