Page 32 of Taming Achilles

Why were we arguing about this? I didn’t know. But if Geordie had said the sky was blue, and grass was green, I would have disagreed.

I reached for a nearby whiskey glass from the minibar and threw it at Geordie. I missed that time and it landed against the wall above his head. The shards crashing with a melodic sound.

“Are you going to help stop this?” Geordie said, looking at Hugo before his eyes went back to me, his knees bending into a ready stance, waiting for the next projectile.

“No,” the Frenchman shrugged. “Her aim is pretty accurate. I feel perfectly safe where I am.”

I’ve never been a fan of Parisians, but Hugo was making me come around. I smiled at him, and he tipped his head towards me in acknowledgment.

“From where I sit, you’re the one acting like a-a…” Hugo turned his hand in the air as if trying to conjure the word. “A bawbag.”

Then he winced, as if it physically hurt him to say that Scottish word. I let a small laugh escape my lips, and immediately covered my mouth to repress it.

This was not funny. This was a devastating turn of events. Geordie was cheating on the pretty, American lawyer with me. He had turned me into a real whore. How dare he?

I stomped my foot to conjure my rage.

“Ugh!” Geordie rolled his eyes. “Some teammate you are.”

“I’m on her side for this one,” Hugo said.

“Thank you.” I was truly grateful when I said it.

Callum and Geordie had always been a wall. A friendship where they had each other’s backs, and I was just an outsider. To have someone pick my side? It was so unheard of that it almost brought tears to my eyes.

My hands came up to my heart, and I took in a breath. But that moment of weakness cost me.

Geordie lunged towards me, covering the distance between us, wrapped his arms around my waist, hoisting me over his shoulder and carrying me, caveman-style, into his room.

“Bon chance, mon ami!” Hugo called. Good luck my friend! I didn’t know if he meant me or Geordie. “I guess I’ll just be out here. Cleaning this up.”

I yelled a quick “sorry!” As Geordie slammed the door shut.

He flung me onto the floor, and I dropped onto the Afghan rug.

“Calm down,” Geordie said in a tone that made me do anything but calm down. When has telling a woman to calm down ever worked out for any man, in the history of ever?

“You’re all over her socials,” I said, pointing to my phone on the bed. Then I said in a mocking, bratty American tone, “the perfect date, the perfect gentleman, the perfect escort …”

I put my finger into my mouth like I was making myself puke.

“Not every woman cares to make me their dirty little secret,” his eyes darkened as he looked at me. “Why would it matter if a woman wanted to show me off. It turns out some women actually find me appealing.”

I had never shown him off. The only pictures of us were group shots with our classmates. Except for one. One single image that was saved in a folder on my phone behind a passcode. A picture of us, alone, in Venice, on a gondola passing under the Rialto Bridge. Just that one. He had his arm around me and I lay my head on his shoulder, smiling as he snapped the photo from the end of his long arm.

I could paint that picture from memory.

Fury still built inside me and needed an outlet. I needed to let the fire out before it consumed me. I wanted to burn him, to char his flesh, his soul the way he had mine.

“You have a girlfriend!” I accused, “You were doing…” I choked on the words. “And what am I? Your mistress? Your side piece?”

“My whore.” His words snapped me back.

I flew to my feet. I swung my clenched fist toward his face. He blocked it. I used my other hand to jab at his chin. He grunted at the impact, dazed and looking at me confused.

“That’s enough!” He bellowed, but I struck again, this time landing on his throat.“If you keep going, I will retaliate!” He warned, “and you won’t like it!”

“Is that a fucking challenge?” I spat out. My next punch used the strength of my entire body, from the pivot of my foot, the twist of my hip, then the unbreakable momentum of my arm. My right fist flew through the air, landing right in his sternum.

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