Twelve of Roses

“I’m not a friends kinda gal. It’s nothing personal, honest. You seem like a good guy,” I soothed, speaking absolute bullshit.

Sure, he was a gorgeous sonofabitch, and he seemed genuine, but so did Satan. Well, supposedly. I’d never met the man personally.

“What does that even mean?” he laughed. “What kind of girl are you?”

The kind of girl who’s pretending to be someone she’s not. “The kind that drives all the way to the end of town looking for a booty-call.”

He choked on his drink, then threw his head back and laughed a little louder. It made me loosen up a little more.

Some men had an issue with women who weren’t afraid to initiate sex. Somehow, we were sluts and whores for getting ours just like the guys got theirs—double standard idiocy at its finest.

I never had an issue separating sex and feelings. I didn’t worry my heart would be left behind with a one-night stand. I liked to be used. Being fucked, then forgotten, was one of the many screwed-up coping methods I had.

When Max finally stopped laughing, he leaned forward and whispered, “Well then, I think you’re exactly my kind of girl.”

“Was it the booty-call?”

“No, it was your honesty,” he drawled, flashing me another one of his sexy smiles before leaning back.

I think, in the back of my mind, I knew right then that he was going to be trouble.

The kind of trouble I was intimately familiar with.

Chapter Five

Present

Max was the kind of man that was determined to get his way. Con had a similar trait, but usually for many different reasons.

And there I went again. Why was he on my mind so heavily? That’s not to say I didn’t think about him often, but it was getting to the point where that’s all I did.

Obsession was so fucking hard to cure.

“I've never seen you in Black Pine before," Max pointed out, pulling me out of my thoughts. He dropped his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together beneath his chin.

"I've only been here about three months. I'm still learning my way around."

"Here with family?"

"My sister, Molly. What about you?"

I glanced over at his friends.

They were still laughing and conversing, but, every few seconds, one of them would look over at us.

"I have one brother and one sister. My parents don’t live around here,” he answered, seemingly pleased when my full attention went back to him. Picking my new drink up, I took a nice swig and tried to stop my face from screwing up.

"I've been staring at you since you walked in the door," he confessed with a sheepish grin.

"Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” I partially teased.

Our conversation flowed around nothing all that important. A few more drinks may have been added in somewhere. It felt natural to sit and talk with him. In fact, one could even say it felt like I knew him from somewhere.

That didn’t last long, though.

He leaned back, running his thumb over his bitable lips, looking at me in a studious way.

"What is it?" I asked, feeling the effects of the alcohol buzzing around in my head.

"You're a gorgeous woman, Rose. But you're sad. I feel it, and I can see it in those eyes of yours. Did something happen to you? Is that why you moved to Black Pine?"

Suddenly, I wasn't tipsy enough. I couldn’t be that obvious. Were my problems stamped on my forehead? Maybe they were written across my breasts—his eyes had gone to them more than once when he thought I was distracted.

I always pulled off happy-go-lucky. It's what I did. The world could be burning down around me and I'd have a cocktail in my hand with a smile on my face.

Never crack your façade.

Con had drilled that into my head.

The ways he used to hurt me became more and more creative when I became immune to something he was doing. Being read so easily made me uncomfortable. I almost started looking around, expecting Justin to appear. I felt like I was being tested, and that was never a good feeling.

"Well, Maxwell—"

"Max," he interjected.

"Well, Max. That's a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I promise you, I'm fine."

At my bitterly spoken words, his whole demeanor seemed to change before my eyes.

"Careful. Some people make promises they don’t mean." His voice went low, the drawl a little deeper. I found it oddly seductive, which was completely inappropriate, given the context. Maybe the drinks were doing something, after all.

“I think it’s time for me to go.”

Looking away from him, I began digging through my purse for money, tossing enough down to cover my drinks and a tip.

“It was nice to meet you, Max,” I called over my shoulder on my way to the door, feeling his eyes on me as I stepped outside.

A few steps away from my car, I heard his voice from across the parking lot. I knew he would follow me. He was so predictable.