Crash Ride (9 page)

“Hey,” I whispered against her shoulder as I wrapped my arms around her.

“Hey,” she giggled back, slowly opening her eyes. God she was beautiful.

“You going to spend the night with me so I can do that properly?” My fingers traced little circles on her back.

“It felt pretty good the first time.”

“You know it can be better.”

“I can probably stay.”

“Good. Let’s get cleaned up so I can get you into my bed.”

“Aren’t you curious how I got into your apartment?”

“Well, it crossed my mind for about a second until I saw you were naked and then I no longer gave a fuck. You could’ve busted my locks and I’d still have a smile on my face.”

I’m sure there was a story, and in truth part of me was curious but currently it wasn’t
that
part of me that was running the show, so whatever the explanation was, it could wait.

“I didn’t bust your locks.”

“You have a life of crime you’ve been keeping under wraps? Vandalizing and boosting cars when you were a teenager?”

“Would that turn you on, Troy Harris?”

Her smile would’ve knocked me on my ass if I weren’t already on it. “Megs, you just have to show up and I get turned on. Anything else is just gravy.”

While the first time had been frenzied, the second time I would be taking it slow. I wanted to feel every inch of myself inside her and get familiar with every part of her body. There was no way I would be wasting the opportunity, even if I knew when the morning cracked through my drapes, it would probably be the last time.

Okay, so
that
had
to be the last time.

I would go cold turkey and there would be no more slipups. Yeah, because
that’s
what happened. We accidently found ourselves naked and his penis
slipped
into my vagina—again.

So what if he was incredibly hot and made me orgasm like it was an Olympic sport. I refused to accept there was more to it than that. That just being around him didn’t make my heart squeeze a little. Or that his smile didn’t make my shitty day infinitely better. No, it was purely sexual. It had to be, and there were other attractive guys, ones who had talent. Men who didn’t have a connection to any of my friends or their partners. I just needed to find them.

So how did it come to pass that I ended up in Troy’s apartment, naked? Well, watching Troy Harris lick that spoon bordered on obscene. He might as well have just licked me between my legs. The same effect was achieved. Who could have resisted that? Certainly not this girl. I needed to sleep with him again. More so to prove to myself that it wasn’t as fantastic as I remembered it, so I could move on. Like a reality check of sorts.

The first time—all right, the first six times— we had sex, I was caught up in the fantasy. It was Troy Harris for God’s sake. I’d fingered myself to his image so many times I should have been embarrassed. It had to be the hype that had made it so outstanding. No man was
that
good. Of course the theory needed testing. It meant overlooking the fact that my theory testing hadn’t worked out for me so well in the past, but it was a hardship I figured I had to endure. What? Everyone makes mistakes. Moving on.

The plan had been to wait with Ash until Dan and Troy got home, and then knock on his door.

I hadn’t really thought beyond that brilliant idea.
Winging it
was going to feature heavily. But the hours ticked over, and Ash yawned a few too many times so I said my goodbye.

Hope had almost been lost.

When I got Ash’s front door I
remembered
that I had left my bracelet in Troy’s apartment. Which was a lie. It was sitting at the bottom of my purse with a broken clasp.

I was going right to hell; sadly at this point, I didn’t care.

Ash very kindly offered to let me into Troy’s apartment with the spare key he kept at their place—something I’d hoped for. Cue me exiting Troy’s bathroom with the bracelet triumphantly dangling between my fingers. We left, with me pulling the door shut behind me, and said our goodbyes in the hallway.

Two things didn’t happen. One, I
didn’t
pull Troy’s door all the way shut.

I gently eased the door just enough into the jamb to catch but not enough for the lock to engage. The second thing was I
didn’t
leave.

Instead, I pretended to walk away and then promptly returned to Troy’s door. My relaxed strut probably making me look like a catwalk reject from fashion week, but at least I wasn’t sprinting.

God, I hoped no one actually watched the surveillance footage.

