Page 17 of Semi-Rejected Life

No. This last stop in Shifter Grove would have to be enough. I’d rather spend it having good sex with a guy that didn’t think much of me than trying to stop myself from caring for someone again. In this way, Vincent would do all that work for me. Besides, I’d heard hate-fucking was fun. Maybe this would be a chance to explore that with a total stranger. Best of both worlds, right?

Me: I’m down. Send me the address and I’ll meet you there.

???

I still had some nervous energy pooling in the pit of my stomach when eleven finally rolled around. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon trying to work off that nervous energy. I went swimming at the beach since the waves were too small to surf. After that I went out to dinner, drove up and down the shoreline, and even stopped at a little grocery store for a bottle of cheap vodka and some cranberry juice. I figured if I was going to Vincent’s apartment with no other plans than to fuck him, I might as well bring a peace offering. He should get something out of the deal besides my dick.

Although, it was a pretty okay dick if I said so myself.

But when I stepped up to his front door, I reached up to knock and I had to stop. Was I going to go through with this? I mean, I’d fucked plenty of guys over the course of the summer. However, all those had gone pretty smoothly. But things with Vincent got off to a rocky start. There was a small voice in my head telling me that I was doing him a disservice. I just didn’t understand why. And they way he’d changed his tune so quickly… that was a bit odd.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about the entire situation felt off. And yet, even as that thought crossed my mind, my knuckles connected with the door. I felt this urge to see him, to try to at least explain myself. Even if nothing came of it, I needed him to know that I wasn’t a complete asshole.

There was a slight shuffling inside the apartment before the door swung open. I came face to face with those green eyes and that curly mess of dark hair. He was shirtless and wet, obviously freshly out of the shower. My gaze trailed down his naked body to the white towel wrapped around his waist.

“You showed up,” he said, not smiling in the least. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

I could stop staring at him. “I… uh… came with a peace offering,” I said at last, holding out the paper bag.

He turned his nose up at the bag. “Is it a dead cat or something?”

“It’s vodka.”

“Thanks.” He seemed confused as he stepped aside, ushering me into his abode. “I don’t usually get drunk to do this sort of thing. Do you?”

“I guess not…”

“Hmm.” He took the bag from me and placed it on the counter. “Do you want a drink then?”

“Sure.”

Silence.

I stood awkwardly in the middle of his living room as he made a pair of drinks for us. His apartment was extremely clean. Not in a weird way, but it just sort of looked like he wasn’t there very often. I figured he probably spent most of his time at the pizza shop, anyway. Every business owner I’d ever met seemed like they worked more than ordinary people with desk jobs.

However, what caught me most was the complete lack of personal items in his living space. There were no pictures on the walls and no collectibles on the shelves. In fact, the entire place looked like it was out of a catalog. The furniture was cream colored and pristine, the shelves were decorated with mundane sculptures, and even the scented candle he had looked untouched. A new person could move in tomorrow and there wouldn’t be anything there to suggest the place wasn’t theirs.

“You have a nice apartment,” I said at last, turning my attention back to him. “It looks like something out of a magazine.”

“It should,” he replied, sloshing vodka into the glasses. “That’s where I got it all from.”

“Do you like decorating?”

“No,” he said flatly. “That’s why I bought the set from a magazine. I let someone else worry about that stuff.”

“Right.” I felt like that didn’t go well. Maybe it was time for a new subject. “So how was work today? The shop doing well?”

“It’s the same as it is every day.” There was zero passion in his voice. In fact, he seemed almost exasperated with my questioning. “We make pizza, we sell pizza, and then we go home.”

“We?”

“I have a delivery driver. He’s another wolf.”

“Oh yeah. I met him.” I paused. “Are you and him… involved?”

Vincent shot me a dirty look. “No. He’s my employee. I’m not a dick.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think you were I just–”

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