Page 3 of Wreck Me
That’s how it’d been all week long. My car’s dash had more lights on it than a Christmas tree, and a new light indicating another problem just popped up. My boss cut my hours this week because she had incorrectly scheduled another employee and had to make up their hours. And if that wasn’t enough, I completely fucked off and forgot about a huge test I needed to study for in advanced chem and probably fucking failed it.
Just when I thought I was really down on my luck, sitting at the library working on my anatomy homework, I sawher, and I suddenly felt like the luckiest bastard alive.
Isla Donohue.Isla.
Even her name was as mystical as she was. I had never seen such a strikingly beautiful woman until I saw her in the library, gnawing on the end of her pen, deep in concentration. Her stack of textbooks told me she was in college, thank fuck, because it was practically love at first sight and if she had been underage, I would have died. From the looks of it, she was taking business classes, which baffled me since the clothing she wore screamedmoney. I would guess she didn’t need to work a day in her life, but despite the shiny exterior, something told me she was more than what meets the eye.
For nearly two weeks, I felt like a stalker as I sat at a table directly on the other side of the shelves from where she sat, my position giving me the perfect vantage point to peer at her through the books.
Like. A. Fucking. Creeper.
Yet I couldn’t stop myself from taking the same table every single day hoping when she came in, she’d findhertable, too.
And she always did, like the good girl she was.
My intention was always to watch from afar and silently worship the ground she walked on, but when she forgot her wallet and couldn’t check out her book, I could hear the wobble in her voice—practically see the quiver of her lip. She was embarrassed, and I wanted nothing more than to shield her from the embarrassment. Reflex kicked in and before I could stop myself, I had already made myself known.
The moment I opened my mouth was the moment I knew I had sucked myself into her orbit. Stepping out from a few people behind her in line, I offered to pay her balance, and I handed the guy a five. Once I could see the transaction was finished, I practically threw her book at her and bolted out the door as quickly as I could. The book I had wanted to check out was left abandoned on a shelf by the exit.
Maybe it’d be there waiting next time. Or maybe I’d forget the title and it wouldn’t even matter anymore.
Ihadto run. She was too pretty, too perfect. Too out of my league.
The world crashed down around me when she caught up with me, calling out for me to stop. To talk to her.
And then she touched me… I almost fucking lost it right then and there. The raw fucking need I felt to pull her body flush with mine and kiss the shit out of her—like I said, I nearly lost it.
Even her name was beautiful—one that’d haunt me in my dreams.
Isla Donohue.
* * *
The unmistakable soundof glass shattering pulled me from my dream and I groaned, rubbing my fists into my eyes to wake up. The red glare from the alarm clock on my bedside table read it was nearing three in the morning, and I cursed my father for whatever drunken stupor he had found himself in this time.
Tossing the comforter off my naked body, I stepped onto the cool tile and made my way to my dresser to grab a pair of sweatpants. My cock was half-mast from a hot dream when I woke, but now hung completely flaccid as I raked a hand down my face and made my way into the pitch-black hallway.
As I entered the living room, I could see my father’s legs perched on the couch while his upper body laid on the end table, illuminated by the moonlight coming through the broken curtains. A smashed bottle of vodka was on the floor below him, while a broken lamp hung between his grasp, dangling less than an inch from the shards of glass below it.
“The fuck, old man?” I growled into the room, knowing my words were to no one—he was out cold.
Taking my time, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the broom and dustpan, carrying it back with me to my bedroom so I could slip on a pair of flip-flops I owned for situations like these.
Once back to where my father laid snoring, I removed the broken lamp from his hold and unplugged it, setting it down on the floor behind me before I cleaned up the glass. I didn’t bother trying to wake him up or move him, but I would clean up the glass fragments so he wouldn’t get hurt when he inevitably fell off the table and couch.
He needed help. Over the years, I had tried everything, but we couldn’t afford rehab centers, and the resources the city offered were worthless. He tried and failed more times than I could count. His sponsor quit on him, my mother left him, and I... Well, I’m still here, but evidently am not enough of a reason for him to get sober.
CHAPTERTHREE
Iwent back to the library every single day at the same time, hoping I’d run into him again. It had been a week, and I hadn’t seen him. The table I sat at offered a view of pretty much the entire library. Yet, he hadn’t been back.
Forcing myself to focus on my mock advertising portfolio, I spread out my textbook, notebook, and laptop and dove in. The semester-long project was due in just two weeks, and I really needed to stop having my head in the clouds if I wanted to keep up my 4.0 GPA, which I did.
“Did you purposely take up this entire table with all of your things, or can you make space for one more?”
My pen clanked against the table as I dropped it. The air caught in my chest at the sound of his voice–a voice I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear again.
“You… No, please, sit,” I encouraged, pulling my textbooks closer to me and freeing up the table space across from me.
