Page 1 of If You Could Only Feel
Prologue
Jesus H. Christ!
I’ve looked bad the next morning, after partying up a storm before, but this was ridiculous.
I stared into the bathroom mirror and cringed. I looked like a gang-banged porn star at the end of a taping. Well…except for my face.
My face was clean of…stuff.
It’s the little things.
The entire weekend had been one big blur of poor choices and reckless decisions, and while I wasn’t a stranger to having a good time, even I had to admit, this weekend had been beyond the pale.
I’ve never drank my weight in alcohol before like I did last night.
I’ve never been so drunk I went out and got a tattoo like I did Friday night.
I’ve never been so turned on that I let a man take me in a dark alleyway like I did Thursday night.
Or up against the back of the casino like I did Friday night.
Or offered up my ass, begging and pleading, like I did last night.
I never should have answered my goddamn phone. That had been my first mistake.
I had flown to Las Vegas to get the hell away from Gabriel Buchanan and what do I do? I answer his call like a complete, lovesick-besotted fool. I answered his fucking phone call and spent the last three days in an alcohol-induced sex-a-thon with the man.
The man I was trying to break away from.
The man I was trying to forget.
The man I had given my virginity to.
The man who broke my heart with every phone call, every conversation and every touch of his body.
We weren’t children anymore.
We weren’t young adults searching for our way through college, either.
I was still Justice Hillman, high school graduate, who went on to work as a clerk for Dr. Daughtry, who just happened to be the biggest pervert on the planet.
I made enough to live on, but I was nowhere near close to being in Gabriel Buchanan’s league.
I was never close enough to be in Gabriel Buchanan’s league. But, then, few people were.
I continued to stare at myself in the mirror. My hair looked like an explosion of colors matted on the top of my head; you could hardly see any of the natural blonde. My eye makeup looked like I was going for the zombie look. My face pale, my blue eyes bloodshot.
I really did look like a porn star after a gang bang.
But to be fair, Gabriel fucked like a porn star.
However, no matter how horrible the image was that stared back at me; the matted hair, the bloodshot eyes, the clown makeup, the godawful hickeys that lined my neck and chest, none of it was distracting me from the shine and weight of the stupid, idiotic, unbelievably giant ring that sat on my ring finger.
No matter how many times I closed my eyes, only to reopen them, it was still there.
Laughing at me.
Taunting me.
