Summer's Temptation (26 page)

“I don’t want to fuck you up.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean you’re the only girl I want to be with. I swear what happened that night will
never
happen again.”

I want so badly for him to make me believe him, but no matter how much I want to, I can’t. I’ve been down this road twice. I won’t tread it again. “My high school boyfriend, Jeremy, he cheated on me.”

He sits up and twists around to face me. “I’m not Jeremy.”

“I know. Wyatt wasn’t Jeremy either, and he cheated on me too. I’m not willing to hand my heart to someone who’s hurt me before our relationship even grew legs. I’d never forgive
myself
if I caught you with someone else.”

He scoots closer. “I’ll prove myself to you.”

“How?” That would be attempting the impossible. He knows it. I know it. It’s time to give up. “Look, I care about you a lot. I think you’re amazing and sweet and smart and funny and everything a woman could ever want in a guy…”

“But…?” He plants his hand on the other side of the mattress, pinning me in.

“But you’re not the right guy for me.” Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. He’s perfect for me. He’s exactly who I need to make every day a joy, but this chasm between us isn’t crossable. “I’m sorry, but I think you should go.”

He leans down, our faces inches apart, and his lips quiver then still. “I’m not going to change your mind.”

It’s not a question, so I don’t answer. He winds both hands into my hair, and I begin to protest. But my objection chokes in my throat when he jerks my head back. It reminds me of the first time we made love. He’d done the same thing and asked if I was going to turn him down. I told him I liked a challenge, but he’d turned out to be too much of a challenge for me.

His mouth lands roughly on mine. All I taste is anger and lust, hurt and longing. I don’t want to respond to him, but my body betrays how much I want him, how desperate I am for him to make everything better. His mouth is harsh and unrelenting; he bites my bottom lip then soothes the sting with his tongue. He bites again as if he wants to hurt me, and when I bite right back, he groans.

Warmth floods between my legs. I want to pull him on top of me and open for him, have him take me hard until I hurt all over. But we both know that’s a bad idea. It won’t change anything. By the time he pulls away, we’re both panting.

Against my lips, he says, “If you weren’t hurt, I’d fuck you one last time to make sure you know what a stupid mistake you’re making.” He presses his lips to my forehead, kissing me just as hard as he did my mouth.

I’m a breathless mess. I can barely hold myself together as he slides away. The warmth of his body disappears, leaving me cold and miserable. He slips on his runners. Before he stands, he rolls his shoulders like a boxer about to go another round. That’s exactly what this feels like. Ten rounds in a cage fight, winner takes all. Too bad there’s no winner in this match.

He doesn’t look at me when he walks away, but he stops just outside my room, his back toward me, and drops his head. “I think this is more about Wyatt than the girl I brought home.”

“No”—Is he crazy? This has nothing to do with Wyatt—“it isn’t.”

But he’s already leaving. I just make out his tall figure as he turns the corner into the living room. I hear the front door shut. Being left behind hurts, but it was my decision, and it had nothing to do with Wyatt. I stare blankly at the door. This is the right choice. I know it is, but God, it doesn’t feel like it.

Chapter 26

“I
hate my life,” I grumble, my head tucked into my elbow where it’s nice and dark. I’m sitting at a table on the patio of the Silver Nickel, a bar across from campus. It’s my first outing since being bitten two weeks ago. Liz and Hannah had found me at the coffee table at home, making a sock monkey, and they forced me to hobble out of the house on crutches.

“At least you have a life to hate,” Liz says.

I hear the slide of a cup coming toward me, probably full of beer, and I lift my face from my dark cocoon. “That’s the worst part. I hate my life, and I feel guilty as hell for being such a bitchy, self-centered prick. I could be six feet under right now, feeding a family of fat, happy worms. I have no right to be so depressed.”

“You have every right to be depressed,” Hannah says. “It’s been a rough few months.”

That’s the understatement of the year. Getting dumped by the love of my life was bad enough. Then I had to go and fall for someone else. The very same night I discover I’m head- over-heels for him, he takes another woman home. Then, just to make sure life has completely beaten me to a pulp, a rattlesnake injects enough venom in me to kill a blue whale.

