Crushed (31 page)

“Really.” My voice is sarcastic.

“Do you love her?”

If the room was quiet before, it goes downright soundless now. At least until Stephanie steps on a chip. “
Shit
. Damn it.” She crouches down to pick up the pieces. “Mikey, you got a vacuum?”

Olivia tries to hide a smile, and Ethan looks to the floor in exasperation. “
Such
a lady, this one.”

“Yeah. She’s really lovely,” Paul says, stepping out of the way when Stephanie bats at his leg to get the rest of the crumbs.

Stephanie stands again. “Mikey? The vacuum? Or a broom?”

“I love her.” I don’t mean to say it. The truth spills out of my mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I love Chloe.”

It feels like the biggest moment of my life.

My friends—yes, friends—don’t seem fazed.

“Right,” Olivia says, like this is obvious. “That’s why we’re here.”

Stephanie rubs her hands together. “Yup. We’re here to devise your grand gesture.”

I look at them doubtfully. “I don’t really do gestures.”

Stephanie jerks a thumb at Ethan. “Talk to this guy. He wore leather pants to win me back.”

Ethan puts his hand over hers, shoving it downward. “We agreed not to talk about that. Ever. Remember, sweetie?”

She purses her lips. “Nope. Do not remember committing to something so stupid.”

“Guys, focus?” Liv says, nodding her head toward mine. “Okay, so how did you guys last leave it? Ethan gave us the short version, but spell it out for us.”

I rub the back of my neck. “It went, um, badly.”

“How badly?” Liv asks.

I love you best. More than I love anyone. More than you’ve ever been loved.

“She told me she loved me,” I say.

“Good, that’s good,” Stephanie says. “And then . . . ?”

Go to Devon, Chloe. Go to Devon, and let him love you, because I can’t.

“And then I told her that I couldn’t love her. I told her to go back to this other guy, who was . . . safer.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s not so good,” Ethan says. “That was . . . well, fucking idiotic.”

Stephanie pinches his arm. “You did much worse. So’d Pauly here. Way worse.”

I glance at Paul, but he shakes his head. “Not talking about it.”

I take a sip of my drink. Then a bigger one.

“What is it?” Olivia says, refilling her wine glass. “I know that look. There’s something else.”

I reach for the bottle of bourbon, but Stephanie moves it out of my reach. “Speak, boy. Confess thy idiotic sins.”

I love you, Michael St. Claire. But this is a onetime offer. I’m done waiting for some guy to pull his head out of his ass.

“She told me I only get one shot,” I say, my voice rough.

“Ruh-roh,”
Stephanie mutters.

I set my glass down, linking my hands behind my head and turning in an agitated circle as it hits me just how good and truly I fucked up my one chance at real happiness. She handed me her heart on a silver platter, and I pissed all over it.

“Fuck,” I say. “Fuck.”

“Okay, so she goes to college in Dallas, right?” Olivia says, trying to soothe me. “You could go to her dorm, or whatever. Show her you’ll follow her. Paul did that, and it worked.”

“Um, no, boring,” Stephanie says. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Ethan’s going to lend you his leather pants. . . .”

“No,” the rest of us say in sync.

“Dude,” Paul says, giving Ethan a look. “Seriously.”

Ethan holds up a hand. “I can’t even.”

I brace my hands on the counter, my head bowed as I try to get my thoughts straight. I need to do something.

I have to get her back.

A life without Chloe is so colorless I can’t even picture it.

If you let me walk away, I will move on.

My throat burns. All of a sudden, I hate that they’re here. I hate that they’ve forced these feelings to the surface, forced me to feel agony I swore I’d never revisit.

“Do you have any inside jokes we can work with?” Olivia says, her voice a little desperate. “A place that’s special to the two of you?”

“Forget all that shit,” Ethan says, cutting her off. “Look, there’s no way around it. You have to grovel.”

“I can grovel,” I say, roughly.

I see Olivia and Stephanie’s eyes meet, and they exchange a worried glance.

“What?” I ask, my voice sharp. Panicked.

“Well, if she’s dead set on not seeing you, getting to a place where she has to listen to you might be tough,” Liv says, her voice gentle.

There’s a knock at the door.

Everyone looks surprised.

Everyone except Paul.

