Page 16 of Mr. Big Mistake
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I just--.”
He hiccuped, and the moment couldn't have been more perfect. I felt Zane glaring at me, but I shrugged it off. I had postponed the ridiculous idea, which I hope turned into an indefinite thing. Surely, a good night’s sleep for all of us would bleed some common sense into these idiots.
“I take it tonight is off the table, then?” Kelly asked.
I hated how distraught she sounded.
Clint leaned against Zane. “I’ll get up with you later. You have my word.”
I leaned forward. “I’ll make sure he gets your number if that’s what you really want in the morning. Okay?”
Kelly gave me a funny look. “Yeah. Thanks. I think. Um, Clint? You need help getting home?”
I rushed over to his side. “Already on it. Come on, big brother. Looks like you can’t hold your alcohol anymore.”
Clint lowered his voice. “If you want her so badly, just fucking tell her.”
I ignored his comment. “Everyone! I have to get Clint back to his place. You guys have a wonderful rest of your evening, though. Okay?”
I looked back over at Kelly, and she had a look on her face I couldn't explain. It almost seemed as if she were bummed. But, there was a mixture of something else in there I couldn't put my finger on. I didn’t care how she felt, though. It couldn't happen. Everyone remembered their first. Hell, even I did, and I tore through women on a weekly basis. The first is always important. The first sets a standard. It sets precedence.
And she deserved better than Clint.
Zane pressed his lips to my ear. “If this is what she wants, you won’t be able to stop her. Don’t be that person.”
I put on my best smile. “Have a good evening, brother of mine.”
Clint and I stumbled down the stairs and out into the parking lot. It didn’t take much to get him home. But, getting him into his condo was a completely different story. He was half-asleep on me by the time I flopped him down onto his couch. And when I took a glance around his rented space, my heart sank into my chest.
The place was devoid of any character, or happiness, or passion, or delight.
“Oh, Clint,” I whispered.
His honking snores filled the room as I stood on the scuffed, unforgiving hardwood floors. The painted white brick of the walls would’ve been a nice touch if the wooden beams of the ceiling didn’t look so shoddy. I assumed I was standing in the living room, but I wasn’t sure. Because there was a half-way blown-up air mattress in the corner and some dirty dishes on top of the rickety coffee table. His couch had various rips and tears in it. I counted six cardboard boxes of stuff and five different suitcases.
That was it, though.
That was all Clint had to show for the life he had lived.
“You deserve better, too, brother,” I whispered.
I backed out of his place and closed the door behind me. While the automatic part of me wanted to lock the door, the realistic part of me knew I didn’t need to. If someone came trumpeting through that door that didn’t need to be there, Clint was trained to kill first and ask questions later. He could take care of himself. Whether or not that was a good thing, I didn’t know.
But, he could.
I made my way downstairs and flopped behind the wheel of my car. I sat there, staring at the white brick facade of the building my older brother lived in. His words from the club echoed off the corners of my mind. They rattled around as I cranked the engine of my Audi convertible and haunted me as I raced back to my own condo. They followed me up the elevator to the top floor and obscured the panoramic view I had of Vegas up on my hilltop. I raced into the kitchen and poured myself another drink. I chugged it back, hoping to erase the stern truth behind Clint’s words. The drunker I became, though, the louder those words screamed.
And I started screaming back.
If you want her so badly, just fucking tell her.
“I can’t just blurt it out!”
If you want her so badly, just fucking tell her.
“That’s not how it works, Clint!”
If you want her so badly, just fucking tell her.
