Cruel Beloved

“You’re fucked. I’m not even gay, and I would fuck Chase.” Barry laughs.

“That shit’s not helping.”

“What do you mean, you idiot. You moved on. You said you didn’t want her. That’s why you haven’t seen her for well over a month, right? Clean break. That’s what you said.” He repeats my words right back to me.

“Maybe I was out of line.”

“No. No way. Leave her be, man. You’ve already right royally fucked with her enough.”

He’s right, but my head is telling me to take her. I want her, there’s no denying that fact at all.

“No can do.” Walking back over, her eyes fall to mine, and she looks away. She’s been caught, and she knows it. Looking his way, I see Chase watching us.

I place my hand on her back again as I lean down to whisper in her ear. “We can fuck, and you can pretend it’s him.”

Oh my God, the look to kill. The pure venom, it’s leeching out of her. She wants to swear at me, I know she does. Actually, I think if that perfectly perfect persona wasn’t firmly in place she would reach out and head-butt me into the middle of next week.

But her father speaks, “Corton, so good to see you. Let me introduce you to some friends.” Her father waves at me to follow.

Carla doesn’t look my way when I leave her again.

24

Carla

“So, he’s possessive of you,” Chase says, coming up behind me.

Somehow, I managed to escape after listening to my mother talk dresses for the last ten minutes and driving me crazy with her designer bullshit. And Whiskey is off frolicking with the rich, which I guess is what he does.

“Who?” I ask, turning as Chase pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear and leans on the balcony. I stay near the door but still outside, too afraid to look over, but needing the fresh air and the escape. “Did you follow me out here?” I ask him, smiling.

“I did. And your husband. He hasn’t been able to keep his hands and eyes off you. Tell me, Carla, do you want him?”

“No.” And the minute that leaves my mouth, I cover it with my hands.

He smirks. Lights his cigarette. “I figured as much. There’s tension there. But I don’t know what kind.”

I shrug because I shouldn’t answer that. I go through waves of wanting and hating Whiskey. Lately, it’s been all about hating. But when I see him, no matter how mad he makes me, I still want him. Why is that?

“Did you keep my number?” I look down at my hand for some reason, knowing it washed off. “Pass me your phone.”

I do, and he types his number in and smiles when he hands it back to me.

“Booty call?” I ask him, reading it and looking up to him.

“Anytime. Anywhere.” Chase moves over, leans down, and kisses the side of my lips. I can smell the cigarette that still lingers on his lips as he leaves and have to remember to breathe.

My heart rate finally slows down as I close my eyes and dream. Dream of a life that I was living before this nightmare began.

“He only wants you because you’re married.” I jump, not expecting someone to be there, and my phone drops to the floor. Thankfully it doesn’t smash. Leaning down, Whiskey picks up my phone and turns it around. “Booty call.” He reads it out. “He has some nerve, let me tell you that.”

“Luckily for you, this marriage is fake,” I say, reaching for my phone and sliding it back into my purse.

“Touché.” He nods.

“I can fuck whoever I want, as long as it’s not you.” I push past him to leave.

Whiskey stops me, our shoulders touching as he leans over. “But it’s me you wish was fucking you. Isn’t it, Carla? I could fuck you right here, right now. Cover your mouth with mine to stop those screams I know you make.”

My angry eyes turn to him. “You would know, you have it all on video for your viewing pleasure,” I fire back at him.

He smirks then drags his teeth over his bottom lip. “Why deny what’s between us? You have an itch that needs to be scratched, and so do I.”

“I bet yours has been scratched and sucked lately,” I fire back.

“Surprisingly, no. But now my wife is here…” He looks me over then leans down to kiss me, but I turn just in time as his lips touch the side of my face. His kisses fuck me over and make me putty in his hands, and that fact is entirely unfair.

“Your wife doesn’t like to be fucked by liars and manipulators.”

“You had no trouble last time,” he says with a click of his tongue.

I lean close to him, so it seems I might kiss him. “I didn’t know who you were then. Now I see you, know you, I don’t want you.”