A Perfect Ten (Forbidden Men 5)

“No.” I gave a harsh laugh. “She walked out before I could get through the entire list.”

Lowe winced. Hart snickered. I shot them both a glare. “It was either I tell her or Gamble tell her. I thought it’d be better coming from me.”

“How long ago did this happen?” Hart asked.

“Last Saturday,” I uttered, feeling the pain of missing every little part of her: her voice, one of her cute little sexy texts, her arms around me, her smile.

“Shit.” Lowe shook his head. “Give her at least a week.”

I looked up at him. “What happens if she hasn’t talked to me within a week?”

He shrugged. “Then give her two weeks.”

“Then what happens if—”

“Just give her some time, man.”

I buried my face in my hands, abso-fucking-lutely miserable. Time was going to tear me apart if I had to spend too much of it away from her. “I’m such an idiot,” I ranted. “The last words my sister ever said to me before she died were not to turn into a man-whore, and what’s the first thing I did? I turned into a fucking man-whore to fight back the bad memories, and now it’s coming back to bite me in the ass.” Cupping the sides of my face in my hands, I looked up at Hart and Lowe, who gaped back at me as if I’d grown horns. Somewhere in my head, I realized I’d just spilled a bunch of shit about my sister, but at the moment, I couldn’t even care. There was more important shit going on. “What if I lose her?”

Unable to take the weight of this pain, I sank to the floor and rested my elbows on my knees as I concentrated on not falling apart.

“That’s it.” Hart tugged on my arm, trying to get me to stand. “I’m driving you home.”

I shook my head. “No. Can’t go home,” I mumbled. “My sheets still fucking smell like her.” I hadn’t been able to sleep at all most of the week because of that. I probably should’ve washed them, but then they wouldn’t smell like her anymore, and that would’ve broken me even more.

“Then you can crash on my couch. Let’s just get you out of here.” The next time he tried to pull me up, I let him.

On Saturday, Lowe’s advice of waiting a week came. And then it passed. With no word from Caroline.

The next morning, the beginning of day eight, that was it. I knew everything was over. Caroline hated me, and I would never be allowed back into her life again.

Miserable, unshaven, and two days without a shower, I lay slumped on my bed, watching Child of Glass on my laptop because she’d left her DVD in my computer.

I hated the stupid movie.

“This has to be the cheesiest fucking thing ever made,” I grumbled aloud to myself. “Awful fucking acting, worst fucking music, and not a single fucking curse word in the entire fucking thing.”

Yet this was probably the third time I’d watched it today. I couldn’t seem to stop watching it.

“Wait!” the movie ghost called out. “Do not go, Alexander. I need your help.”

I snorted. “And that has to be the fakest fucking ghost ever created.”

I turned the volume up to hear the ghost’s accent, the one Caroline had loved so much. “It is a damn cute accent though,” I had to admit on a grumble.

And just like that, agony rippled through me. My chest felt full and raw as if metal claws had raked across my lungs.

Turning my face to the side, I breathed in the scent that was still barely clinging to my pillow.

God, I missed her.

“Hey, Ten.” Quinn knocked on my open doorway and peered in at me with a sympathetic cringe. “Do you want to ride with us to the picnic or drive yourself over?”

I paused the movie and frowned at him. “What picnic?”

“Uh…” Quinn scratched the back of his head before shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “The one at Noel’s…to celebrate Aspen getting her new job at the high school.”

“Gam’s throwing a party?” I said slowly. I pushed the laptop off my lap so I could slide off the bed.