Page 30 of Proof

It had to be a terrible dream because there was no way it was happening all over again.

Me.

In a bed.

A bed that wasn’t mine.

And a killer headache.

Only this time it was a different kind of headache. One I’d brought upon myself. Thankfully, there was no Cass in this version of the dream. I opened my eyes to clear the dream from my mind only to find that my eyes were already open. I was staring at the ceiling, but it wasn’t a normal ceiling. It had several heavy-duty wood beams running from one end of the room to the other. Above the beams were what looked like polished logs lying side by side.

“Shit,” I said as I abruptly sat up. My head spun and my stomach churned as bile crept up the back of my throat. I managed to swallow it back down and remained very still until the nausea eased a bit. I used the time to slowly look around the room.

The room was rustic but not the charming kind of rustic that people paid good money for so they could pretend to be getting off the grid for a while but not really.

Here, rustic meantrustic.

There were few furnishings besides the bed I was sitting on. A simple table next to the bed, a small dresser that looked like it had stepped out of the seventies, and a couple of mismatched chairs in front of a small iron stove with a stack of wood next to it. No TV, no radio, no curtains. There were two doorways in the room but neither had actual doors on them.

“What the hell?” I murmured.

Where was my gun? My phone? The table that passed for a nightstand was bare except for a tall bottle of water and two aspirin. On the floor next to the bed was a trash can, but based on its placement I figured it was substituting as a vomit can.

Myvomit can.

As I reached for the water and greedily swallowed it down, I tried to remember what had happened before everything had gone dark.

I’d been with Cass. He’d been kissing me deeply, slowly, his tongue gently stroking mine. He’d been holding me against the wall, and I’d been a willing prisoner as he’d shown me what a real kiss felt like.

I’d wanted, no, I’dneededmore. I hadn’t cared about the past or the future. I hadn’t been afraid. I hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Which was exactly what he’d done.

He’d said he was sorry, and I’d begged him not to stop.

I’dbeggedhim.

His response had been to release me. My body had been screaming in protest at what it was being denied, and I’d been so humiliated that I’d left that room like it had been burning down around me.

Then I’d been speeding down an unknown road in Cass’s beloved car, the city looming in the distance. I’d had only one destination in mind.

By the time I’d strode into Tank’s, I’d known what I was going to do and I’d looked forward to it. I’d slapped all the money I had in my pocket down on the bar and had grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I could find. I hadn’t protested in the least when Tank had insisted on taking my car keys. I’d already been scanning the decent-sized crowd of men for the guy I’d wanted.

He’d been easy to find. He’d been holding court on the far side of the room. On his lap, he’d had a small, blond twink who hadn’t looked anywhere near old enough to be in a bar, let alone a place like Tank’s. The guy with the greasy, stringy ponytail and biker-style beard and mustache had been crudely fondling the kid. I’d never been fucked by the biker wannabe, at least as far as I knew anyway, because he’d always been on the wrong side of the line between good rough fucking and bad rough fucking.

I’d ordered the twink to move. My demand had caught the biker off guard enough that he’d released the kid who’d scrambled off his lap and disappeared into the crowd. I straddled the biker’s lap and wrapped my arms around his neck.

My intent had been to kiss him, but my mouth had bypassed his all on its own and brushed up against his ear instead. A few whispered words, some heavy grinding against his hard-on, and several drags of alcohol, and it was done.

He was mine.

My own hard-on had been long gone by the time I’d reached the club. I’d hoped dry humping biker guy would have relit that fire inside of me that Cass could ignite with just words, but there’d been nothing.

No spark.

No erection.

No pleasure.

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