“Expecting someone?” Ethan asks.

“Nope,” I say. “Then again, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I’ll tell them to sod off,” Stephanie says.

“What, because you’re British now?” Olivia asks.

Paul grabs Stephanie’s arm before she can open the front door.

“Wait, give Michael a second.”

She scowls. “Why? A second for what?”

Paul glances at me. “It’s Chloe.”

Everyone turns to stare at him, and my ears are buzzing.

“Why? How?” I hear myself ask.

“Google’s a magical thing,” Paul shrugs. “I called some people who called some other people who had some questionable connections to phone databases . . . and then I called her.”

I stare at him. That is just . . . beyond weird. It’s like a motherfucking spy movie. But I don’t have time to deal with the fact that Olivia’s boyfriend is apparently buds with someone in the NSA.

I have bigger things to deal with.

Like the love of my life standing outside my apartment.

Chapter 34

Chloe

Of all the things I’m expecting when I knock on Michael’s front door in a fancy apartment building in Dallas, it’s not to have a goth-looking girl open the door.

The girl is adorable. Her lips are pink and glossy, her bright blue eyes made brighter by dark, smoky makeup, and her outfit the cutest-ever combination of badass and girly. If this is Michael’s new girl, I hate her on sight.

“Is your hair for real?” she asks.

But I don’t answer.

I scan the scene behind her.

I recognize Ethan and Olivia from Michael’s picture. They’re even more attractive in person. Annoying.

There’s another guy. Tall. Painfully handsome, save for a few wicked scars. Still, if anything, that seems to make him more handsome. I’d stare. Maybe drool, except . . .

My eyes move to Michael.

Michael.

Is.

Wearing.

A.

Suit.

It’s dark navy, and there’s no sign of a tie, but he looks so deliciously alpha and tortured that I . . . God. I don’t even know.

His eyes are blazing. As though he’s trying to tell me something.

My knees buckle just the tiniest bit when I see him, and the little brunette grabs my arm. “Don’t you dare,” she mutters under her breath.

Then she tugs me in.

I didn’t know what to expect when I got a call from this Paul guy saying that Michael needed me, but it wasn’t this. It so wasn’t this.

“Paul, darling,” Olivia says, her voice dripping honey. “You have got to stop doing this to Michael.”

Ah. So this is Paul. I focus on him, because I sure as hell can’t look at Michael.

“You’ve done this before?” I ask, my casual voice belying the fact that my heart is thumping crazy fast.

“Well . . .” Paul makes a side-to-side motion with his hand as though to say,
it’s complicated
.

“This is the guy who summoned me to Maine,” Michael says.

I force myself to meet his eyes. Again, they’re unreadable.

“He pretended to be Olivia. So I went.”

I flick my eyes to the gorgeous blond girl, expecting pity, or smugness, but there’s only a kind smile of understanding. At least until she looks at her Paul, and then it’s all snarl.

“Hey.” Paul holds up a finger. “I was
very
up-front with Chloe here about who I was. I didn’t pose as Michael.”

“Because if you had, she wouldn’t have come,” Michael says. His eyes are still locked on me. Burning me up.

Except the look isn’t just hot, although it is that. It’s also warm.

The other guy—Ethan—looks between Paul and me and then seems to spring into motion. “Guys. Let’s clear out.”

“Good idea,” Stephanie says. “To the bedroom!”

She holds up a fist in a charge motion, heading toward the door at the other end of the apartment. Ethan grabs her wrist and redirects her so she’s facing the front door. “I’m thinking more coffee shop around the corner, Steph.”

“Coffee shop? Try
bar,
” Paul says as he opens the front door.

Stephanie scowls and tries to skid to a halt as Ethan half-drags her. “But we can’t hear shit if we leave.”

Paul grabs her other arm and helps Ethan haul her out into the hallway. Now it’s just me, Olivia, and Michael.

Michael’s still staring.

Still not moving.

And I still have no idea what the hell’s going on.

Olivia starts to follow the rest of them, but then she falters, turns on her heel, and moves toward me. No,
glides
. She’s one of those girls.

And then, catching me off guard, she hugs me. “Give him a chance,” she whispers. “Please.”

My eyes water, and I’m torn between wanting to slap this girl who once broke his heart and wanting to thank her for rejecting him.