Once I was at Troy’s front door, all that was required was a gentle push and
boom,
I was in.

My rap sheet now included wild sex with a rock star
and
breaking and entering. There goes the neighborhood.

So I was inside; now, what the hell I was supposed to do? Pacing nervously only held my attention so far before I gave up to the magnetic pull of his bed.

I was discreet at first, kicking off my shoes and crawling slowly over his covers to his pillows. Their intoxicating scent overwhelmed me as I nuzzled them.

Insanity—the only explanation as to why I was on my hands and knees, ass in the air with my face in his pillow. Thank you sweet baby Jesus no one walked in sparing me the
what-the-fuck
moment.

Somewhere in between taking off my clothes and rubbing myself all over his sheets — yeah I did it, don’t judge me—I fell asleep.

Maybe it was the tension, or perhaps pure exhaustion, but instead of a light doze, I fell into something close to resembling a coma. It wasn’t until I heard a very loud “Holy Shit” that I was awakened from my peaceful slumber.

No need to guess what happened next. My oh-it-can’t-be-that-good-I-must-have-imagined-the-toe-curling-orgasms was blown right out of the water. How could it keep getting better? How could he know exactly what to do and when to make my eyes roll back into my head? How was I ever going to willingly give this up? Whatever trouble I thought I had been in before had doubled in magnitude now.

So my fate had been sealed. I would be damned to mediocre sex with other men because that had been my last hurrah with Troy. He made me come so hard, I actually cried. Mourning the orgasms that would no longer echo through my body and overwhelmed by every nerve ending in my body feeling like it was on fire.

It had never been like that, not like
that
.

And it hadn’t been just the sex. The seemingly bleak caseload I was juggling, and the mountain of guilt I was battling had me on a hair trigger and I was primed for an explosion. It should have been awkward—crying after sex in front of Troy Harris— but strangely, it wasn’t. He made me feel safe and he was cool enough to not get all weird after. No questions were asked, he just held me in his arms.

Which is why it could never happen again. I couldn’t lose him. Never feeling him again inside me was a horrendous thought, but what would be so much worse was if we ended up hating each other. I
really
liked him and it wasn’t just sexual, and there was no way I would jeopardize that.

Cold turkey, I repeated my mantra. It was the only way.

****

Avoiding Troy wasn’t going to work. Apart from the fact he was deeply involved with my best friend’s soon-to-be husband, he was also going to be the best man to my maid of honor. What was I going to do? Pretend he had cooties? I
could
be around him,
not
strip naked and drop to my knees. It just took practice.

I buried myself in work. Even though I missed his beautiful enigmatic smile, the time away made me stronger, more prepared to deal with the attraction I was denying. It could totally be done. Totally.

“My parents are assholes. This whole therapy shit blows and I don’t need you. I hate them for making me come here. Am I supposed to sit and cry like a fucking loser?”

All thought of Troy vaporized as I looked over at the skinny, fair headed boy who sat in the chair opposite me. Brad Hemsworth had been discharged yesterday into the care of his parents. His release had hinged on regular therapy sessions with me, as well as very close monitoring by his folks. It was either that or he would be admitted to a facility. He flat out refused to stay in the hospital.

He was angry but hopefully not beyond reason. “Brad, I know you don’t want to be here and no one is going to make you talk about anything you don’t want. Why don’t we just get to know each other a little better? This is your time and we can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about.”

He got out of his chair and started to pace around the room. “How about we talk about
you
convincing my folks I’m not going to slit my wrists or take a bunch of pills. I made a mistake. I’m not taking your mind-altering drugs either. I swear it’s a way for them to control me. I’m not about to be dumbed down on Ritalin.”

My eyes followed his agitated, twitchy movements as he paced, while I remained in my chair. I stayed calm, neutral. “Brad, first of all, I’m a psychologist not a psychiatrist so I can’t prescribe you anything. We just talk here, no drugs involved at all. And secondly, Ritalin is used for treatment of attention deficit disorders; it wouldn’t be effective treating depression.”

