Page 106 of Unspoken Rules

Because you’re a fool, Bryson. A no good fucking fool.

I glance at the door, planning my escape. If I leave, he’ll know something is up and come after me. I glance at his car keys in my hand and carefully place them on top of the stack of magazines.

If I get up slowly, I can sneak out without him knowing. I doubt it since it’s so quiet here, but it’s worth a try. I can’t stay here. When his phone rings, I breathe a sigh of relief and thank whoever the hell is looking out for me right now. I don’t hesitate. He starts talking, and I’m out of my seat and out the door. I hurry down the hall and take the stairs instead of the elevator. I move around the back of the building to take the road back there instead of the one in front. Speed-walking down the road has me tired way too fast, which I’m slightly embarrassed over. I slow to a casual walk and focus on breathing.

The trouble breathing could be due to a panic attack on the horizon. I’m due for one.

After I’ve been walking for about ten minutes, I laugh at myself.

Why did I think he would follow me? Why do I think he cares enough to come after me?

He’s not my boyfriend. I’m nothing to him but a pity case. He’s always felt bad for me, felt the need to take care of me, and this is no different. I thought it was, but it’s obvious now that it isn’t. It’s as clear as the sky today! Which is bright and blue and cloud-free.

Once I’m about a mile away, my phone rings. It’s Cole. I hit the button to silence it. He calls again, so I do the same. I shove it in my pocket and ignore the constant buzzing of text messages coming in.

I find myself sitting in a bar. I watch the TV which is showing highlights of whatever games were on yesterday while I drink beer. My phone is still buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out and drop it to the tabletop.

According to the paperwork, I should receive my first check next week. Meaning next week I’ll have enough money for a down payment for an apartment. I want to look for an apartment, but I know I’ll be distracted by the text messages that are still popping up. So I ignore my phone and keep drinking. Eventually they stop and I’m able to clear out the notifications, proud of how easy it is to not look at them and browse sites for apartments.

“Did you want a menu?” the bartender asks when she hands me my third beer.

“Uh, sure.”

She places one down in front of me and I take a break from my phone to look it over. I order chicken tenders and fries like a child. I get another drink too, then go back to browsing apartments while I wait for the food. There are a few I like, but not enough to put in an application for. I don’t want to take the first thing I see because I’m desperate. I’d hate to be stuck in a place I can’t stand. The last thing I want is to be uncomfortable in my own home. I’ve had enough of that over the years.

Chapter Forty-Three

Bryson

I request a rideshare around nine, knowing I need to get home and sleep. I have work tomorrow, after all. I’m not sure how I’ll get through the day knowing Cole is meeting with that woman again. I’d hoped drinking would help, but it’s only made me feel worse. My brain conjured up all sorts of messed up things that only made me feel sick to my stomach. Shitty things about why Cole is calling me. What he’s doing since I’m not answering me. What he’ll be doing tomorrow.

Alcohol does not fix problems, and I have no idea how Chris was using this as a way to cope with his father’s infidelity.

The door is unlocked when I get home, so I walk in and hang my key up on the hook. Before I get the door closed, I’m pressed up against the wall by a large, firm body that smells just like Cole.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Bryson,” he growls.

Sounds like Cole too.

“You say one thing. Do another,” he continues, nipping at my jaw. “And I don’t like it.”

Yeah, that’s definitely Cole.

I think I should respond, but I had a lot to drink, and even though words are going through my head, I can’t get them to come out of my mouth.

“Don’t like that you make me absolutely crazy. Especially when you get jealous.”

Jealous? He thinks I’m jealous? I’m not. I just don’t like to be played with.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck as his hands move to my slacks. He grabs my dick from outside, rubbing me and making me hard.

I hate that I physically respond to him. I’m putty in his hands and it’s pathetic.

“Your body is good to me, Bryson. But your mouth…” He tsks.

My head falls against the wall as pleasure courses through me. He rubs my dick so good, so perfectly. How am I supposed to ever stop this?

He steps back and spins me, pressing my front to the wall hard. He jerks my pants down, baring my ass to him. His chest is pressed to my back and his hand slides down between my cheeks. I groan when he reaches my hole. He slips over it, back and forth, but doesn’t press inside. I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my moan.

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