Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (18 page)

“Did you kiss him?”

“What?”

“Walt? Did you kiss him?”

“No, Greer,” I snap, my annoyance seeping through. “Go to sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Because I had no desire to.”

“I tried to fuck that girl in the picture I sent you,” he confesses, pain lacing his words.

I take in a swift breath. That’s not Greer. He doesn’t talk like that. He doesn’t think like that. And in that second, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’ve thoroughly damaged him even though keeping him at bay was supposed to protect him. I’ve made him paranoid and needy and insecure. These little moments had been coming with more frequency of late, and I could no longer deny the facts.

“I take it you weren’t successful,” I mutter.

He shakes his head. “I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. I need to be rid of you. Couldn’t do it.”

Despite my numb state, that hurts. The pain flips on me, though, and twists into what looks like hope. He’s breaking things off with me. Finally, he’ll end this. He’s stronger than me. He’ll do it, and then he’ll be free. And I’ll be … I don’t know exactly. I guess I’ll be free too. Free of guilt, free to float off into the ether, free to figure out what the hell I am.

“I’m sorry, Greer,” I whisper. He just grunts. And we both slip into sleep.

I smell leather, oats, and horse. Why? Ah … I’m in the tack room with Greer after his drunken night. Him ending things with me punches me in the gut. I shift a little under the pain. Better me than him, I remind myself.

I sense him staring at me. I let out a shaky breath. This is going to hurt. I hate to lose my best friend, but I’ve done it all by myself, so I was going to have to bite the bullet and deal. And he’s going to be so much better off without me. Ah … I chant—
Greer is better without you, Greer is better without you
. And repeat.

“I know you’re awake,” his whisper raspy.

My eyes fly open. I smelled it on him with the booze, but thought it was
on
him not
in
him. “Were you smoking last night?”

“What the hell do you care?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know I care about you.”

“I do?”

“Of course.”

“Just not enough to act like it.”

I close my eyes tight so that I don’t give in to the hurt I’ll see there. “I want you to leave here today and forget about me. Go to college and find someone amazing. Someone who deserves you. Someone who would never hurt you the way I do.”

“Let me guess. You’re off to find someone else too. I’m not enough for you somehow.”

I open my eyes so he can see the truth there. “It’s not about you, Greer. You’ve never been the problem. It’s about me.” My hand subconsciously moves to where my heart should be. “I don’t have it in me.”

“You did at one time. I remember. I saw it when we looked at each other. I felt it when we kissed. I heard it in our conversations. It was so strong that I could taste it. Hell, all my senses fired with it. You couldn’t have faked them all out, so I know it was real.” His voice had gotten louder with each word. He pauses to calm himself, but I have nothing, so he continues, quieter now. “But that’s not there anymore. And I want that back. Don’t you? How can we get that back?”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and throw my hands out in despair. He’s beating a dead horse, yet again. “I’d give anything for that to happen,” I say through gritted teeth. “But I’m not that girl anymore. I wish I were. But I’m just … not.” One hand stills while the other beats at the empty hole in my chest as if I can massage it back to life. “If I could do it for anyone, Greer, please know that you are the one person I’d do it for.”

A single tear slips down his cheek. “If you wanted it bad enough, you’d make it happen. Look at everything you’ve accomplished with little to no help from anyone. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

But I’m not strong. That’s just it. I’m too weak to allow myself to feel—that is what’s wrong with me. Fear claws at my throat, and I rush out, “Not when it comes to this! I’m not strong enough to let you hurt me!”

He drops his head, shaking it. “I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

A jaded laugh cuts across the room. “Did you catch your little qualifier? ‘Cause I sure did.”

“So where do we go from here?” he asks, jerking his hands through his hair.

“We go to school and recover from how I fucked up our once beautiful, once perfect relationship. When we see each other over the holidays, we’ll be reset, reborn.”

“And …”

“And that’s it,” I whisper, wearied. “Friends, Greer.”

“Back to just friends.”

We sit and stare at each other for a few minutes before he stands and puts his hands on his hips. Finally, he walks over to me and bends, placing his lips on the top of my head. “Tell your dad I said hello,” he murmurs against my head. I nod under his touch. “Don’t forget me while you’re away.” I shake my head fiercely. “I’m not saying goodbye. OK? So … I’ll see you soon.” And with that he strides out of my life.

Chapter Fourteen

Now

“
Y
OU JUST SIGHED
an entire cloud. Thinking about me again?” Austin whispers in my ear.

I throw my head back and groan as he slides into the seat next to me, cackling like a fat kid on a chocolate high.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I complain. I had three classes today—all of which Ransom’s cousin, Austin, is in. He spotted me every time too and sat right next to me. He spent half the class writing me dirty notes and the other half giving me naughty looks.

“Aw … come on. You love me. Admit it,” he says as he spins my desk toward his. “I’m gonna venture to say that this is fate at its finest.”

“Oh, yeah. How’s that?” I can’t help but ask. He is kind of funny and endearing in a most annoying way.

“Denver.” He points at me. “Austin.” He thumps himself and raises his brow.

“You, Austin. Me, Denver. You swing from vine lately?” I quip, in a weird cavegirl voice.

He bursts out laughing. “Ah, good one,” he cries. “No, seriously.” His smile drops just as quick. “We’re both named after two legendary U.S. cities. Obviously, we’re meant to be together and have children named Dodge, Las Vegas, and Amarillo.”

“Las Vegas?” I say with horror.

“So you’re good with Dodge and Amarillo then? I can compromise on the other,” he deadpans with a shrug and a mischievous grin.

“Denver!” Maggie squeals from the door before rushing toward us. “Hey, Austin!”

“What’s up? Hey, how’d I end up in so many classes with you two freshmen anyway?”

