After We Collided (The After Series) (11 page)

“You know I’m the only one who can make you feel like this . . . you know no one else can make you scream the way I can . . . no one knows exactly where to touch you,” I say and reach down and rub her where our bodies join. She’s soaking, my fingers glide easily over the moisture.

“Oh God . . .” she purrs.

“Say it, Tessa, say that I’m the only one.” I rub her clit in tighter circles and move my hips to thrust into her while she continues moving on her own.

“You are.” Her eyes roll back in her head. She’s so lost in her passion for me and I’m joining her.

“I’m
what
?”

I need to hear her say it, even if she’s lying. My desperation for her terrifies me. I grab her hips and flip us over, me hovering over her, and she shrieks as I pound into her harder than ever before
. My fingers dig into her full hips. I need her to feel me, feel all of me, and I need her to love the way I claim her. She’s mine and I’m hers. Her soft skin is glistening with sweat, and she looks absolutely delicious. Her breasts move rhythmically with my force, and her eyes roll back in her head.

“You’re the only one . . . Hardin . . . the only . . .” she says, and I watch her bite her lip, grab at her face, and then at mine. I watch her come completely undone beneath me . . . and it’s beautiful. The way she lets go of everything as she comes is too damn perfect. Her words are all I needed to find my own release, and she rakes her nails down my back. The sting is welcomed, I love the passion between us. I lean up, bringing her body with me, resting her on my lap so she can ride me again. My arms wrap around her back, and her head falls onto my shoulder as I lift my hips off of the bed. My cock moves in and out of her at a steady pace as I spill into the condom with a groan of her name.

I lie back with my arms still wrapped around her body, and she sighs when I run my fingers over her forehead, pushing her sweat-soaked hair from her face. Her chest rises and falls, rises and falls, comforting me.

“I love you,” I tell her and try to look at her, but she turns her head and touches a finger roughly to my lips.

“Shhh . . .”

“I can’t just shhh . . .” I roll her off and say softly, “We need to talk about this.”

“Sleep . . . up in three hours . . . Sleep . . .” she mumbles and wraps her arm around my waist.

Her holding me feels better than the sex we just had, and the idea of sleeping in the same bed as her thrills me, it has been too long. “Okay,” I say and kiss her forehead. She flinches slightly, but I know she’s too exhausted to fight me.

“I love you,” I tell her again, but when she doesn’t say anything else, I soothe myself by deciding she’s already fallen asleep.

Our relationship or whatever this is has done a complete turnaround in just one night. I have suddenly become everything I was terrified of being, and she has complete control of me. She could make me the happiest man on earth, or she could crush me with one word.

T
he song of my phone alarm breaks into my sleep like a dancing penguin. Literally, my dream-mind incorporates it as a dancing penguin.

But that pleasant fantasy doesn’t last long. I wake up a little more, and my head immediately begins to pound. When I try to sit up, I am weighed down by something . . . someone.

Oh no.
Memories of dancing with some creepy guy flood my mind. Panicked, I snap my eyes open . . . to find instead the familiar tattooed skin of Hardin sprawled across me. He has his head on my stomach and an arm wrapped around me.

Oh my God. What the hell?!

I try to push Hardin off without waking him, but he groans and slowly opens his eyes. He closes them again and lifts himself off of me, untangling our legs. I jump off the bed, and when he opens his eyes again, he doesn’t say anything but just watches me like I’m some sort of predatory animal. The image of Hardin thrusting into me relentlessly and me calling out his name plays through my thoughts.
What the hell was I thinking?

I want to say something, but, honestly, I have no idea what. I am freaking out inside, having a total meltdown. As if sensing my struggle, he climbs off the bed, taking the sheet with him and wrapping it around his naked body. Oh my God. He sits in the chair and looks up at me, and I realize I’m only wearing my bra. Instinctively, I squeeze my legs together and sit back on the bed.

“Say something,” he instructs.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I admit. I can’t believe this happened. I can’t believe Hardin is here, in my bed, naked.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his head falls into his hands.

