Page 37 of Double or Nothing

“Fuck off,” I say as I pop a Swedish Fish in my mouth. One of the thousands she has scattered all over this place. Every detail, every touch of the room fits me perfectly. While I’m sure it’s her job to know her clients, to give them what makes them happy, it makes me happy to know she still recalls so much about me—about us.

“I was right, wasn’t I? You still want her,” he says with a chuckle.

“I already told you, what’s done is done. Kat and I are over.”

She made that more than clear a few minutes ago. The way she looked at me—the disdain in her eyes, the fucking sadness. Sure, that tells me she still has feelings, still cares, but her hurt and anger far surpass any positive emotion she might have directed at me.

Part of me wanted to push her out the door and never have to look at what I did to her again. The other part, the part that can never fully walk away from her, wanted to pull her in and make all of that pain go away.

Any pity I had for myself in the situation is gone. Yes, I may have been hurting, too, but it was of my doing. I decided to walk away. I decided to never return.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, hopping to my feet.

“Where do you want to go?”

Honestly, I don’t care where we go or what we do. I just know I can’t sit here and think about Kat. I need to get out of here. Live. Be the man that I’ve become. She rejected me. She hates me. That gives me all the more reason to fit into the bad boy role I’m supposed to be portraying.

“This is Vegas, right? I’m sure I can find something to get into.” Or someone. Preferably someone who will knock the memory of that kiss right out of my mind.

Fuck it all if the taste of her isn’t burned onto my lips. I can still feel hers on mine and smell the scent of her hair. Everything about her is the same, yet somehow, so much better. She’s the girl rock ballads are made of. Every song I’ve ever written has her reflection in it. She’s my Kitty Kat.

Always has been. Always will be.

Glancing around the suite, I take stock of every amazing piece of my life. It was the right decision to leave Vegas and go to New York. The wrong decision was not waiting for her, not taking her advice and finding a way for it to work.

Now?

Now, she hates me. She hates me, and there is no way those damn grocery store flowers I used to buy her will get me out of this one.

“What are you thinking?” Mac asks, concerned.

“I’m thinking it’s time to party. Go get changed.”

Heading to the bedroom to change, the outfit I select isn’t much different from the outfit I was wearing—a black t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, my staple, simple and easy, just the way I like things.

And Kat? Kat is definitely not easy. In fact, any remote chance I have to fix things with her would require time and effort I don’t have. One week. One week until this show, then I’m out of here. No way in hell am I staying in this town.

When I step back into the living room, Mac is sitting on the couch in the same position I left him.

“You’re seriously going out in that?” I ask with a shake of my head.

“I’m not the one trying to get laid.”

Cocky or not, I laugh. “I don’t have to try.”

While that may be what I’m doing, why I’m leaving this hotel room, the truth is after tasting Kat, there isn’t a damn woman on that casino floor who can sate this hunger inside. There’s only one thing I want.

It just happens to be the one thing I can never have.

The moment I step onto the casino floor, I’m rushed by a stampede of women and men alike. The women want to be with me. The men wish they were me. They all fawn and gush, asking for autographs, which I sign for them on autopilot. The scribble that is my name is something I’ve perfected over the years. Mac does his best to keep them at bay, but the truth is, I love it. These people, my fans, are the whole reason I even have a career. Them and Rocked Records, but still, if it wasn’t for them buying the records I put out, I wouldn’t be here today.

The entire time I sign autographs and smile for photos, my eyes never leave the brunette who’s shooting daggers at me. For someone who supposedly doesn’t give a damn, she sure can’t take her eyes off me. Not that I can’t talk because, let’s face it, I’m doing the same thing, despite the blonde who has latched onto me.

I hear every dirty thing the woman is whispering into my ear—things she wants to do to me, things she wants me to do to her. Enticing as it all sounds, the only one I want those things with is Kat. Groaning unintentionally only makes the woman latch on harder. I drop my gaze to her for a moment—holy hell, she’s gorgeous, everything I could want without even having to try.

Yet all I want is the one person I can’t have. The only woman I think I have ever truly wanted.

When I shrug the woman off and allow my eyes to drift back to her, to my Kitty Kat, and see some guy approaching her, I get pissed, and irrational anger rises inside of me. I don’t know who this guy is, a client, a co-worker, her boyfriend, but it doesn’t fucking matter. All that matters is he’s near her, and I’m not. Watching as his head dips down toward hers, my fists clench at my side, afraid he’s going to kiss her, then I’ll need to use them to kill him. Right here, right now.

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