Maybe Hannah’s right. I have the right to be depressed. Life sucks, and it’s sucking the will-to-live right out of me.

Hannah picks up the pitcher of beer in the middle of our table and pours herself a cup. “If it makes you feel any better, Dylan says Tyler’s as miserable as you are.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” No one should be this miserable, not even Tyler.

“Well, he is,” Hannah says. “He’s a bear to live with too. Yesterday, he accidentally tore a cereal box the wrong way when he was trying to open it. He got so pissed, he ripped the whole thing apart.” She flings her hands out and shakes them. “Coco Puffs flew everywhere.”

When her hands are done dancing in the air, she chuckles and brings her cup to her lips. After wiping the foam from her mouth, she says, “He stomped the cereal into crumbs, cursing the whole time, and then trailed cereal all the way to his bedroom. I saw the aftermath. It wasn’t pretty. Dylan was pissed. He’s kind of a neat freak.” She smiles wistfully, as if Dylan’s OCD is endearing.

Tyler’s definitely not a clean freak. The last time I was in his bedroom, the pile of dirty clothes next to his closet had been at least three feet high. God, I miss him and his messiness. “Why does he have to be such a womanizer?”

Hannah raises one blond eyebrow. “I tried to tell you.”

“Stop being a bitch,” Liz snaps. “She didn’t mean to fall for him.”

“Sorry.” Hannah places her cup on a napkin. It’s hot enough that condensation’s already dripping down the plastic and making rings on the table.

“Hannah’s right,” I mutter. “She tried to warn me.”

I eye my beer longingly. I could use some liquid numbing. How long has it been since my last pain pill? Four hours, I think. Long enough to keep me from permanently debilitating my liver and kidneys. I grab the beer and down a quarter of it in one gulp. It tastes harsh, but it’s cold and refreshing, and I finish off another quarter before setting it down.

We’re all silent for a few minutes, listening to birds sing in the trees overhead. The beer blooms in my stomach then heads straight to my blood stream. The relaxation it brings is comforting and gives me the nerve to ask a question that’s been niggling my mind for days.

I glance at Hannah. “What’d she look like?”

“Who?” Hannah asks.

“The girl he took back to his room?” I rub the plastic cup against both palms and spin it in half-circles while I wait for her response. I’m not sure what the right answer would be or even if there is one.

Hannah shrugs. “Blond. Blue eyes. A little too thin. She was kind of Goth, with lots of black eyeliner and black, tight clothes.”

I guess that should make me feel better—she’s the opposite of me—but it doesn’t.

Liz wipes a bead of sweat from her brow and sighs. “It’s my fault you’re such a bitchy mess, Cassie. I’m the one who thought Tyler would be a perfect fuck buddy. I never thought you’d actually fall for him. You knew he’s a man whore, so why would you go from using him for great sex to wanting to turn him into a boyfriend?”

“It all goes back to the sex,” Hannah says. “You can’t let a guy stick his wiener in you and expect to not get attached to him. It’s not possible.”

I moan and bury my face in my arm again. “I don’t know.” Liz is right—how did I let myself get to this point? Lifting my head, I brush bangs from my eyes. “He just… when I’m with him… God, it’s so hard to explain.” I rest my head on my bicep and try to piece together what Tyler does that makes me crazy for him. “When we’re together, the way he looks at me, the way he kisses me, the way he touches me, he makes me feel special.”

Liz snorts. “Do you know how cliché that sounds?”

It sounds ridiculously cliché. But what Tyler does to me is hard to describe. I sit up straight and tip my head back to stare at the wooden lattice overhead. “Special isn’t the right word. I can’t even figure out how to explain it.” I think as my eyes follow the vines twisting above me. “It’s like… it’s like I’m the only woman in the world for him. I’m the only one he wants to make love to. The way he worships me for hours, taking me to places I’ve never been, it’s as if he’s thanking me for making him experience things he’s never felt. I love that I can drive him wild with a kiss or a caress or a whispered word.”

I think Hannah’s blushing, but Liz leans closer, eating up every word. “Are you sure it’s not about the sex?”

I shake my head, pushing my hair back. “No. I mean, partly, but not all of it. He thinks I’m driven and smart and beautiful. He makes me feel perfect. He makes me think I can do anything. When I see myself through his eyes, I like the person staring back. Does that make sense?”