My head is pounding from the excessive alcohol I consumed only hours ago and the fact that I slept with Hardin last night. “You should be,” I mutter.

He tugs at his hair. “You called me.”

“I didn’t tell you to come here,” I retort. I haven’t decided how to handle this. I haven’t decided if I want to fight with him, to kick him out, or to try to handle this like an adult.

I get up and head for the bathroom, his voice traveling with me as I do. “You were drunk and I thought you were in trouble or something, and Trevor was here.”

I turn on the shower and look into the mirror. On my neck is a deep red bruise. Freaking hell. As I run my fingers over the sensitive mark, my mind travels to Hardin’s tongue on my skin. I must still be a little intoxicated, because I can’t think straight. I thought I was moving on, and yet here is my heartbreaker in my room, and here I am with a massive hickey on my neck like some wild teenager.

“Tessa?” he says and enters the bathroom as I step into the hot water. I stay quiet as the scalding water rinses off my sins. “Are you—” His voice cracks. “Are you okay with what happened last night?”

Why is he acting so weird? I would’ve expected a cocky smirk and at least five “you’re welcome’s” the second his eyes opened.

“I . . . I don’t know. No, I’m not okay with it,” I tell him.

“Do you hate me . . . you know even more than before?”

The vulnerability laced through his voice tugs at my heart, but I need to stand my ground. Everything about this situation is a mess; I had just started to get over him.
No you didn’t
, my subconscious mocks, but I ignore her.

“No. It’s about the same,” I say.

“Oh.”

I rinse my hair one last time and give a little prayer that the shower water will rehydrate me out of a hangover.

“I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, I swear it,” he says as I turn the shower off. I grab a towel off of the small rack and wrap it around me. He is leaning in the doorway in only his boxers, his chest and neck littered with red spots of his own.

I’m never drinking again.

“Tessa, I know you’re probably angry, but we have a lot to talk about.”

“No, we don’t. I was drunk and called you. You came here, and we had sex. What else is there to talk about?” I’m trying to stay as calm as I can. I don’t want him to know the effect that he has on me. That last night had on me.

Then I notice the raw skin on his knuckles. “What happened to your hands?” I ask. “Oh my God, Hardin—you beat Trevor up, didn’t you!” I yell, then wince from the shooting pain in my head.

“What? No, I didn’t.” He raises his hands in defense.

“Then who?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. We have more important things to talk about.”

“No, we don’t. Nothing has changed.” I open my makeup bag and pull out the concealer. I begin applying it to my neck generously while Hardin stands behind me silently.

“This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have even called you,” I finally say, annoyed when the third layer of concealer doesn’t cover the spot.

“It wasn’t a mistake, you obviously missed me. That’s why you called.”

“What? No, I called because . . . because it was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re lying.”

He knows me too well. “You know what? It doesn’t matter
why I called,” I snap. “You didn’t have to come here.” I grab the eyeliner and begin applying it, thick.

“Yes, I did. You were drunk and God knows what could have happened.”

“Oh, like what? I could have slept with someone who I shouldn’t have?”

His cheeks flare. I know I am being harsh, but he should have known better than to sleep with me when I was so drunk. I rake my hairbrush through my wet hair.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, if you remember,” he says equally harshly.

I remember, I remember climbing onto his lap and grinding myself against him. I remember demanding he have sex with me or leave. I remember him telling me no and to stop. I’m humiliated and horrified at my behavior, but maybe worst of all, I am reminded of the first time I kissed him and he claimed I’d thrown myself at him.

Anger boils inside me and I throw my brush against the counter with a loud clatter. “Don’t you dare try to blame this all on me, you could have said no!” I shout.

“I did! Repeatedly!” he shouts back.

“I had no idea what was going on, and you know it!” I half lie. I knew what I wanted; I’m just not willing to admit it.

But he begins repeating my dirty words from last night—“ ‘You just taste so good!’ ” “ ‘Talk to me like you used to!’ ” “ ‘You’re the only one, Hardin!’ ”—and it pushes me over the edge.