He balled his fist at his sides; his face flushed with anger. “I’m not depressed. God, you are just as bad as my fucking parents. I wasn’t going to actually kill myself. It was a fucking mistake. Like I told the shrink in the hospital, it was a moment of weakness, I’m fine now.”

“Brad, depression can take on many forms. Let’s not worry about the label right now, let’s talk about making you feel a little less angry.”

It was a balancing act, knowing how much to push and when to back off, and he was putting me through my paces. I worried about him. He was severely in denial but I needed to win his trust, to get through to him. Today, however, that breakthrough wouldn’t be happening.

I spent the rest of his appointed hour trying to coax him to a safe place, one where he felt comfortable talking to me, a place with less anger. But at the end of the sixty minutes, I wasn’t entirely sure that any of it had broken through.

“So, we done yet?” Brad impatiently kicked the chair leg with his Converse-covered foot. He yanked at his
30 second to Mars
T-shirt that looked as if it had seen better days. The worn-out jeans he was wearing were frayed at the hem. “Can I go?” he asked again, flicking his long blond bangs so they covered his tormented brown eyes.

“We’re done for this week, you can go,” I responded, lifting myself out of my seat, smoothing out my tailored skirt as I stood. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Brad sunk his hands into his pockets and walked out of my office.

His exit gave me permission to sink back into my chair and let my head drop into my hands, mentally and emotionally exhausted. The blue painted walls of my office were not as bright as they used to be, my large wooden desk was filled with notes and files that would take at least another hour or two to put in order. Some days were harder than others, and today had been a difficult day.

My cell buzzed silently on my desk and I welcomed the distraction, reaching across and answering it without bothering to check who was on the other end.

“Megs,” Ashlyn’s excited voice broke through my mental fog, “tell me you have no plans tonight.”

“Ash, it’s a Wednesday. What plans would I have?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d set up your hot date with coffee boy yet.” Ash laughed, I had almost forgotten about him and my faux dating interest.

“I’m playing hard to get,” I joked. “What’s up?”

“Hannah, James’s wife, is having a little engagement dinner for us at their house. Nothing fancy, just the band really and their significant others, but you have to come.”

Great. That would be a perfect punctuation mark to an already crappy day. An evening spent avoiding Troy and pretending like hanging out with Power Station was no big deal. No one was that convincing. I mentally waved my fist in the air and mouthed, “Fuck you” to the universe.

“Ash, I don’t really know her that well. Besides, you said it yourself. It’s a band thing.”

“Hello? I’m sorry but where is my friend Megs?” Ash sarcastically slurred into the phone.

“Very funny. I just think maybe that you should probably go without me. Besides, my laundry hamper needs some serious attention.” I cringed at my bogus excuse. Why hadn’t my brain manufactured something better? A case report that needed to be written or a patient review that needed to be read, anything other than laundry. I might as well have said I was washing my hair.

“Did you fall and hit your head?” She almost shouted through the phone. “This is
Power Station
. I’d have thought you’d be so excited that you would be humping my leg, not making lame excuses not to go.”

She wasn’t wrong; a few months ago that very reaction might have been accurate. “Ash, I’m not going to start using you to get to the band, that wouldn’t be cool. It’s fine, go have a good time.”

“Okay, stop that. I know we joke about your love for the band, but I have never felt used nor do I think you would ever do that.” She took a breath before continuing. “Is there something else going on? I know I have been a bit wedding obsessed lately; I’m sorry if there is stuff that I’ve missed.”

I weighed her words for a minute, glad she had missed the change between Troy and I, the subtle glances between us. No one else needed to be tied up in that mess. Seems you can’t play the it’s-only-sex game with someone who is so intimately woven into your life. Troy had tried to convince me of that very idea early on. I hadn’t wanted to hear it. Well, it was really fucking obvious now.