Liz nods, looking a bit awed. “You’re his alpha and his omega.”

“Exactly.” I mess with my half-filled cup of beer, staring into the amber ale. “He made me feel like the only woman in his life. When we started hooking up, he stopped philandering. He lulled me into a false sense of devotion, like he was making me his one and only.” I lift my gaze to Hannah and Liz. “But he’s not capable of being monogamous. It’s just not who he is.”

“He cares about you,” Hannah says. “You’re probably the only girl who’s turned him into a unbearable asshole.”

“He was always an asshole,” I say.

“Yeah,” Liz says, “but he used to be a charming asshole. Now he’s a dipshit asshole.”

“Is that supposed to be my consolation prize? At least he’s as unhappy as I am?” I don’t want him to feel dejected. I mean, we weren’t supposed to fall for each other, and this is just as much my fault as his. “I should have kept my hormones to myself and learned how to enjoy my vibrator, then we wouldn’t have gotten in this mess.”

Only, I’m not sure that’s true. I’ve always been pulled toward him. Maybe living next door would have brought us together anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t have ended so badly then. God, if I believe that, then I have to believe Tyler’s redeemable, and I don’t think that’s true.

“We’re doing a shitty job of cheering you up.” Liz rests her elbow on the table and plants her chin in her palm. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Hannah nods, and one side of her mouth curls up in a smile that promises something scandalous. “Did you hear the rumor about Tara and Jacob…” She looks over my shoulder.

I’m about to ask her to finish her thought, but she breaks out in a smile reserved for one man—Dylan. Liz follows Hannah’s gaze, and her eyes widen. Without a doubt, I know Dylan isn’t the only guy behind me. I haven’t seen Tyler since our breakup. Although I guess technically we didn’t break up, since we were never a couple. Whatever. He’s behind me, and my stomach twists and turns like I’m on a winding road. I think I’m even getting car sick.

Dylan sits next to Hannah. They lock lips immediately. Tyler slips into a seat next to him, across the table from me. Our eyes lock for a brief second. He’s frowning, mouth twisting grimly, but he smooths the expression out to something akin to resigned. Josh shows up with two more pitchers of beer and plants them on the table a little too roughly. Beer slops onto Liz’s jeans.

She groans. “You’re a slob, Josh.”

He smirks. “I can dry that with my tongue.”

“Eww.” She slaps his arm when he sits next to her. “Get me a napkin.”

He leans across the space between our now-crowded table and the one behind us, grabs a pile of napkins, and hands them to her.

“Who invited the hoodlums?” Liz asks, blotting the liquid from her clothes.

“Hannah mentioned y’all were getting a beer this afternoon,” Josh says. “We went to five bars trying to find you. Next time, tell us where you’re going. It’d save us a lot of trouble.”

“Sorry, baby,” Hannah says, patting Dylan’s face. “I turned off my phone.”

I shake my head. We’d all turned off our phones so the boys would leave us alone. “Did you ever think we didn’t want to be found?” Tyler winces, and I regret my words.

Josh says, “Tyler tried to get us to go the strip club, but there’s no chance of getting laid there. Those girls are all stuck up.”

I roll my eyes at Tyler. I’ve been out of his sight for a week, and he’s already pining for naked women.

“A strip club?” Hannah says, her voice higher than usual. I don’t have to look to know she’s glaring at Dylan.

“I refused to go,” Dylan says so fast the words tumble out of his mouth, nearly melding together.

“Pussy whipped,” Josh grumbles.

Tyler shakes his head and closes his eyes. I don’t know if he’s annoyed on Dylan’s account or his own.

“I bet Tyler could get laid at a strip club.” I try to keep my voice casual, but I think a little venom seeps through.

“Oh, he totally has,” Josh says conversationally. “Damn, she was hot. Biggest tits I’ve ever seen.”

Tyler’s stands abruptly. His chair makes a scraping sound on the concrete. “I think we need more beer,” he says through a clenched jaw.

Josh points at a full pitcher on the table. “We’ve got beer right here.”

“Well, we need more,” he snaps then strides away.