“Get out! Get out now!” I yell and go grab my phone to check the time.

“You weren’t telling me to get out last night,” he says cruelly.

I turn to face him. “I was doing just fine before you even came here. Trevor was here,” I say, because I know how mad it will make him.

But he surprises me by laughing. “Oh,
please
, you and I both
know Trevor isn’t enough for you. You wanted me, only me. You still do,” he scoffs.

“I was drunk, Hardin! Why would I want you when I can have
him
?” I instantly regret the words.

Hardin’s eyes flash with either pain or jealousy, and I take a step toward him.

“Don’t,” he says, holding his arm out. “You know what—that’s fine. He can fucking have you! I don’t even know why I came here. I should have known you would act like this!”

I try to keep my voice down before someone calls in a complaint, but I’m not sure I’m able to pull that off. “Are you kidding me? You come here and take advantage of me and have the nerve to insult me?”

“Take advantage of you? You took advantage of me, Tessa! You know that I can’t say no to you—and you kept pushing and pushing!”

I know he’s right, but now I’m pissed off and humiliated by my aggressive behavior last night. “It doesn’t matter who took advantage of who—all that matters is that you are leaving and not coming around me again,” I say with finality, then turn the blow dryer on to muffle his comeback. Within seconds, he’s ripped the blow-dryer cord—and nearly the outlet—from the wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell and plug it back in. “You could have broken that!”

Hardin’s so infuriating—
what the hell was I thinking, calling him?

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me about all of this,” he huffs.

Ignoring the pain in my chest, I tell him, “I already told you, we have nothing to talk about. You hurt me, and I can’t forgive you. End of story.” As much as I try to fight it, deep down I love having him here. Even if we’re fighting and yelling at each other, I’ve missed him so much.

“You haven’t even tried to forgive me,” he says, his voice much softer.

“Yes, I
have
. I have tried mentally to get over this, but I can’t. I can’t trust that this isn’t still part of your game. I can’t trust you won’t hurt me again.”

I plug my curling iron in and sigh. “I need to finish getting ready.”

When I turn the blow dryer back on, he disappears from the bathroom, and I hope he leaves. The small part of me that hopes he’s sitting on the bed when I come out is an idiot. She isn’t the rational part of me. She’s the naive, ridiculous girl who fell in love with a boy who is the furthest thing from what she needs. Hardin and I will never work, I know that. I just wish she did, too.

I curl and style my hair, making sure that it will cover Hardin’s mark on my neck. When I walk out of the bathroom to gather my clothes, Hardin
is
sitting on the bed, and that stupid girl rejoices a little. I grab my light red bra and panties out of my bag and slip them on without removing my towel. When I drop the towel, Hardin gasps, then tries to hide it with a cough.

As I slip a dress over my head, I feel like I’m being pulled toward him by an invisible string, but I fight it and grab my white dress out of the closet. I feel strangely comfortable around him right now, considering our situation. Why is this all so confusing and consuming? Why does it have to be so complicated? And most importantly why can’t I just get over him and move on?

“You really should go,” I say quietly.

“Do you need help?” he asks when I struggle with zipping the dress.

“No . . . I’m fine. I’ve got it.”

“Here.” He stands up to walk over to me. We are walking this fine line between love and hate, anger and calm. It’s strange and surely toxic for me.

I lift my hair, and he zips my dress, taking longer than he
should. I feel my pulse quicken and scold myself for allowing him to help me.

“How did you find me?” I ask him just as soon as the thought enters my mind.

He shrugs like he didn’t just stalk me across the state. “I called Vance, of course.”

“He gave you my room number?” I’m not pleased at the idea.

“No, the front desk did.” He gives a little smirk. “I can be very persuasive.”

That the hotel would do that doesn’t make me feel any better. “We can’t do this . . . you know, you making jokes and acting all friendly,” I say and step into my black heels.

He grabs his pants and starts putting them on. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not good for either of us to be around the other.”

He smiles, those evil dimples coming out. “You know that’s not true,” he says casually and puts on his T-shirt.

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Will you please just go?” I beg.