Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (66 page)

We don’t want you.

“Bad news?” Garrett’s voice makes me jump. I turn to find him in the doorway, watching me with a concerned look on his face.

I swallow back the sting of disappointment. “It’s nothing,” I tell him.

“You sure?” Garrett’s eyes are soft, “Because—”

“I said, I’m fine!” I snap. “At least, I would be if you could stop being such a broken man-whore and keep a damn waitress in this place!”

I storm past him, but not so fast that I don’t see the flicker of hurt on his face. It’s too late to take it back, so I just add the guilt to the whole mess of emotions I’m carrying, heavy and sharp like a steel knife blade in my gut.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I pull it out, glad for the distraction.

hey sexy. c u later?

It’s from Trey, a guy I’ve been hooking up with these past couple of weeks. We met in a bar a couple of towns over. One drink led to another until we closed out the night in the backseat of his beat-up old Chevy. It’s turned into a regular late night thing, my one good distraction to take my mind off another long night of nothing here at the bar.

And tonight, I sure as hell need distracting.

sure.
I text back, and a moment later, his reply flashes up.

already hard 4 u.

Real romantic.

I tuck my phone away with a small grin. Trey and his dirty talk have done the trick; now my latest rejection letter is just another in the stack, one more thing to forget about and move on from.

I take a deep breath, and remind myself: I’m the one in control. All those fancy fashion lines may not want me, but I can get Trey panting with nothing but a wink and a flash of red lace from under my tank top. Out there in the world, I may be nothing, but put me in a room full of guys with one thing on their minds, and they’ll want me.

They’re always going to want me for that.

I sweep aside my disappointment and head back out to the bar, adding a swing to my hips and some strut to my stride in my chunky lace-up boots. Garrett gives me another look of concern so I just flash him a fake smile and keep moving, loading up my tray with waters and going to bus some empty tables in back.

You’ve got this, Brit. You’ll be just fine.

I see a new group enter the bar: an older couple, and their daughter, a pretty blonde about my age. I grab a stack of menus, about to go over to welcome them, when the door swings open again.

Trey.

Despite myself, I smile. I guess he couldn’t wait until I finished my shift. He’s dressed up, I notice: a button-down shirt, good jeans, cleanly shaven. The last few times we met, it was a late-night thing: sweaty and disheveled after a long day at work. We both know I’m a sure thing either way, but it’s nice he made the effort for me. Guys never do.

“Hey you,” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t even look in my direction. Instead, he walks straight over to the far table, and the family who just walked in. He slides in next to the blonde girl and drapes an arm around her shoulder.

I freeze.

The girl smiles up at Trey, and he leans to drop a kiss on her lips. She reaches up to touch his cheek, and that’s when I see it: the ring on her engagement finger, bright and sparkling, and full of betrayal.

My blood runs cold.

Trey still hasn’t seen me. He’s smiling, easy, joking with the girl’s parents. They’re all having a ball of a time, as if ten hours ago he wasn’t grunting in my ear, cursing under his breath as he groped at every inch of flesh on my body.

Funny, he forgot to mention his fiancée.

Rage comes, hot in my veins. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, how this goes. How it always goes. But after that letter from the design company, this is like a ton of salt dumped on the wound. All my rejection comes boiling up again, sharp and bitter with regret.

I guess I’m only good enough to fuck.

I stalk over there before I have a chance to reconsider. “Hi y’all, welcome to Jimmy’s.” I say flatly. I look to Trey for some kind of reaction: shock maybe, or fear. But instead, he has the nerve to smile at me and wink, like we’re in this together.

“We’ve got some specials here tonight,” I continue, my voice sharp and metallic.

“Sure,” Trey grins, lounging back in the booth. “Let’s hear ‘em.”

I narrow my eyes. Without the tequila blurring my vision – and good judgment – I can see he’s just a beefed up jock with a bad goatee. Jesus, why did I even waste my time on him?

Because there was nothing better to do.
The voice in my head answers for me.
Because he helped you forget, just for a little while, what a dead-end your life has become.

