Page 26 of Frog Hog

Chapter Twelve

Valen

Anger and confusion turn into guilt pretty quickly once the alcohol is out of your system. I’m still mad he didn’t tell me straight up, right away. I also feel bad about how I reacted. I’d blame it on love making you do stupid things, but deep down I know why I overreacted. Seeing him happy, with family, proved me right in some disenchanting way. I wanted to find a flaw in him, wanted to have something to pin on his chest and label him as damaged. Men as perfect as Hutch shouldn’t exist.

They do.

I blew my chances of having it for my own by harboring insecurities that stem from my Dean era psyche. I make no excuses for my actions, but it doesn’t keep my thoughts from wandering. What-ifs are a nasty bitch. It took an entire week to catch up with my work, but I stayed up late, woke up early, and I’m finally ahead of the curve.

Greer returned to LA and her own crazy life. I think she saw Baz a couple more times before she left for home, but she didn’t talk about him for fear I might crack like a China doll. What a bad fucking friend I am. She has to dull her happiness because of my misery. I vowed the next time we got together I’d be a different person. The old Valen, before Hutch.

I texted Hutch an apology for how things went down outside the club in downtown San Diego. It truly is cringe worthy what I made him admit to on a sidewalk full of strangers in my drunken rage. He texted back a one word response: forgiven.

It made me cry to feel his sincerity through a simple reply. I wish I’d said more, urged him to talk about the situation, but I didn’t feel like I deserved anymore of his time after how I behaved. My phone buzzes on my desk. I glance over. It’s a text from one of my single, wild friends.

“It’s Pixie’s birthday party at Burning Fish tonight. Come.”Only she would get away with sending me a text the day of an event.

Burning Fish sounds like an awful idea. Not only does frogging not appeal to me in the least, but it would be the worst thing in the world for my ego if I ran into any of the men I’ve been with. It would merely serve as a reminder of Hutch and my mistakes. She texts again after a few seconds.

“I mean it. You better come.”It would be nice to get out and be around people. Greer’s been busy, the house is quiet, and all my work is finished. Removing the yellow glasses, I rub the bridge of my nose and head into my closet to find something suitable to wear. Nothing too slutty, but I don’t want to go Professor McGonagall, either.

On a whim, I grab my phone and tap out a violent, desperate text to Hutch. “Frog Hog prowling Burning Fish in two hours. Black heart tattoo on left hip-bone. Seeking decent man to date.”Wincing so hard, I almost can’t see, I hit the send button and toss my phone on my bed like it’s on fire. “Idiot. Idiot. Idiot,” I reply, shaking my hands like possessed devils.

Chewing my thumb nail I stare at the black rectangular device like my future depends on it. Well, it kind of does. When he doesn’t respond straight away, I shower and take my time with my makeup and hair. As I shimmy on my leather leggings I lean over my bed to find an empty screen. No new messages or calls. “Damn it,” I whisper, swallowing down the disappointment.

I choose a red plaid shirt and paint my lips with a gloss that will stay there all fucking night. It won’t smudge off regardless of what I do with my lips and mouth. Greer gave me three different shades of the stuff that didn’t go well with her complexion. I drive to Burning Fish with a scowl on my face and regret tingeing every pore in my body.

My friends have taken over a sprawling table in the corner by the bar. They’re already loud and raucous and I can’t help but smile as I approach. “Valen,” Pixie, the birthday girl, chirps. “I didn’t think you’d make it. It’s not a working night,” she says, winking.

“Ha-ha. I can come here to celebrate with you and not even look at men,” I reply. It’s true. I don’t even notice them. It’s like when things went south with Hutch and I, someone sprayed man repellant all over my body. The mere thought of another man touching my skin makes it crawl. How long will that last? My poor vagina. Vincent will have to make an appearance soon.

She drags me over to the table and forces a shot into my hand. Pixie is a bleached blonde Marilyn Monroe look alike. She is a classically trained dancer from Julliard. To pay bills she dances a little less classically over at Platinum Sex. Oh, and she’ll clean your house naked for a cool grand per hour. I’ve been told it is money well spent.

After the shot and casual chit-chat with friends I haven’t caught up with in a while, Pixie nods to the screened in room at the back of Burning Fish. “Word on the street is that there’s some dude asking for ya’ back there,” she says, her sexy drawl on display even when she’s not working for money.

I grin. “What street would that be, Pix? You know we don’t stand on the same ones.”

Laughing, Pixie playfully swats my shoulder. “Don’t offend a lady on her birthday,” she replies. “Just take her advice without asking questions.”

I wish her a happy birthday and set off, my feet heavy as I make my way through the throng of people enjoying the nice SoCal night.

My heartbeats force their way into my awareness—warning bumps instead of bells. It has to be Hutch. It has to, but he never messaged me back. In true Hutch fashion, sitting in almost the same place as the first time I saw him, he’s leaning against the wall like he owns the entire fucking room. The second our eyes lock the tears come. They aren’t angry and bitter, they’re sad and relieved.

Hutch smirks as I walk over, his gaze flicking around the room casually, like he’s not giving me the time of day. When I’m standing in front of him I ask, “Now what’s a man like you doing here by himself?”

He grins, but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “Oh, just waiting on someone.”

“Can I help you find her?”

“Maybe,” he says, finally turning his face to meet mine. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach flips over. His green eyes slide down to check me out, but then fall on my eyes and hold. “I never said it was aher, though.”

Extending my hand, I step closer. I’m almost in between his feet. “I’m Valen. Do you want to get out of here and talk?”

He eyes me warily now, his neck working as he swallows. He takes my hand in his. You know when you accidently touch a hot pan on the stove and you snake your hand away as quickly as possible? That’s the reaction touching his skin has. I want to pull it away, get away from the electric energy between us, but I can’t. My heart wouldn’t let me even if I tried. “We could go talk in my car,” I offer.

His smile widens to a full-blown laugh. “Somehow I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Cars are a Valen and Hutch aphrodisiac.

“Anywhere, Hutch. Please. I just want to talk to you.” I sound pathetic, weak, a woman I’d never dream of being, but sometimes love means stepping on your own pride to fix things.Pride, go wait in the corner, Mamma has to do a few questionable things.“Please,” I plead.

---