Josh looks perplexed. “What crawled up his ass and died? He’s been a fucker all week.”

A few minutes later, Tyler comes back with a full pitcher of beer. He slides it carefully on the table. I expect him to sit back down and pour himself a cup or twelve. Based on the scowl, probably twelve. Instead, he saunters toward me, his eyes full of a fire that makes my insides shudder in a good way.

His burning stare reminds me of all our passion-filled nights, drowning in heavy moans, orgasms, and sweat. I clap my hands over my cheeks, feeling them heat up. Now is not the time to reminiscence about hot, dirty, oh-so-good sex with Tyler.

I’m in the middle of flinging the unwelcome thoughts from my brain when Tyler’s thick forearms slide to either side of me. He leans over me, bracing his hands against the table and pinning me in place. “We’re leaving.” His voice holds no room for argument.

I argue anyway. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I spoke in a whisper, hoping Josh and Dylan don’t notice the exchange. Josh is telling Hannah about how he schooled Dylan during a game of flag football yesterday. He’s oblivious as ever, but Dylan, Hannah, and Liz are staring at us, eyes curious.

Tyler’s forearms tense, the spidering blue veins beneath his tanned skin swelling slightly. His hot breath shudders against me. “You either come with me, or I carry you out of here. I’m not above making a scene.”

Now even Josh is staring at us.

“Why?” I whisper, but it comes out as a hiss.

“I’m counting to three, and then your ass is going to be over my shoulder. One. Two. Thr—”

“Fine.” I know I’m letting him cow me, but I have no idea how to force him to back down. “Get my damn crutch.”

“That a girl,” he says, grabbing my crutch from where it’s propped against a wooden column. He sounds relieved, but his expression is stoic.

Using the table for leverage, I stand. “I’m not feeling well. I think mixing Percocet with beer’s given me a stomachache.”

“I can take you home,” Hannah says, looking from me to Tyler, her brow creased.

Liz smiles. “She’ll be fine. Tyler’ll tuck her into bed all cozy-like. Won’t you?”

“Anything for Cassie.” Tyler helps slip the crutch under my arm. “You’ll take the douchebags home, right?”

“No problem,” Liz says.

Dylan and Josh have mirrored expressions: wide eyes, mouths slightly ajar. I guess I should be happy Tyler and I have made it this long without speculation. I mean, he
happened
to come to the lake, find me in a secluded meadow, and save me from a snakebite. How
that
coincidence didn’t clue them in to our relationship is beyond me, but I guess boys don’t think about that kind of stuff until confronted with evidence, like now.

Tyler holds the patio gate open, and I hobble through, catching a glimpse of his truck parked beside an SUV. I limp toward it.

“Where are we going?” I ask, stopping beside the passenger door.

“My place. Josh and Dylan won’t be home for at least an hour, probably longer, and I have something I want to show you.” He grabs my crutch when I brace against the truck door. Before I even realize what he’s doing, he throws it into the bed of the truck where it lands with a loud thud.

“Hey! I need that!” I can’t walk without it, and that leaves me at his mercy.

His eyes shine mischievously as he opens my car door. “You’re not getting it back anytime soon.” He wraps one arm around my waist and dips down to wrap the other behind my knees. He lifts me up and plops me into the seat. “Jesus, Cassie. You weigh as much as a nine-year-old.”

“I’m working on that,” I grumble. Yesterday, I ate a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream to drown out my misery. Didn’t work. Afterward, I felt bloated and disgusted with myself.

Tyler shuts the door and walks around the front of the truck. I can’t help but watch him move, absorb the way his T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and swells over his defined pecs. His hair’s shaggier than ever, nearly hanging in his eyes, and a dark layer of stubble obscures the sharp lines of his jaw. God, he’s beautiful. I haven’t seen him in almost six days. Six depressing days. I know I’m acting pouty and annoying, but my heart’s fluttering, showing the first signs of life since I found out he’d hooked up with another girl.

He hurries into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. I cross my arms and tilt my legs away from him, putting as much distance between us as possible. I’m scared if I get close, I’ll lean into him, and his warmth and smell will make me forget all the pain he’s caused.

We drive in silence while I stare out the window, but halfway home, he says, “I didn’t want to go to a strip club.”