Page 21 of Crave Me

My mouth fires off another round of curses at the texts that follow.

Remember, no one loves a whore.

I take a screen shot of the text, including the number, but not before I text back, Go back to hell and stay there, Bryant. I want nothing to do with you.

I block the number and place the phone on my dresser, leaning forward and cursing yet again. Growing up where I did, I’ve seen a lot of bad shit. It’s toughened me up and taught me to throw down. But what happened with Bryant . . . God damn it. I should have known better, and I didn’t. I stayed with that prick until he used every last bit of me.

Shit. Every last bit.

My neighbor’s dog’s deep bark makes me jump. I run to the window in time to see him running to the end of his property line, but not much else. I walk away from the window after another few seconds and pull open the jewelry drawer in my dresser. It’s not until I pull out the dangly earrings Sofia suggested and glance in the mirror that I get a good look at my face. I’m fair-skinned, not that it shocks anyone seeing how I’d bleed shamrocks if cut. But I’m not just fair right now.

Beneath the few freckles scattered along my nose and cheeks I’m deathly pale. I don’t want to think about how bad I look, or about the odd chill poking at my spine. And I especially don’t want to think about Bryant.

I never thought anyone could ever make me feel so dirty. But Bryant isn’t just anyone. He’s a sociopathic asshole who couldn’t stand me leaving him.

I straighten, lifting my chin and setting each earring in place. After a few breaths, and a few more after that, I return to my bathroom and finish getting ready.

Evan will be here soon. I pause as I lift my minute makeup bag from my drawer. “Evan,” I say aloud. Even his name lifts the corners of my mouth. He’s, I don’t know, real.

Yeah, that’s a good word for him. A big shot CEO who’ll munch on a cheesesteak like it’s the greatest sandwich in the world (cause it is), put up with my trash-talking, and still ask me out to dinner. Twice.

I reach for my mascara and give my lashes a few swipes as I think back to that kiss I gave him. Maybe I shouldn’t have with Ashleigh there. Maybe I shouldn’t have at all. But, I couldn’t help myself. Just like I couldn’t say no to seeing him again.

Except that was pre-Bryant, again.

I toss the mascara back in my bag. This is yet another moment when it doesn’t pay to be Catholic, when it sucks to have an overly superstitious mother, and grandmother, and neighbors when you’re growing up. “It’s a sign that you shouldn’t get involved with this man,” they all would have said, before crossing themselves twenty times in a row.

I shake off the thought. “Settle down,” I tell myself. “It’s just one date, and Evan is different.”

I make a face. “That’s what I said about Bryant. And we all know how that went to hell.”

I shake off that horrible unease and dig at the bottom of my drawer for a lipstick. As much as I hate shopping, I hate makeup more. I follow up the mascara with a hot pink lipstick (another must-have Sofe insisted I needed), and nothing more.

My eyebrows knit as I step back from the mirror and take a good look at myself. I’ve never been a fan of pink, and this shade shouldn’t work with my skin tone, but somehow it does.

The sound of the doorbell ringing has me hurrying, but my steps slow when I make it halfway down the stairs and don’t see anyone near the door. “Shit,” I mutter, walking carefully. I have my phone out, ready to hit 9-1-1 when Evan’s tall frame steps in front of the glass.

I open the door, smiling when I see him with two dozen lavender and silver roses in his hands. “Hi,” he says, his eyes widening when he sees what I’m wearing.

“Hey.” I stop smiling when I see who’s behind him.

“Damn it, Wren. You’re supposed to marry me,” the little neighborhood kid says.

Okay. Maybe “little” isn’t the best word to describe Sauron. At eleven, he weighs almost as much as me, and his mouth is almost as big. Almost. “Sauron, what are you doing here?”

He crosses his arms. “Keeping you safe from the likes of him.” He motions to Evan who is doing everything he can not to laugh outright. My stare bounces to him before turning back to Sauron.

“Sauron, you’re eleven. I’m twenty-eight. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you and me, are never going to happen. By the time you’re even old enough to drive I’ll already be two point five kids in, driving a mini-van packed with diapers, binkies, and one of those bouncy chairs your little sister can’t get enough of.”

“Love knows no age limits, baby,” he counters.

I hold out a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Go home, be nice to your sister, and vacuum the house for Gloria.”

He sighs, defeated. “Will you help me with my science project if I do? I have to build a volcano or some shit.”

“No, but I’ll kick your ass if you don’t stop swearing,” I tell him.

“Wren,” he whines.

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