Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

They share a look. Can he?

I use their distraction to pull my arm free. Stomp into my apartment.

All right, I stumble.

I'm drunk, yeah, but not drunk enough.

I won't be drunk enough until the entire fucking world is a blur.

I can't think about this. I need it far away. I need to forget every time Iris ever smiled.

I need to forget how

badly I want her.

How much I meant it when I said the past is the past.

I did. I really fucking did. I was sure there was nothing ugly in her past. I was sure there was nothing like this.

I…

My head pounds.

My heart aches.

Brendon fills a glass of water and hands it to me.

I drink. Even though they're both assholes.

There. I set the glass on the counter. The damn thing only makes me think of her.

Her lips on mine.

Her thighs wrapped around me.

Her groans in my ears.

She's all over this room.

And my bedroom.

And the shop.

Even the fucking ocean—the one place where shit always makes sense—makes me think of her.

"We should hide his wallet," Dean says. "So he can't go out again."

Brendon shakes his head. "He won't."

"Go fuck yourself." I press my hand against the wall. The room is spinning. But it's not from too much whiskey. It's my world tilting on its axis.

I know all the signs.

They were there.

It was obvious. How cagey Iris got about Bree. How she kept alluding to some secret I'd never forgive. How she looked at me when I tore her clothes off—like it might be the last time.

But I didn't see it.