Forever Claiming You : A BWWM Romance (Grudging Hearts Book 3) Page 3
Ollie and Griffin exchange glances.
The ladies are too caught up in their excitement to see it, but I do.
Before I can pull one of them aside to ask what that look is about, a voice trembles from the front. “Hello? Guys?”
Everyone stiffens.
The girls’ eyes go wide.
Chandra’s gaze slams into me. She mouths, “Move.”
A light flips off.
A balloon gets shoved into my hand.
Footsteps patter.
Soft.
Then louder.
I hear the others scrambling around.
And, suddenly, the light flashes on.
Everyone screams, “Surprise!”
A party horn fills the air with its annoying squawk.
Confetti rains.
Falls.
And then… awkward silence.
Because Zania is there.
But there’s no ring on her finger and no fiancé at her side.
4 Zania
“Surprise!”
A tub of confetti barrels into my face. Colorful pieces cling to the tearstains on my cheeks.
I blink.
Wipe away the celebration that exploded on my body.
As the confetti floats in the air and settles around my too-small heels, a heavy silence shrouds the room.
I stare at the ground. Struggle to gather the tattered threads of my composure. Struggle to pretend that I’m okay.
I don’t have to scan the room to know that Chandra and Cobie are behind this. They probably invited Ollie and Griffin too.
I smell the fragrance of a cake.
They went to so much trouble…
The least I can do is smile.
My throat tightens instead. There it is. That pressing, aching lump that refuses to go away. That grows when I breathe, when I exhale.
The refrigerator cycle kicks on.
The buzz sounds like an army of planes screaming overhead. Like a tortured soul who just lost her dream.
No one speaks.
No one moves.
I feel them all scanning me up and down, making conclusions in their mind. Splintering grins. Souring, shriveling emotions.
Pity.
It’s a living thing, barreling into my shoulders, riding the slow, heavy breath of my friends.
The silence is stretching too long.
That means they’re waiting for me to say something. To formally announce why I’m here without a ring and without Damion.
Shame steals my courage. The words refuse to come, stopping at the block in my throat.
But these are my people, my crew.
As long as I don’t look anyone directly in the face, I’ll be fine.
Deep breath. Slow exhale.
“Guys, Damion and I—” I look up at that moment. Spy the banner reading ‘Congratulations to the Happy Couple!’ Study the picture of me with my lips pressed to Damion’s cheek.
I remember that day. We’d attended a musical production and after, Damion formally asked me to be his girlfriend. I’d been so happy, imagining our future together.
A future I’ll never have.
Emotions stir in the pit of my stomach. Waves of pain. They roil. Toss. Turn. Like a turbulent storm that leaves no survivors.
My poise cracks.
I fold my hands together. Bow my head. Stare at the pretty confetti scattered on the floor, waiting to be swept up and thrown into the trash. “I’m… uh... I’m sorry.”
My legs move.
Turn.
Out.
Escape.
Before I can, Chandra and Cobie storm me. They pull me into the office. Slam the door. Wrap me in their arms. Whisper it’s alright, Zania over and over again.
I cry because it hurts.
I cry because I’m angry.
How can they say that?
Everything I’ve wanted—marriage, kids, a family—it was so close, just within reach, if I’d stretched a little more I could have made it.
Now it’s gone.
Damion’s gone.
It’s all gone.
I hung all my hopes on one man. I made that stupid choice again.
And again, all I have to show for it is empty promises and a broken heart.
I talk Chandra and Cobie into leaving me alone. It takes some convincing. A lot of convincing. Way too much.
Finally, they leave.
I wait until everything goes completely quiet before I venture to the kitchen in search of a drink.
That’s not a habit of mine.
Drinking, I mean.
Not since the night I made the biggest mistake of my life.
Every decision since then, I’ve made completely sober. Tonight’s different. I think I deserve a break.
My feet pad silently against the cold tiles.
I move toward the wine cooler, guided by the light spilling out of the office.
Someone took down the banner.
I’m grateful. At least I don’t have to stare at that blown-up picture of Damion while I drown my sorrows.
I move the cooler door aside. Pull out a bottle.
It feels too light.
I pop the top and peer inside. There’s less than a cup of alcohol left.
Shoot.
I finished the drinks on the champagne cake I made last week.
Yet another hope dashed.
I straighten. Turn around.
Almost jump out of my skin.
There’s a man standing at the door of the kitchen, fingers wrapped around a bottle of liquor. Not champagne. Whiskey from the shape of it.
I blink.
Graze my eyes over his familiar figure.
My mind wants to reject who he is. Desperately wants to pretend that it’s someone else.
But that’s his lean shoulders.
His messy, dirty blond hair.
His long legs.
His bright blue eyes.
Teale.
My mouth falls open.
A stunned breath tumbles out of it.