Because that rejection led him to me.

Even if he came to me as irreparably damaged goods.

She closes the door behind her with a quiet click, and still neither one of us move.

“You came,” he says quietly.

I glance down at my feet. “This Paul guy . . . he was . . . honestly? His voice was sexy.”

He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes not leaving mine. “You came because his voice sounded sexy.”

I lift my chin. Lie. “Yup.”

That and he said you needed me.

But he doesn’t look like he needs me.

“Can I have one of those?” I glance at his glass.

He grabs a bottle of wine and holds it up with a questioning look.

I nod, and he pours me a glass, setting it on the counter. I walk toward it, my fingers touching the stem of the glass but not picking it up.

“How’s school?” he asks.

Really? We’re doing this?

“School’s great,” I say, lifting the glass and taking a tiny sip of wine. “How’s working for Tim?”

He raises his eyebrows, surprised that I know, and I shrug. “Devon mentioned it.”

I see something shudder over his face, but it’s gone in an instant. “So you guys have kept in touch.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I take another sip of wine, watching him.

His jaw moves and he looks away. “Are you—?”

Now would probably be a really good time to tell him that other than a few casual
how you doing?
texts, I haven’t really had much to do with Devon.

But Michael’s words from that night are still fresh in my mind.

Go to Devon, and let him love you, because I can’t.
 

I’ve never thought of myself as a girl who plays games, but I don’t tell him that Devon’s not in the picture.

He doesn’t deserve to know one way or another.

He hasn’t earned anything from me except scorn.

Hasn’t asked me for anything except to be left alone.

And yet . . .

“Why am I here, Michael?”

He swirls his drink. “Thought it was because Paul’s voice was sexy.”

There’s a hint of a smile around his ragged expression, and I smile back. “Cold-shower worthy, for sure. So he and Olivia are—”

“Yeah,” he says.

I search his face, but he seems strangely indifferent to this revelation.

I push him. Gently. “I know why I came,” I say. “But what I don’t understand is why he asked me here.”

“Got me,” he says, releasing his glass and shoving his hands into his suit pockets.

“You didn’t . . . tell him to ask me here?” I hate how feeble my voice sounds.

“I didn’t even know,” he says, his eyes on the counter.

“Seriously?” I laugh, my voice high. “Oh my God. I’m an idiot. You must think I’m such an idiot.”

I turn and head toward the door, my hand fumbling at the doorknob in my haste to end this humiliating moment.

He’d told me he wouldn’t come after me.

He’d told me he wouldn’t love me.

And I’d believed him.

And yet, like a fool I come chasing after him the second I think there’s even a chance.

I jerk the door open, but Michael slams his palm against the door, over my head, and slams it shut again.

He’s behind me.

I can feel him. Smell him. Sense him.

But I don’t turn around. I stand there like an idiot, both hands on the doorknob. Stupidly I twist and pull, desperate to get away. “Please,” I beg. “Just let me—”

“Chloe.”

His mouth is near my ear, but it’s not the warmth of his breath that I notice first. It’s the warmth of his voice.

“What?” I use one of my hands to wipe away the tears.

He lets out a little laugh. “Look at me.”

“No.”

He laughs again, gentle. Sweet. “Chloe.”

I keep my back to him.

“Please.” The laughter is gone from his voice now. “Please.”

I take a deep breath. Turn. “Okay, what?”

His eyes roam my face, and they seem to heat each of my features.

Oh, hell no.

I put a hand on his chest. “You don’t get to do this.”

His eyes cloud over. “Do what?”

“Toy with me.”

He swallows. “They told me I’d have to grovel.”

“Who told you?”

His chin nods over my head, in the direction of where his friends have gone. “Them. Well, the girls, mostly.”

“That’s because women know what’s up,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

He crosses his arms, too, his white, even teeth nibbling his full bottom lip. “The thing is . . . I don’t know how.”

I freeze. “Are you saying . . . do you . . . do you want to grovel?”

His lips tilt. “Will it make a difference?”

“No,” I blurt out, too quickly, and his eyes glow with hope.

“You told me, Chloe . . . you told me that if I let you walk away, that you would move on.”

My eyes fill at the memory of that night, but I nod and keep my chin up. “Yes.”