Page 159 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
“I fucking loved you, and you loved me, too,” I seethed. I saw nothing but red in that moment. I hated her, and yet I loved her still. I wanted to grab her arms and shake her just as much as I wanted to pin her against that wall and fuck her until she admitted she was mine.
She was the source of my insanity, but I still craved her any time she was near.
“But you wouldn’t be with me. Not when I asked, not when I begged, not when I proved to you that we could do it. You were the one who didn’t—”
I shook my head, dropping my gaze to the ground to try to catch my composure. I was losing it, and I hated myself for it. I was finally happy. I was finally clean, and I didn’t want to go back to the dark place she’d left me in four months ago.
But when I looked down, I saw those goddamn black stilettos on her feet, and my mind flashed back to the last time I’d had them wrapped around me, those heels digging into my ass as I railed her.
My jaw clenched. “You’re wearing heels.”
I met B’s gaze with a heated one of my own, and I swear to God, we were both less than half a second away from shredding each other’s clothes. I inched forward, ready to pin her, ready to kiss that stupid angry look off her face.
But then she scoffed.
“And you’re wearing lipstick.”
She closed her eyes then, as if suddenly, she’d been drained of every argument she had.
My heart ached in my chest as I pushed off the wall, away from her, and I wiped at my mouth, cursing under my breath when I saw Angel’s wine-colored lipstick on my thumb.
“Why are you really here?” I asked her, dejected.
“I missed you.”
Her words hit me like ice picks to the throat, stealing my breath with them.
I cringed against the pain, pinching the bridge of my nose as I closed my eyes.
“No,” I said, firm and loud. “No, you don’t get to say that to me.”
I shook my head, meeting her pitiful gaze again with my body screaming for me to get away from her, like she was a flame and I was too close, seconds away from being burned.
“I’m finally happy,” I croaked, almost laughing. “Okay? Is that alright with you, B? Do I have your permission to be fucking happy?”
B’s mouth popped open, like it shocked her, but before she could say anything, I beat her to it.
Turned out, I had plenty to say after four months of silence.
“God, you are the most selfish woman I have ever met,” I said, shaking my head at her. “Let me guess, you missed me, so you thought you could just get on a flight and I’d be here waiting for you, right? Because that’s exactly what I did for three years in California, so why wouldn’t you think that? But guess what? You wanted me to let you go so badly, and this time, I listened.”
I was shaking — bad — and there was no use trying to hide it. Even though I meant every word I said, I was still like an addict being served a shot of vodka. Trying to deny her, to say no when all I wanted was to bury myself inside her was like trying not to breathe.
“So, no, you don’t get to show up here and tell me you missed me. You don’t get to—”
“Stop,” she choked, her eyes welling, and in a flash, she pushed off the wall and stormed past me. “Stop, Jamie.”
I was hot on her heels.
“What, too much for you to handle?”
“I hate you!” she screamed, turning back toward me and advancing a few steps. “Go back inside, I’m sure Angel is waiting.”
“Oh, she is,” I mocked, still on her heels as she turned around and stormed toward her mom’s car. “And I intend to make her wait. All night long. Remember how fun that always was? Making you wait until you couldn’t stand it anymore?” I saw the way I still affected her, and I wanted her to hurt. I wanted her to feel the pain I’d been living in. “Making you squirm under my hands, my mouth…”
“Fuck you, Jamie.”
I laughed, then, feeling as crazy as that laugh made me sound. “Goddamnit, you drive me crazy. You literally make me insane.”
“Well, good thing I’m leaving,” she spat, and then she climbed into the car, slammed the door, and fired the engine up.
I stood right outside her window, chest heaving.
How dare she. How dare she show up now, as if I was just supposed to wait, as if I only matter when it’s convenient for her.
And yet, I didn’t want her to leave either.
“Yeah. Good thing. That does seem to be your specialty, doesn’t it?” I clipped.
