Why We Fight (At First Sight 4)

I pushed through the front door, a wave of warm, dry air washing over me. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear my head. The bouncer told me that if I was going to go back inside, I needed to have my wrist stamped, but I ignored him. I walked down the sidewalk away from the bar, grinding my teeth.

How had I let it get this far? For a large part of my life, things had felt beyond my control. My brain was at war with my body, and I was being betrayed by both. I

was from a home filled with—at best—casual indifference, though I didn’t know if that was on me or my fosters. It hadn’t been until I’d met Sandy and been accepted into Dartmouth that I found some semblance of order, and I’d run with it, to the point where I’d become stringent and single-minded, focused on attaining every single goal I’d had.

But I was such a hypocrite, because I’d given shit to Ty for doing the same thing. I’d told him there was more to life than what he was making of it. It was almost two-faced, a pretense that I shoved off on others without allowing it to be directed toward myself.

“Stupid,” I muttered. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And oh, the what-if game I played with myself.

What if Jeremy wasn’t my professor? I’d think as I watched him pace in front of the class, eyes alight, hands flailing wildly.

What if Jeremy wasn’t my boss? I’d think as Jeremy pulled up every morning in front of our house in his slut machine.

What if Jeremy could be interested in someone like me? I thought now, even though it was such a useless thing. I glanced down at the corset I wore, feeling like such an imposter. This wasn’t who I was. This was Charlie and Jeremy’s world, and I was a tourist. Jeremy had said so himself.

“Goddammit,” I groaned.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I froze. Because fuck my life.

I felt a hand on my bare shoulder and tried to convince myself it was nothing but a hallucination. But if it was, it was startlingly crisp and clear as Jeremy moved around in front of me, looking concerned. He’d lost his cap somewhere, and his hair was sweaty and matted down against his head.

Which, of course, took nothing away from his attractiveness.

If you’d had told me even a week ago that I’d be into someone wearing enough leather to send a vegan into anaphylactic shock, I’d have laughed in your face.

But here we were.

Life sucked.

I forced a smile on my face. “Yeah, just needed a break.” I stepped back, and he dropped his hand. “It was a little… intense.”

He frowned. “Did someone say something to you? They can be a little aggressive, but no one should be pushing you for something you don’t want.”

I shook my head. “No, not like that. It’s just… a lot, I guess. Like, at Jack It, I’m usually up in the Queen’s Lair, so I don’t have to be in crowds. I don’t like getting bumped around.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

He didn’t look like he believed me. He looked around before grabbing my arm and walking around the back of the bar near the parking lot. There was a door that I hadn’t noticed before. Near it, fixed to the wall, was a metal bench. Next to it was an old coffee can on the ground filled with cigarette butts. A single bulb above the door was dimly lit.

Jeremy pushed me to the bench and sat down beside me. I snorted as his leather squeaked. God, what a weird night.

“Better?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

I could feel him watching me, but I stared resolutely forward. It seemed safer that way.

He sighed. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

Well, shit. “No, that’s not—argh. I’m happy to be here. It was… nice, seeing you in your element. I just—wait. How did you know we were going to be here?”

“Helena Handbasket.”