Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (2 page)

“Is it ever? It’s a good thing you’re so giving, huh?” She shakes her head at me. “Just kiss me, Bach. Just kiss me.”

Normally I wouldn’t need any more justification to yank my shirt over her head and lift her up on the counter. I’d slide between her legs and fade away. That’s what we do. But something Dylan said nags at me. “Where are you going in life, Justine?”

“What?” she asks, in the middle of puckering her lips.

Her hands leave my bare chest and hang at her sides. Her eyebrows furrow. I’m confusing her. I realize I said something that didn’t have to do with sex, shots, or some twisted yet enticing combination of both.

“What, um, do you want to do? You sing, right? I’ve heard you before. You want to sing for a living?”

Her confusion transforms into unease. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me. Our relationship is about sex. That’s it. Sweat, lips, and moans. I’m cool with it. I don’t want more. Plus there’s a million more Justine’s out there. I don’t have time to know them all.

“Are you feeling okay?” She touches my face with her hand. “You’re not hot. We didn’t drink that much last night. What’s wrong?”

“Just answer the question,” I growl, moving away from her touch. “Do you know where you’re going?”

She bites her lip, her dark eyes widening at my outburst. “I know where I want to go.”

“Where?” I’m losing my patience. It was a simple question. All I want is a simple answer. I want to know that I’m not the only one completely stumped by this question.

“I want to go to Nashville and sing country music.” She slaps her hand over her mouth as if she can’t believe she actually said it out loud. “That’s my dream. But I don’t think it’s ever going to happen.”

“Why not?” I can see it. Justine’s got that country look even though a lot of people don’t in Crystal Gulf. We’re in the south, but the south has a hard time breaking through the beach haze of this city. It’s laid back when we’re by the water and fast paced when we’re not. Our beer has sand in it and the sweet tea isn’t ever sweet enough.

“I don’t know. Why don’t a lot of people do what they want? Shit happens. Things get in your way.” She shrugs casually, forcing a smile. “Does that answer your question?”

I nod, but it doesn’t answer
my
question. Even Justine knows what she wants. I thought I did too. I want this, hips, sand, and sweaty hands on my body. I don’t want to question this. It’s the only thing I have. If it’s somehow wrong then being right left me a long time ago along with everyone and everything else in my life.

I shrug my worries off and smile at Justine, returning my attention to what she really wants. What I really want. “I’m giving?” I slide my thumb across her bottom lip, tugging on it as I bring my body closer. I lean in for a kiss. “I’m really giving,” I whisper against her mouth as she moans deep and hard. Why did I bother trying to talk to her? This is all she wants. It’s all anyone of them want.

I pick her up and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her to my bedroom. I remind myself that up until a year ago Dylan didn’t know shit. Each thrust into Justine proves he’s wrong. Her hands on my ass, urging me deeper, contradict his bullshit. Her lips on mine, my hands sliding across her sweaty skin, and our groans of pleasure make right now right again.

What does Dylan know?

I push myself inside of Justine as deep as I can, feeling her stretching and making room. Beneath me her eyes roll, her mouth opens. She’s falling apart. What more do I want?

What more could I possibly need?

Harley

Dylan: We need 2 talk

Dylan’s text hasn’t changed. I don’t know why I continue to read it. Maybe I’m hoping the letters will somehow rearrange themselves and make more sense. What could we possibly need to talk about? Everything was going so good between us. Better than good.

Everything was great.

We could’ve talked last night. Or this morning before he left to go back home. Or the moment I kissed him goodbye at his car. His rough kiss this morning makes me worry now. His lips were urgent, not in a hungry way, but in a goodbye kind of way. The way Mom used to kiss Dad when his leave from the army was over and she didn’t know if he’d ever come back.

Heartbreaking scenarios unfold in my thoughts. He’s cheating on me. He’s not happy anymore. He’s bored. I’m always afraid of that. Dylan and I are so different. I’m not the usual kind of girl he dates and he’s not the usual kind of guy I date. We are opposites. Opposites attract, but they also retract. The reasons that bring us together could be the same reasons that tear us apart. Our differences are starting to feel less and less, but I could be wrong.

What do we need to talk about?

I have class in an hour. Couldn’t he tell me this later? I have an important exam to take. Concentrating is out the window as I continue to dredge of horrible possibilities. Not failing is going to have to suffice. Before I drive myself completely crazy, I leave my bedroom and trade it for the living room. My roommate, Len, is watching vampires ravage humans on television. Not my idea of getting my mind off of Dylan, but it will have to do.

“Drool, lick, or kick?” Len asks.

I’m not in the mood for her games, but play along anyway. “I’d drool over the werewolf. Lick the vampire. And totally kick the human.”

She nods seriously. “I see where you’re coming from. The vamp is totally hot. Although look at the werewolf. He’s got that whole alpha thing going on. Don’t you ever want to be mounted like a she-wolf and howl at the moon?”

I gawk at her. “Mounted?”

“Mounted,” she repeats, getting on all fours on the couch. She wiggles her ass at me. “I.E. straddled or dominated from behind.”

I push her over. “I don’t need an example or a definition.”

She catches herself before falling over and sits back down, straightening her long black hair. “I’m a geek, remember? All I have are examples.”

“Then teach yourself.” I tap my fingers against the couch’s arm, thinking about Dylan. “Len?”

“Hmm?” she mumbles, not really listening anymore. She’s stuck on the screen, watching the vampire stalk his human lover who is undressing in front of her window while the creep licks his fangs.

“Dylan wants to talk.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“I think he wants to break up.”

“Aww, lucky.”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“I want a boyfriend like that.”

“I’m into girls. Can I mount you?”

“Uh-huh.”

