Page 14 of Burn It Down
4
Maybe I should change my major from English to theater. I have become quite the actress in the past few weeks. Pretending that one night didn’t splinter my fucking world into pieces. I was never certain what Finn and I were, not really. But wewere. Then, just like that, we weren’t.
Since then, I’ve done a smashing job of acting as if it never happened. Like we never happened at all. Or rather that it did--which is why I am currently pretending to hate him--but that it didn’t matter. Acting. I was becoming a fucking pro.
Acting had become a necessity for me to function at all. I laughed when I was supposed to. Smiled more often than I probably should. Got my sobbing jags in when my dorm was empty or in my car between classes. Then smiled as if I wasn’t falling apart. I didn’t know it could be like this. Could really feel like this.
I’ve read all the books and watched all the movies. They tell you it’s bad. Then it gets better. Or the hero makes some grand gesture and the heroine can’t refuse him again. None of the above had become my second act so I was putting on the show of a fucking lifetime.
Before Finn, I didn’t consider myself a romantic, exactly. I wanted something; love, lust, something passionate and real. Something as all-consuming as what my parents have. My sisters had it with the men in their life, and Cage certainly got it with Charli. Guess the luck ran out with the last Cooper.
I thought once that I was in love with Finn. Maybe I was then. Maybe I even was while we were pretending nothing was happening for Cage and Pop’s sake. Now, with no grand gesture on the horizon, and the pain that ripped through me the night I said I was done burning as hot as ever in my chest, I knew it was love.
I was in love with my brother’s best friend and he broke my fucking heart. I didn’t think a broken heart actually hurt. My chest ached since that night at Cage’s condo. I felt like a cavern had grown deep and wide where my heart had been.
The heart that pounded whenever Finn used to look at me from across the room. When he would edge just close enough that I could smell him; wood and leather and soap. The one that I had all but handed over to him by shoving my way into his apartment that first night. What was I thinking?
Finn never took it, not really.
Now I had to pretend what I had with Finn was just a temporary road stop on a journey I still had yet to figure out. Instead of the permanent home I had fooled myself into believing he could be. Charli and Cage didn’t buy my act for one second. My finals were coming up so I pretended to be too busy to deal with her gentle prying.
Despite the truth that I had already failed one class because I hated it. The rest were going to be passing grades at best. I was miserable for more than one reason. The memory of Finn, of what we’d had and how it had burned up so fast was, of course, the most pressing.
“Gigi...we don’t need to discuss it.” Today it was Bree, my best friend, not buying the act, “We won’t eat Haagen-Daz and guzzle wine while we binge the new season of Orange Is the New Black. Because you are so far from ready for that. What we will do is stop pretending you aren’t torn apart. Even Gigi Cooper can get her heart broken.” I glared at her because this was, in fact, talking about it.
“Not in the mood, Bree. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe never. Let me deal how I choose to deal.” Bree let out a snort and slammed her hand on my text book, slamming it shut.
“Honey, you are notdealing. Which is, in effect, the problem.” Bree flung her lemony hair, wavy and shiny in the sun, over her bare shoulder.
For a moment, I hated her. That may sound extreme, but clearly, I go extreme with my emotions. Her dewy tan skin shined in the crisp November morning.
Her tiny sweater barely contained the tits she was super proud of, and only I knew were paid for. Beneath a skirt that was too short for the weather, you could just see the garters on her stockings.
Though she looked like an average college student on the surface, Bree was anything but. The smudge of mascara under her eyes was because she hadn’t made it in before daylight. I could still smell whiskey and the sickly-sweet smell of weed and lube.
“Keep talking, Bree. I don’t intend to participate, but go ahead; discuss my private life that’s not only none of your business, but no one else’s either. Seems like the appropriate time, yeah?” I glared at her, and Bree blanched, her light eyes narrowing on me.
“Jesus Christ on a cracker. Fucking excuse me, Gigi. Someone needs to get laid.” I forget we were best friends mostly because few other people tolerated us. It worked sometimes. Others, not so much.
“Stop. Talking. Let me deal bynotdealing. Please.” My voice broke on the last word as the quiet classroom started to close in around me and Bree let out a sigh.
“I’m sorry, Gigi.” Professor Dexter walked in and her attention was drawn to him, as usual.
I mean, I could see why. Jordan Dexter, our creative writing professor, was easy on the eyes. Tall and dark with steely blue eyes, dark scruff at his impressive jaw, and always ready with a bright smile, he was handsome.
Younger than most my professors, he was careful to tread the line of teacher and confidant with most of us. Right now, he looked like the perfect distraction.
I focus on his bright smile and the way he smells as he passes us. Sweet and gentle. Nothing like Finn. Jordan leans back against the wide dais in front of us. His long legs cross in front of him, the dark fade of his jeans fitting him just right. Man, he really is pretty. I shouldn’t think that about my teacher, but hey, it’s a fact.
Those blue eyes swing my way, and I feel pinned down as he starts talking. Beside me, Bree is posing just so, her skirt hiking up as she crosses her legs to flash her garters. The slut. I smile though, because maybe if I could feel anything other than the aching in my chest, I’d be into Dexter too.
Something about the intensity he exudes reminds me of my favorite book boyfriend, Dex. He dominates his woman, Camille, with a sexy sensuality. Dex controls her with affection and love, and when she needs it, punishment. Finn gave me a taste of that.
As I watch Jordan, I imagine what kind of punishment he might dole out. Just like that, I can see his big hands swatting my backside as I’m bent over the dais. Holy hell.Where did that come from?Doesn’t matter; now I’m seeing those hands skimming over me, one wrapping around my throat. Digging in gently as he thrusts into me.
“Gigi,” His rough voice, laced with heat, startles me, “is your piece ready?”Um...what?
“No. No. Sorry, Professor.” I no sooner say it and I see his mouth hike up in a smirk.My writing piece! You nit!He was not partaking in my filthy fantasy.
