Page 33 of Those Heartbreak Scars

I lunge, my fist impacting his mouth hard enough to split his lip and leave his teeth printed on my knuckles. It’s no sucker punch. He saw it coming.

“Gray.” America gasps and grabs at my jacket.

I shake out my fist. It fucking hurts. I don’t get into altercations often enough to have built up any kind of tolerance.

“When your wife asks why you have a split lip, you can explain to her how you like to fuck coeds in exchange for good grades. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Come on, Gray.” Rica tugs on me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’ve got you.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and we leave him holding his face. “No matter how angry you are at me, or how awkward things are between us, I’ve got you. If that prick bothers you again, you tell me… I’ll come get you.”

She hugs me when I open the door of my rental car for her. “How does one thank a fake boyfriend?”

The way she’s staring up at me… It’s easy to imagine those eyes locked on me as I drop to my knees in front of her. Her fingers curling in my hair as I pull her panties to the side so I can kiss and lick and suck.

My mouth waters. I did not spend enough time with my mouth on her pussy that night in Positano. I want to spit on it. Use my fingers to rub it in. See how many digits she can take while I bite her clit. Stroke her G-spot and make her moan while I eat her up.

“Gray?” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and lets it pop free. Her voice is husky, so maybe she can tell where my mind has gone.

“I don’t need you to thank me, Rica.” I assist her into the car and adjust myself tactfully before climbing in on the other side. Dropping the bag on the backseat, I start the engine. “What really happened with that guy?”

She twists her hands together in her lap. “I already told you.”

He was acting like a creep. Ignoring any hint of a boundary. “Tell me again.”

“It’s my own fault really.” She stares me in the eye in that glassy way she does when she’s putting up her defenses. “I make bad choices sometimes. He was definitely one of them.”

I reach for her hand. “Rica. It wasn’t—”

“It’s so yesterday.” She smiles. “I can’t believe you punched him.”

As much as I’d like to push her, I know that won’t get me anywhere. She’ll just clam up and close down. Or she’ll tell me what she thinks I need to hear to let it go. As far as coping mechanisms go it’s not my favorite. I’d rather she get loud and angry. But she’s spent her entire life trying to fit in. That comes at a cost.

I take a breath and let my frustration go. There is no point in pushing her. “If it’s okay with you, I would like it if we could declare a truce. And maybe I can take you to lunch?”

“I need a shower first.” She tugs at her sports bra. “An hour in the silks and I am a sweaty, stinky mess.”

“Hardly.” But I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to find out where she lives. “What’s your address?”

Chapter Thirteen

America

The steam on the mirror also creates condensation on my palm. My skin is glowing and dewy from the quick shower. I glide my fingers over the lids of myShea Moistureproducts lined up on the counter.

Running into Alfie was enough to overwhelm me. Seeing Gray kept the tears at bay until I was alone in the shower.

I cry a lot. I hate that my body’s response to literally everything is to cry. On the one hand it feels like I’m letting go of the stress that piles up on me every day. On the other I always feel like people must think that I am so incredibly weak to need to cry so much.

I try not to let them see me as weak. But Alfie surprised me today. I wasn’t expecting him to show up outside my silks class, and it put real fear into me. I hate conflict more than I hate crying. It makes my stomach turn and my heart pound. I get these crackling pins and needles sensations all through my torso and into my fingertips.

I don’t know what I would have done if Gray hadn’t shown up and driven me home. I don’t want to think about it.

I unscrew the lid on my moisturizer and scoop out a small amount. I hum to myself as I smooth the cream onto my skin.

Gray is in my flat, making himself at home. I think he’s in the kitchen making coffee. Or checking out the book of Britain's greatest popstars we keep on the coffee table. Or snooping at thedoor of my bedroom to check out whether Everett has left any belongings here.

God, I hope he’s not searching for signs of Everett because it’ll probably end up with us in an argument. He knows where I live now, which means I won’t be able to avoid him if we do. And he really doesn’t like the idea of me and Everett.

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