I push the voice back, and glare at Trey, like I could strip the skin off his bones with just one look.

“Well, first up we’ve got the cheating asshole,” I announce. “It comes with a side of whiskey dick.”

That wipes the smile off his face. Trey scowls at me while the rest of the table blinks in confusion. “Brit—” he warns in a menacing voice, but I’m not done yet.

“Or how about some lying piece of scum?” I continue, “You won’t have to wait long for that. Trust me, it comes real quick.”

“That’s enough!” Trey leaps to his feet, but I step back, quicker.

“Damn right it is.” I spit. “Already hard for you?” I quote his text, fury pumping in my bloodstream. “Funny how you didn’t mention your fiancée.”

I grab a plate of nachos from the next table and upend it all over his head. The mess of cheese and guacamole and beans smears down his face and drips, slowly to the floor.

There’s silence. The rest of the table gasps at me in shock.

“What the fuck?!” Trey finally finds his voice, wiping at the mess on his shirt. “You crazy bitch!”

“What’s she talking about?” The blonde blinks, all innocent confusion.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Trey says quickly. I snort.

“He’s been fucking me for weeks.” I tell her harshly. “And god knows who else. Better get tested, sweetheart. I sure as hell will. Y’all have a nice night.” I add to the girl’s parents, sitting there, shell-shocked.

I stride away, victory surging in my veins. That’ll teach him not to use me like some piece of ass, then go running back to Little Miss Perfect the minute daylight comes. I can hear him now behind me, begging and groveling to them all. “Don’t listen to her, baby,” I hear him plead. “You know what everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.”

My steps falter. Now that my rage is fading, I realize the whole bar is staring at me. I can see their faces, wide-eyed and scandalized. Then the whispers start, gossiping tones drifting out to me as I hurry across the bar.

“You know those Ray kids… She gets around, for sure… Just like their mama…”

I keep walking, my anger fading to humiliation as reality sinks in. As far as everyone here is concerned, Trey isn’t the one who made a fool of himself just now. No, that was me, lashing out, flying off the handle, causing some huge scene. And for what?

“What the hell, Brit?” Garrett steps out of the back room in time to catch the carnage behind me.

“I’m on my break,” I snap, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar as I steam down the back hall.

“Brit, wait a second!”

Garrett’s voice and the noise of the bar recede behind me as I hurry up the back stairs. I bypass his apartment on the first floor, and keep climbing, even when the staircase narrows into a winding spiral. Finally, I heave open the rusted fire escape and push outside into the crisp night air.

The rooftop is empty, home to a couple of old lawn chairs and an ancient grill. I walk slowly to the edge and lean out over the railing.

Why do you always do this?

The scene replays in my mind, but I don’t see Trey’s smug face staring back at me. No, I see the blonde girl instead. Sweet, and pretty, and so damn naïve. Sitting there with her perfect family, it never crossed her mind for a second that Trey could betray her.

I can’t tell if she’s lucky or just another fool.

He didn’t take me to dinner. They never do. I’m not that girl, you see: the one who gets dates and flowers and sweet whispered goodnights. I’m the one they screw up against the back wall of a club in a neon-lit alley; who they text at 2:00 a.m. when they’re bored and need something to pass the time.

I always told myself it was better this way. No use believing in a dream that would only fade to ashes in the end. But feeling this used and empty, over and over again… What’s better about that?

I take a gulp of the whiskey, feeling it sting in the back of my throat. The anger, the adrenalin, it slowly seeps away, leaving me with nothing but the low burn of rejection in my gut. I look out across the harbor and the few lights bobbing on the water, down past the row of tourist stores and the new beachfront townhouses. In the pale dusk light, Beachwood lies quiet and still, lights glimmering,—with nothing to drown out the echoes in my mind.

“You know what everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.”

It’s true. That’s what they do say about me. Growing up in a small town like this, with a junkie mom and a runaway dad, I was never going to escape the gossip. I figured I’d just embrace it instead. Let people say what the hell they want about me: I won’t tie myself up in knots trying to live down the family name. They want to write me off, spread rumors, and ‘tsk’ under their breath as I walk by? Let them.

