Page 19 of Heartfelt Pain
Lennie rolls her eyes. “I told you it was girl’s night.”
“You said as much,” Elijah replies.
“You knew I was going out,” she argues, crossing her arms.
“What happened to good old fashioned slumber parties,” Elijah asks.
“We’re not twelve,” Lennie snipes back. “We’re going for a drink.”
“Where?” Elijah asks.
Lennie’s cheeks glow, a pink flush breaking out.
“Don’t be shy, love,” Elijah says and I take it as another sign to get the hell out of there.
“Elijah!” Lennie says his name in a hushed tone. Her eyes flash to me. But she doesn’t say it in an ‘I’m embarrassed to be flirting in front of your brother’ type of tone.
My steps falter as I make eye contact with Lennie. We get on most of the time.
Lennie straightens at the eye contact. “It’s just drinks,” she says again, this time to me.
I shrug, but I know I’m frowning. “I’m not that much ofan asshole, Len. I’ve never asked you to hide your friendship with Ren.”
Her brow knits together. It’s one of many concerned stares I’ve received lately.
“Have a good night,” I tell her, turning back to the door.
Elijah clears his throat. It must be my imagination but I swear I hear a tiny thump, like Lennie’s just punched my brother in the shoulder.
I turn back.
Elijah rubs a finger over his lower lip, barely concealing his shit-eating smirk. “Don’t you wish to know where the drinks are happening at?”
Lennie’s chest lifts and falls, her brow still wrinkled.
“Where?” I ask her.
“Hartright’s,” she replies in a small voice.
I chew the inside of my lip. “You really thought Elijah would be okay with you heading off to a sex club?”
She’s fucking dreaming. This time when I turn back toward the door, I don’t let myself stop.
Rain lingers in the air, making this insufferable city more muggy than it needs to be as I walk outside.
Ren is planning on going to a sex club tonight. Hartright. Russet told me about it. It’s a high-class place where fantasies come true.
The girls have been there before. Lennie went out with them one night. I didn’t know they were making a habit of it, though.
My fists clench as I jam them into my pockets.
You either have to get over it or get her back.
That’s what Uncle Dima said. I didn’t take him seriously. I still don’t take it seriously.
But as I walk down the street, away from Elijah’s happy home, I’m confronted with options.
I can go back to my empty apartment over my garage andtry to get over it. Get over whatever this nasty, gnawing beast in my chest is.