“They’re called Advanced Placement classes.” He gives me a blank look. “We took college level classes in high school so we could get a head start?”

Recognition dawns in his eyes before they brighten with mischief. “Aw, shit. I just aced three of my classes. Fucking sweet!”

“You’re not cheating off us,” Maggie and I cry together.

“C’mon,” he cajoles. “Doesn’t matter, since this is my last year anyway.”

“Why? Aren’t you a sophomore?” Maggie asks.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah, but I’m not college material. The only reason I’m here is ‘cause Ransom didn’t want me on the pro circuit without him. He graduates in May. I’m sticking a fork in my college experience. And we’re hitting the road.”

“Why didn’t Ransom want you going pro without him?”

He gives me that already-infamous Austin grin. “Thinks I’ll get in trouble out there. Can you believe that shit?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” we answer in unison.

“Anyway, I don’t want to cheat off of you.” He takes on a faraway, dreamy look. “I’m seeing lots of study sessions where y’all only wear those cute little boy shorts that no real boy’d ever wear, and those tops that look like bras. Oh,” he moans, “and pillow fights and back rubs that turn into—”

“Speaking of sports bras,” Maggie cuts in, taking the focus of Austin’s wet daydream. “We’re working out after class.”

“Uh … I don’t work out.”

She gasps. “How do you keep that fabulous body?”

“Mmm, that’s a cornbread-fed girl right there, Maggie,” he declares as he slaps the side of my thigh. I kick him in the shin. He better be glad I wasn’t wearing boots. “Ow!” His voice drops down an octave and his eyebrows shoot up. “I just meant don’t change one … healthy … inch.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he smirks.

I turn back to Maggie. “I don’t know. I don’t work out though.”

“You worked your ranch, didn’t you?” I nod. “You’re not doing near as much here. You don’t want to get flabby.” She peeks around me to eyeball Austin. “Even if you do have wonderful curves.”

I
’VE NEVER BEEN
so miserable in my life. I’d rather load a hundred bales of hay, drive cattle for two weeks straight, and deliver fifty colts single-handedly, than run on another damn treadmill for an hour. At least when I did my farm work, I had shit to show for it. I just ran in place for an hour. She
made
me run on it for an hour.
An hour!
I scream in my head as I push the door open to the locker rooms. Then she wanted me to get a bicycle that went nofreakingwhere for—an hour! Umm … no, thank you. I stumble into the locker room, wiping a towel across my sweaty face.

Dropping the towel to my neck, I glance around and see guys. Lots of hot guys in various stages of undress, standing around, and in what is clearly a boxing ring. Oh, sweet goodness. I gawk for a couple more seconds before slowly beginning to back out of the room.

“Denver?” a familiar voice says.

Shit, shit, shit. I glance over to my right and see a half-dressed, sweat-drenched Ransom standing by a big bag suspended from the ceiling.

“Hi, Ransom,” I say with confidence, like I belong here.

“You box?”

“Oh, sure,” I reply, stepping toward him.

“Really?” He cocks a brow at me.

“No, not really. Is it a good workout? ‘Cause I never wanna see another treadmill in my life. Why would people torture themselves like that? You just run in place, staring at the same thing. For. Ever.”

He laughs at me. “You should just run outside then. Campus has pretty running trails.”

“I think I will,” I groan, blowing out a resigned breath. “I can’t take that again.”

He bumps his gloves together and suggests, “You can take up boxing too. It’s never boring.”

I consider this for a minute. It does sound like fun. “I don’t know how. Do they have a class?”

“I think so,” he says, as he looks back at his bag and scratches his head with his gloved hand. “I could show you a few moves.”

“That’d be cool. But I don’t have any gloves or anything.”

He motions me over. Bending toward his bag, he retrieves a pair of lightweight gloves.

“These are wrap gloves. You can use them for now. I can help you pick out some real gloves if you want to continue.”

He pulls off the ones he’s wearing and shoves them under his arms while he helps me with the extra pair. His eyes shine bright with excitement.

“Have you ever hit a heavy bag before?”

“No, but I punched a cow once.”

He grins. “Only once?”

“Yeah, she was standing on my foot.” I shrug. “Self-defense.”

He laughs lightly. “All right,” he says as he pulls his gloves back on and repositions himself in front of his bag. “You want to stay light on your feet. Basically, that means your balance and your focus is on your core. That’s the first thing you focus on ‘cause that’s most important. Every punch you throw comes from here,” he grunts as he hits his abs with his gloved hand a couple of times. Now my focus is on
his
core. Good Lord. He’s freaking ripped. Why didn’t I notice those first? Ah! The eyes. The eyes get me every time.

He throws several punches, talking me through each one.

“Your turn,” he says. His voice has dropped an octave, making him sound all hoarse and sexy.

Moving behind the bag, he holds it for me while I imitate his stance and his punches. “Good,” he calls out. He names the punches and gives them numbers. Then he calls out a series of numbers. I rapidly punch them out as quickly as he calls them. “You’re a natural little fighter,” he says with admiration. I can’t help but flash a cheesy smile.

Stepping away from the bag, he circles behind me and runs a gloved hand over my stomach, reminding me to balance and keep my core tight. My breath hitches in my throat when his hand comes to rest lightly on my stomach. He calls out another series of numbers. If I didn’t want to impress him so badly, my arms would flop like limp, cooked noodles. It’s everything I can do to focus on my actions and not on that tortuous, gloved hand.

“You’re a quick learner,” he praises.

“Maybe you’re a good teacher,” I choke out.

“I doubt it,” he says with a laugh as he drops his hand and steps away. “It took Austin months to learn the numbers. By the way, he won’t shut up about having so many classes with you.”

I chuckle at that. “We just got done for today.”

“Oh, he’s been texting me all day … trying to make me jealous, I think.” He winks at me.