She’s no help. Len and I are roommates out of necessity. We’re not sisters. I sigh and get up. “I’m out of here. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Totally happy for you!”

I grab my purse and backpack and leave Len there with her fangs and claws. I have my own alpha and I’ll be damned if he leaves me. I drive to Dylan’s place with a twisted knot in my stomach. I can’t wait for another cryptic text. I have to know what he needs to talk about now. I channel Len, moving without thinking, thinking without moving. I don’t even stop to look around before knocking on Dylan’s door. I could feel a chill coming off the gulf. I wrapped my arms around myself and waited for him to answer.

Except Dylan doesn’t answer the door. His roommate does. The second he sees that it’s me a naughty, dark grin lifts his lips. I make a disgusted sound in the back of my throat and roll my eyes.

“Where’s Dylan?” I demand.

“What? No hello? No how are you? No how’ve you been? It’s been way too long, Harley.”

“Where is he, Bach?”

There is something about this guy that has always made me feel unsettled. I didn’t know if it was the dark look that constantly hovered on the edge of his gaze, or the things I’ve heard, regardless, I wasn’t a fan. I must be the only one, too. He’s aggravatingly popular in Crystal Gulf. I didn’t understand what for. Dylan is too, but that makes sense. Dylan is generous, trustworthy, and handsome. Bach is rude, pigheaded, and okay, sexy as hell, too, but still, I keep my distance. Dylan defends Bach until he’s blue in the face. It’s the only thing we can’t agree on. I think Dylan could leave his past behind if he didn’t have so many reminders, and Bach is a huge reminder.

“He isn’t here. Is his car out front?”

I hadn’t even checked. “I guess not.” He said he was going home though. “Was he here at all?”

“He was here,” Bach answers, his eyes narrowing. “But he left this morning.” He leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his bare chest, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that hang dangerously low and unbuttoned on his hips. One wrong move and the zipper will give way.

It’s almost three in the afternoon. Where has Dylan been since he left my apartment this morning? I picture him with someone else, mounting her. I get so pissed off I want to hit something. Or someone. Especially when Bach laughs quietly. His sea green eyes narrow, baiting me, like he can practically see what I’m thinking.

I gasp. “You know!”

“Know what?” he answers innocently, his deep voice mocking. “What Dylan’s probably too chicken shit to tell you himself?”

I fell down a flight of stairs once. I had my hands full of moving boxes and I couldn’t see where the next step was. My heel caught and I knew when I missed that step I was falling. My stomach drops now the same way it did then, like I am losing my balance and no one can catch me.

“Dylan,” I hear myself whisper. I’m breathing too hard.
How could he
?

Bach’s smile fades. He doesn’t find it funny anymore. Is it so bad that even Bach doesn’t want to know about it?

“Don’t cry,” he begs. “Please don’t cry, Harley. I’ll close the door on you if you cry.”

“Is he cheating on me?” I suck in a breath, but I don’t like the way it feels. There’s not enough oxygen around me right now.

Bach rakes his fingers through his dark brown hair and then moves aside. “Come in. You’re going to freak out my neighbors.”

I look around. His neighbors are outside funneling beer. “They don’t look freaked out.”

“Trust me. That’s a sure sign they’re freaked out.”

I stand there awkwardly as he closes the door behind me. When I come here with Dylan he takes me straight to his bedroom. He doesn’t give me a chance to see anything but him. I don’t normally wander around the apartment. Even when I go to the bathroom he acts like I’m going to lock myself in Bach’s room and let him have his way with me. And something tells me Bach would most certainly be up for it.

Pig
.

“Let’s go in the living room,” he suggests, striding in front to lead. He reaches behind him and scratches his shoulder, highlighting the muscles in his back and arms. “Have a seat.” He sits on the arm of the couch with his feet on the cushion.

I push a single pink high heel off the couch and then sit down, momentarily scanning the area for a used condom. I know it’s here. The wrapper’s on the floor near the video games. “Where’s the other one?” I ask, bending to pick up the heel. I can’t keep the disgust from curling my lips.

He eyes the heel, his gaze heating up, and shrugs like it’s no big deal to have strange women’s shoes in his living room. This is why I insist Dylan sleeps at my place. Bach’s disgusting.

“In my bedroom probably.”

“You actually made it that far?”

His eyebrows rise. It makes me feel stupid for asking. Of course he made it that far.

“Dylan lives here too,” he reminds me. “That could be his heel.”

I drop the heel and sit uncomfortably on the end of his couch. “Tell me, Bach. Is he cheating on me?”

“Would you be so shocked if he was?”

“Yes!” What kind of question is that? “Dylan isn’t like you. Of course I’d be shocked.”

His expression sours. My comment bothers him. “Dylan is me. I am Dylan. We’re the same fucking person.”

It’s my turn to laugh mockingly. “You could never be Dylan.”

“Why? Because I don’t run from who I am?”

“No. Because Dylan recognizes he wants to be better than his past.”

He throws his head back and chortles. “Oh brother. I knew you were where he was getting that shit from.”

“It isn’t shit.
This
is shit.” I point at the empty beer bottles on the table, the one heel on the floor, the condom wrapper by the games. “Dylan doesn’t want this anymore.”

“What does he want then? You, Harley?”

I glare at him, seething. “Is it that hard to believe that someone might want something better?”

“Something better suggests that there’s something wrong with what I have currently. What’s wrong with what I’m doing? What if I think who you are is wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not perfect, not by any means, but I’m damn sure not you.”

“What does Dylan see in you? I mean yeah you’re hot, and you have those light brown eyes, but come on. There are millions of other girls out there with much less of an opinion. Why you?” He examines me intently. “I don’t see it. I don’t get why he’s throwing his life away for you.”

“He isn’t throwing his life away!” I no longer want to defend Dylan’s desire to better his life.