He’s the last person I’d expected to see.
The last person I want to see.
My heart flutters, idiot that it is.
Two years, and Teale Landry still makes me tingle.
Still sends my pulse into overdrive.
Logic breaks through my daze—he took your virginity and didn’t so much as call.
I force the breathless sensation away.
He’s a jerk.
The bashing helps.
Brings things into perspective.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is harsh. A warning.
Instead of shirking back, Teale moves toward me.
Strong, steady steps.
Burning blue eyes.
“Nice to see you again, Zania.”
The way he says my name…
Crap.
Fury and desire rage in my veins.
Echoes of that night rattle in my brain.
I can still hear him seducing me. Would you like me to show you, Zania?
I can still hear him moaning over me. Damn, Zania. You’re so tight.
“Is it?”
Teale cocks his head to the side. “Is it what?”
“Nice to see me.”
He stops a couple feet away. If I reach out, I could kiss him. Or slap him. Or stomp him down with the back of my black, bare feet.
“It’s been what? Two years?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug delicately. “I don’t remember.”
His eyes focus on me. Glint in the light. Liar.
I force myself to act cool, but my fingers tighten around the bottle’s neck. “If you’re looking for Chandra—”
“I’m not.” He nods to my champagne. “You’re not gonna hit me with that, are you?”
“I’m running out of reasons why I shouldn’t.”
He smiles.
The sight sets me on fire.
Conflicting emotions burn my chest.
His eyes twinkle. “I don’t remember you being this feisty.”
“A lot has changed.”
“Not that much.” His gaze darkens. Brushes over my dress. A slow, lazy perusal. The same one he gave me two years ago, before…
I won’t give in.
Teale has no idea how deeply he wounded me.
It won’t work again.
“If you came here expecting—”
“I don’t expect anything.” He lifts the liquor bottle in his hands. “I brought this for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed it.”
I spin. Shove the empty champagne back in the cooler. “I don’t need anything from you.”
He steps closer.
When I turn, he’s right there. Two feet away.
My eyes devour him. His thick hair. His strong arms. His chest.
Those dark blues are the same.
So is that devil-may-care smile.
The one that got me into so much trouble.
He shrugs. “Then consider it my welcome-back gift.”
“You’re back now?”
“For the time being.”
My toes curl on the cold tiles. Thoughts are pumping through my brain, skating by too fast for me to grasp one and hold on.
Teale’s here.
I hate him.
I’m still attracted to him.
I’m angry with him.
I’m curious about him.
The clashing emotions make it hard for me to decide on a course of action. I haven’t allowed myself to think about him, but there’s been a simmering resentment deep in my subconscious that’s bleeding over now.
When I don’t respond, Teale hugs the bottle to his chest. “Or would you rather I take this and go?”
“I’ll take that.” I reach out. Grab the bottle from him. My fingers brush the light cotton of his T-shirt. Rasp against the firmness of the pecs beneath it.
Heat sizzles my skin.
An explosion of memories sear my skull.
Kissing him.
Touching him.
Everywhere.
A hiss rattles past my teeth.
Self-loathing crashes through my chest.
I can’t believe I’m still into this guy after what he pulled. I can’t believe I’m that stupid.
Idiot.
I pull back quickly and hide my reaction with a glare. “You can go.”
“Suit yourself.” Teale moves back a step. The light from the office casts over his broad shoulders. Softens his sculpted, angular face. He’s glowing. Like an angel.
But I’m not fooled.
Teale’s no angel.
Not unless we’re talking of the darker, fallen variety.
Either way, I’ve learned my lesson.
I won’t be tempted by him again.
Teale heads to the door. I try not to watch him but, when I hear him stop, I glance up. Find him looking at me.
My voice falters. “What?”
“That Damion guy… he’s an idiot.”
My heart skips a beat.
My anger flares.
This kind of fury-mixed-with-desire can’t be healthy.
Teale turns. Takes another step.
I plant my free hand on my hip. Ease forward. “If he’s an idiot, what does that make you?”
The words ring in the air.
Ricochet against the walls.
I wish I’d kept that thought to myself. They sound too whiny. Too insecure. Makes it seem like I care about him.
Which I don’t.
At all.
“That makes me a jerk,” he says. Effortless. Apathetic. “But you knew that already.”
Anger burns my veins.
I wave the liquor bottle like a bat.
As if he senses my intentions, Teale chuckles. “That’s expensive.”
I sneer.
He flashes me another one of his famous, trademarked Teale-grins and disappears through the door before I can get to him.
5 Teale
Zania was about to hit me with that whiskey bottle.
Feisty thing.
I chuckle.
When did she get so gutsy?
The smile lingers on my face as I drive home, strip out of my clothes and climb into bed. The mattress accepts me with a warm embrace.
