Page 9 of Face Me Off

His cold words still echo as I face my father now.

“You’re right, Dad.” My chest tightens. “I remember.”

“Your mind should be on your future, son. Not on some high school fling.”

I grit my teeth to hold back the usual defenses. Maddy was never just a fling. She was more than that. It’s clear his perspective is marred by prejudice.

“It was never about Maddy,” I whisper.

“Good. Because you’re stepping into the same shoes as me if you get tangled in their mess. Keep your focus. We should hear from the lawyer soon about the settlement offer.”

He grunts in acknowledgment and shuffles out of my room, the door creaking back into place behind him. His words hang heavily in the room long after he’s gone.

I sigh and sink into my bed, thoughts of Maddy flooding back to me—heat replacing her fiery gaze as she took in my size, her body pressed against mine, and the way her moans echoed in the room as I drove into her.

Fuck, I never wanted to mark my territory so badly in my life. I knew that was a one-and-done type of thing, but I didn’t want it to end.

Does it have to? We could get together to release some tension now and then. Have a friends … no, more like frenemies-with-benefits sort of thing. We obviously have good chemistry together. Her body is fucking built for me.

No!Lusting after Maddy Grimes is bad for the soul. I did that once and learned exactly where I belonged—underneath Mr. Grimes’s shoe. If I follow in my father’s footsteps and marry above my station, so to speak, I take the chance of ending up like him.

Besides, I won’t screw up my father’s chance at retribution.

No matter how good it felt to be inside Madison Grace Grimes.

CHAPTER FOUR

MADISON

With the startof school only a week away, I finally moved back to my apartment. Amanda will be here soon, and to kill time, I’ve retreated to my desk and started sketching.

Biting my lip, I make swift and precise strokes. Just a little more shading in the corner of his jaw, and it will be perfect. The ink glides smoothly over the textured paper, deepening the shadows and defining the contours of his face. I pause and take a slow breath. Using my thumb, I blend some of the ink beneath the cheekbone to create that perfect blend of sharpness and softness.

I hadn’t meant to draw Ryan initially, but my self-consciousness must have realized he needed to be flushed out of my system. But this isn’t working. Staring at each line, each curve, I’m pulled deeper into his memory instead. Those deep gray eyes stare back with that confident smirk I captured too well. I close my eyes and let the memory of his hands fisting in my hair and his sexy guttural groan wash over me.

A shiver crawls up my spine.

I bite my lip harder in frustration. Why him? Why the one person I can’t have?

Leaning back in my chair, I take in my artwork. The light from the desk lamp casts shadows over the workspace, highlighting the darker shades I filled in around his hair. It’s a nice, rich, deep black.

I like using ink for this reason—its permanence. There is no erasing, no second chances. I have to be sure with every stroke. Kind of like how I have to be with how I live my life, no mistakes and always focused.

And one reckless night has me twisted in knots because there’s one problem.

“Yo, Madds, you home?” the problem yells.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” I look at the silhouette staring back at me, and the guilt deepens. Wincing, I rip the paper off the pad, crinkle it into a tiny ball, and toss it in the trash.

I have so many fake friends from high school, but only one true friend with Amanda.

And I screwed the one guy she talks to.

Even though she insists nothing is happening between them, I can’t help but question if that’s true.

I’m a horrible friend. The best thing to do is come clean, but it’s too risky. If my parents ever found out what we did. I close my eyes as shivers race down my spine. I can’t even imagine what would happen. With the lawsuit from Ryan’s dad hanging over us, I was told under no circumstances to have contact with him. My father was concerned more about his reputation than Mr. Sorenson’s injury. The poor man was temporarily paralyzed due to a job my father forced him to do. Maybe forced isn’t quite right, but what else would you call it when you threaten a guy’s career if he didn’t get on the roof he had no business on?

It took intense physical therapy to get him to walk. And he still isn’t walking without assistance.

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