BULKY

I take a seat on the shaded outdoor patio and order a double scotch, neat, still reeling from the revelation that she never really cared for me at all. She faked everything.

God, I want to claw the pathetic organ out of my chest, it aches so fucking bad.

And then I see her at the pool.

In a little white thong bikini.

My hand balls into a shaking fist as I look around and realize every man in the place is staring at her. Ogling that hot little tush and adjusting themselves.

“Damn, is that really Lancaster’s kid?” one of them says to his friend, smacking his lips. “She grew up nice.”

“Jesus, you’re not kidding. Too bad she isn’t poor or I’d be shelling out six figures for a ride of that.”

“Hell yeah, man. Twice on Sunday.”

They dissolve into laughter and the rage in my blood boils over. I push back from my table, upsetting my scotch and grip the closest asshole by his collar. “Watch your fucking mouths,” I growl, yanking the offender to his feet, watching the color drain from his face when he sees who was within earshot. A family friend of the Lancasters, yes, but also the man who could buy and sell the entire club without blinking an eye. “Don’t look at her. Don’t ever speak about her again or I’ll end you.”

The man starts to apologize, but changes his mind when he realizes several men are witnessing his humiliation, forcing him to double down. “Right. Like you wouldn’t pay to hit that, Kraft.”

It burns worse, because he’s right.

Not only would I pay, but I did. Eagerly. Anything she wanted.

All so she would give me her perfect touch. Her time and attention.

And God, I would do it all over again, wouldn’t I?

Still, there’s no way I’m letting this pissant get away with talking about Josie in public like she’s an object. That’s not happening. But just as I rear back with a fist, intending to plow it into his smug face, I hear Josie’s voice behind me.

“Gunner!” I glance back over my shoulder to find her visibly alarmed, standing among the patio lechers, pool water dripping down her young body. “S-stop. What are you doing?”

“Go back to the pool,” I growl through my teeth.

“No.” She pads closer, barefoot, attempting to pry me and the man apart, no idea that she’s being gawked at in her sorry excuse for a bathing suit. “Stop this, Gunner. No fighting.” Her breath hitches, tears turning her eyes to twin blue pools. “Y-you promised you were managing your stress—”

“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t pretend like you give a shit. That ship has sailed.”

Josie flinches and drops her hands, bottom lip trembling as she backs away. What the hell? Is she playing mind games with me? This girl made me believe she cared, then ripped the rug out from under my feet. And she has the nerve to appear hurt by my harshness?

Still, when she turns and runs off, around the side of the clubhouse, my pounding heart gives me no choice but to follow. I don’t care that she broke me in half, I loathe seeing her upset and I refuse to be the cause.

I let go of the pissant and start to follow Josie, until he says, “Damn, maybe Kraft is already hitting that?” His face is bright red from being manhandled, but he’s not listening to his friend’s advice about not provoking me. “Making the Forbes list gets you the best pussy, I guess.”

Without missing a beat, I take one step and headbutt him, breaking his nose and dropping him to the ground, unconscious. “Anyone else have something to say?” I roar.

“No, Kraft.”

“He was out of line, Kraft.”

“I don’t even know him very well.”

Disgusted by the utter cowardice, I shake off the whole situation and follow after Josie, desperate to see her and apologize for snapping. She doesn’t deserve that. She must have been terrified at the prospect of not attending college with all of her friends. Forget what that would have done to her reputation. How can I blame her for finding a way to pay tuition? How can I blame her for taking aim at an easy target?

Me.

I find her around the back of the club, across an expanse of green field, sitting in a gazebo, arms wrapped around her middle. Alone. This section of the country club is mainly used for weddings. I’ve attended many of them. But on a Monday afternoon, there is no activity to be seen, except for me striding across the lawn toward this teenager I’ve fallen crazy in love with. This teenager who has completely wrecked me.

“Josie,” I say, stepping into the gazebo, bringing her head up. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffs, wiping at her eyes, but doesn’t say anything.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You’ve done nothing wrong.”