It feels good to be back in my own bed. I’ve come to consider this city home, not because it’s better than the exciting places I’ve travelled, but because Ollie’s here.
And, even if he is a pain in the butt, I like being around him.
Yeah, surprise, surprise.
Ollie would be shocked to hear it too.
Truth is, I love my brother.
I know I can be an inconsiderate bastard, but when I care about someone, I go the distance. That’s always been my personality. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy.
Problem is… I find it easier to give nothing than all.
Especially when it comes to women.
Casual sex? That’s easy for me.
I show up and a girl is willing.
Not my fault that I don’t have to try very hard.
It’s been that way since I hit puberty. Cards in my locker. Candy in my desk. Notes passed down during class. Do you like me? Yes or no.
Now, the chase is more sophisticated than it was in middle school. We’ve got people sliding into DMs, liquor, and STDs to worry about.
But there’s a lot of things I can do now that I couldn’t back when I was a selfish, horny teenager.
Especially when it comes to pleasing a woman.
In that regard, I’m a generous man.
Which is why I’ve got repeat-lays waiting for me to dial them up.
It’s a good life.
A good deal.
I take them home.
Make them groan.
Make them scream my name.
Then I pay for the cab and move on with my life.
No strings, no mess, no drama.
No one gets hurt.
My record was perfect… until Zania.
I hurt her.
I can tell.
The way those almond eyes tore into me tonight—there was something in her gaze. Something dark and compelling in its intensity.
A mix of I want you and I can’t stand you.
It stirred me up. Heated me from the inside. Like a brand. Like two red-hot hands searing me in the chest.
Seeing her tonight, in that tiny yellow wrap... she stole my breath.
I close my eyes. Picture her now. The dress glinting against her dark skin. Cutting close to her cleavage. Hugging that tiny waist. Those curvy hips. The booty that women pay big bucks for.
That men dream about.
That my hands had the privilege of holding.
My pulse quickens.
Damn. I’m about to need a cold shower just thinking about it.
I drag my thoughts out of the gutter. Zania’s not an option. She’s under Ollie’s protection. She should be under me… I mean… under mine.
My protection.
Not in my bed.
She’s a part of the group.
A friend.
A… good person.
Not my usual style.
I throw up a mental block.
Zania’s not a woman to me.
Even if I can still taste her on my lips.
Still hear her pleasured gasps.
Feel her dark legs trembling around my waist.
Damn.
I roll out of bed. Head to the bathroom. Turn on the shower.
When I’m done, I throw on a robe and head to my closet. It’s my first night back and I’m hot as hell. Might as well get some relief to celebrate making it home in one piece.
I choose a simple blue T-shirt, a navy blazer and a pair of jeans and grab the keys to the Jag.
Three steps.
I’m through the door.
The nig
ht is young.
It’s time to get that dark-skinned little vixen out of my head.
The bartender shoots me a knowing grin. A I see you’re not here on chauffer duty grin.
I slant him a nod and a half-smile.
He slides a Jack and Coke over. “On the house.”
I lift the glass in salute and knock the drink back.
That one’s for Ollie.
But I’m not here to think about my brother or his sob story of a past.
I tap my fingers on the counter top as another bartender refills my glass and accepts my credit card.
When he tries to give it back, I lift my hand. “Run a tab.”
He nods.
I’ve opened the flow of drinks. Now all I need is a flirting partner.
My eyes scan the room. Wooden floor. Black furniture. Black walls. Dim lighting.
The dance floor and the rest of the bar are filled with couples. People struggle to hold conversations over the music pounding from the speakers.
I start to second-guess my decision.
Not a lot of singles are out tonight.
Maybe I should move this search elsewhere.
I press my hand into the counter. Ease up from the barstool.
That’s when I see her.
A pretty woman on the other side of the bar. She’s on her phone. A frown on her face. Her fingers slam against the screen like she wants to break through the glass and throttle the person receiving the message.
Was she stood up?
She drops the phone to the counter. It clatters loudly.
Loud enough for the couples nearby to wince.
The woman’s empty hands are soon filled with a drink. She knocks it back like a shot. Sighs so hard her black bangs feather up before falling back on her pale forehead.
She looks up.
Sees me watching.
Her pink lips curl up in invitation.
So it begins.
I wait for the excitement to coil in my stomach. This is the part when my engines rev and my instincts kick in.
It doesn’t.
I suck in a deep breath. Try to force my head into the game.
She’s perfect—black hair, nice rack, long, slender limbs. That’s all I need.
But it’s not happening.
I push off the counter and head over anyway.
Red-painted nails brush through her hair. She glances up at me, blue eyes staring intently. Picking me apart. Trying to figure me out.
I grab the stool beside her and sit. “Looks like you need a refill and a shoulder to cry on.”
“A shoulder?”