I even used to revel in it when I was younger: strutting around town wearing the sluttiest outfits, flirting with all the men, seeing the look of disapproval in everyone’s eyes, like their good opinion meant a damn thing to me. It was all just a game, anyway. And this way, I could feel like I was winning.

Then everything changed.

One night: that’s all it took for me to get a glimpse of what life could be like, and after that, it all just felt wrong. The victories didn’t taste so sweet; the gossip and rumors started to get to me. Slowly, my bad reputation felt less like a badge of pride, and more like an albatross around my neck, always dragging me down. Now I wonder what it would be like if I’d grown up normal. Unknown. Able to walk down the street without the whispers behind me, to meet some guy who hadn’t heard the rumors, the half-true legends of all my wild antics. Someone who didn’t think they had an easy shot just because of my last name.

Someone to know me, the real me.

I brush away the thought and take another swig of whiskey. This is the rejection talking, and the booze. I know, even if they got to know me, it wouldn’t mean a thing. A few weeks of playing at happiness, maybe, before they hit the road again.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that people always leave.

I sink down into one of the chairs. The whiskey is finally working its magic, warming my bones from the inside, even though it feels like I’m made of solid ice. I should go back down and help out Garrett, I know, but I can’t drag myself away just yet. The last wisps of twilight are fading, and way up here, I can pretend the ugly mess downstairs doesn’t exist. Nothing exists but me and the distant lights of the shoreline, so pretty that I can almost forget what this town is like up close.

I come here all the time. This is my secret spot, up above it all. It’s where I come to think and be alone, to spend hours just watching the bustle of the town below, letting the distant sound of the ocean wash away my pain as I daydream of some other life, some other future, far away from this town and all the memories chasing me down.

Some good those daydreams are. The years slip past, and I’m still here: hiding away up on my rooftop, while they all gossip and scorn me behind my back. I wanted so badly to prove them wrong, but all I do is live up to their low expectations.

“That was quite some scene.”

A guy’s voice comes from behind me, amused.

“Leave me the hell alone,” I snap, not turning. I’m not in the mood to deal with any more bullshit tonight—especially not from some guy who heard the whispers and figures I’m an easy score. “This is private property.”

There’s a low hum of laughter. “The Brit I knew never cared about that.”

My heart stops.

It can’t be, I tell myself. Not here, not again, after all this time.

But it is. I know the truth even before I brace myself and turn. I’d recognize that voice anywhere: the low, sexy drawl that echoes in my dreams, smooth as honey and sweet as the night we shared together, three long years ago.

Hunter Covington.

CHAPTER TWO

“WASTE OF A GOOD plate of nachos, if you ask me.” Hunter grins at me across the rooftop, hair glinting dark gold in the setting sun. “And you always said, nothing exciting ever happens in this town.”

My heart pounds as I stare at him, disbelieving. He’s leaning in the doorway, casual as can be. A ghost, a relic, a memory I’ve clung to through dark nights and desperate days.

I never thought I’d see him again.

My legs give way beneath me, and I clutch at the back of the lawn chair for support.

“You’re here,” I breathe.

“I’m here,” he agrees, and fixes me with a crooked, heartbreaking smile.

Everything falls away.

The bar, the rejection letter, Trey—it all dissolves under Hunter’s piercing gaze. My eyes devour him hungrily. He’s older now, we both are, but somehow I’ve been carrying the picture of who he used to be. The boy he was, not the man he’s so clearly become. There’s power to his athletic body now, clear in the broad frame of his shoulders, the muscles beneath his preppy Oxford shirt. His blonde hair falls over his golden skin, blue eyes still blazing like the brightest summer sky I’ve ever seen.

I feel an ache slice through me, longing, and pure bittersweet regret. Just one night, that’s all I had with him, but somehow, it’s meant more to me than anything else in my life since. I thought in time it would fade, that I would feel those feelings with some other guy, that I would dilute Hunter’s power with a hundred other kisses, dozens of other bodies and lips and hands.