Page 13 of Bad & Bossy

I swear I saw goddamn stars that night.

He’d stayed true to his words. He did ruin me, in too many ways to count. I’ve never been fucked like that since, never experienced the hours of desperation and gluttony we shared. I drank him in as if I was dying of thirst, savoring every fucking second of it. Release after release, too many to count. Soon after, my head was swimming with more than just the lingering effects of alcohol, something stronger, something different between us. It was as if neither of us wanted it to end.

I’d had plenty of one-night stands in my day. But none of them, absolutely none, had come anywhere close to that night with him.

But when I woke that morning in cold sheets and a quiet room, everything came slamming down at once. I wish I’d known then that when he promised to ruin me, it hadn’t ended with just the sex. I had been sore everywhere, especially between my legs, in that way that only felt satisfying the next day. But I was alone. And that wasn’t so satisfying.

I’d told myself he was just making breakfast, or coffee, or doing his morning routine, whatever that entailed. But each passing second had felt more and more worrying. I didn’t know if he was even still in the apartment. He could have slipped out in the night, perhaps not feeling a single thing I did during it all.

I'd checked my phone. Twenty percent battery. Eight in the morning.

I’d slipped from the sheets, shrugged on his button-up from the night before, and stepped out of the dull, lifeless bedroom. At night, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, it hadn’t seemed so empty. But in the daylight I noticed there was nothing on the walls, barely any furniture, and not a single touch of it looking like it was lived in properly.

The hallway was much the same. Wooden floors gave way to new but stained carpet. Cole was wealthy—I knew that much—so I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d live in a place like that.

I’d stepped through the opening at the end of the hall into a kitchen I hadn’t seen until then. He sat at the table, naked, save for a pair of boxers, a glass in his fist and a bottle of whiskey I didn’t recognize. Behind him, littered across the countertops, were old liquor bottles and varying cans of beer.

What… the… fuck.

“Cole?”

I’d tried to make sense of what I saw. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t gone to sleep last night — maybe what we’d done had kept him up, and he’d kept his own little party going into the early hours, losing track of time. I didn’t like the way it sat in my gut regardless— I knew the road this led down. Knew it far too well, grew up surrounded by it, and then, when I’d finally thought I could give myself time and get to know someone, someone I felt like I had a deeper connection with than I originally intended…

“Are you… still drinking? Did you not go to bed?” I’d asked, taking a step toward him hesitantly.

He abruptly stood up and moved towards me as if he were dancing, probably trying to hide his shakiness on his feet. “No, I went to sleep with you. It's fine.”

I couldn’t stop myself from retreating, from taking a step back from what was unfolding in front of me. He’d laughed. I was not amused. “It’s eight in the morning, Cole. Why the fuck are you drinking?”

He waved a solitary finger in front of my face. “It's just one.”

"You don’t sound like you’ve only had one,” I breathed. I clutched the bottom of the button-up nervously. I hadn’t imagined that the way I’d felt hours before would become Pompeii so quickly, but there I was.

He’d shrugged, and it only made me angrier. His face had crumpled in on itself for a split second before he’d looked back up at me.

“How many glasses, Cole?” I’d asked, desperately trying to sound calm as I reached for the bottle and took it in my hand. Some kind of silvery material made a raised emblem of an antlered deer across the front of it, and the label read The Dalmore, 2007 Vintage Highland Single Malt Scotch Whiskey, 46%. It was strong, and it looked fucking expensive.

Cole’s hand grasped my shirt and pulled me toward him. “Shh, don’t worry about it,” he’d grinned. He stared at me almost longingly, and if it wasn’t for what was playing out, that look would have done things to me that I wouldn’t be proud of.

I’d placed my hand on his cheek, pushed the short strands of dark blonde hair out of his face. But god, the knot in my stomach telling me to run, to disappear before he could become another presence in my life that only disappointed me, was strong.

“Fuck, you look so good in my shirt,” he’d rasped, his eyes raking over my frame the way they had last night. But it didn’t feel the same, didn’t feel like two people meshing together too well — this was not the Cole from last night.

"You could have made yourself a coffee, you know?" I didn't know what else to say.

He curled his hand around the back of my neck in a way that would have made me fall fucking lifeless in his arms the night before. "It's never too early to pick up where we left off last night. Come on, join me. Hair of the dog, they say."

He was grinning and it was kind of cute.

But the sirens in my head made me freeze. "I think we've had enough 'dog' for a while, don't you?" I’d pulled away from him and he shrugged and glanced over at the bottle on the kitchen table.

I turned from him and headed toward the bedroom, my feet going from sticky linoleum back to carpet. Strewn all around the room on the floor were my dress, my shoes, my underwear, along with my handbag, proof that the previous night hadn't been my imagination. I frantically got dressed and went back to the kitchen.

“I have to go,” I'd breathed, lifting my hands in surrender as I stepped back. “I have to get out of here.”

“Why?” Cole had asked, his brows coming together as he watched me stand there, disappointed and far more confused than he was. He’d taken the bottle from the table as he took a step toward me, and I moved two steps back.

“Don’t,” I’d said. “Just don’t, Cole.”

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