Finding Him (Covet 2)

My dick was seconds from disowning me for just standing there. I moved away from her and cleared my throat. “Enjoy the party.”

“Wait, what?” Keaton grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”

“Well, right now I feel like I’m going insane, so I’m going to go get enough alcohol to make my dick limp, and then I’m going to ram my face into the closest door in an effort to crack the lock so I can leave.”

She frowned. “But it’s your birthday, this is your party, I thought—”

“Yeah, well, I thought too,” I interrupted, anger surging all over again. “I changed my mind, I don’t want a present, I don’t want anything, and I can’t pretend. I’m not that talented. I’ve lost every single ounce of fake enthusiasm and laughter I used to possess, and now this is all I have.” I threw my hands up and shook my head. “This raw primal need to rip your dress in half with my teeth, but not just that, because that would be easy, sex is easy. I want more, and that’s the problem, Keaton. I want more of you. I have settled for enough my entire life, I want more than good enough. I want all of it, and the problem is you don’t have that to give me, and even if you did”—I scowled—“I highly doubt I’m the sort of man you would waste it on. So yes, I’m going to leave my own party. Yes, I’m going to walk away, because one of us has to, and I’m pretty sure if you left first it would break me.”

I’d said too much.

She was driving me insane, though, and it hurt. For the first time in a long time, I felt something real, something good, something I hadn’t had with Izzy and couldn’t explain.

Something I couldn’t have.

Funny how you can have millions of dollars, the best clothes, cars, and still feel fucking empty.

I turned around and made my way toward the bar for more alcohol and mentally berated myself for being so honest with her.

I genuinely liked her.

And she seemed embarrassed to be next to me.

Karma was such an evil bitch.

I deserved it—probably.

Didn’t mean I had to like it.

I held up two fingers. “Two shots, bourbon.”

“Make that three,” came a familiar voice.

I had no fake smiles left so I turned and glared. “Dad, nice to see you.”

“Sheathe your sword, son.” He grabbed his shot and held it up. “Saw you dancing with Keaton Westbrook.”

“More like arguing,” I grumbled. “But good to know you’re not going blind. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Your brother’s poor manners are rubbing off on you.”

I snorted out a laugh. “No, actually I’m just all out of fucks.” I threw both shots back. “Enjoy the party.”

I sidestepped him and made a beeline toward the back of the hall. At the Met Gala last year I remembered people sneaking off in that direction. If I couldn’t find an exit, maybe at least I’d find some peace.

I was almost home free when someone grabbed my arm and turned me around.

“You don’t abandon a lady on the dance floor.” Keaton crossed her arms and then put them on her hips. “And you don’t just confess feelings like that and stomp off like a petulant child.”

“Are you scolding me for having a heart?” I leaned in and cornered her against the wall.

She put her hand on my chest. “You don’t understand. In public I can’t . . . it’s different, we aren’t at the cabin anymore, Julian.”

“I wonder if that’s how you would pen our story. Julian Tennyson, dirty little private secret . . .”

A sharp crack split the air as she slapped me across the cheek. It stung like hell. I hung my head while she glared at me, chest rising and falling as if she couldn’t get enough air.

“You should go.” I didn’t want her to go. I wanted to pull her against me again. I wanted her to pick me despite the fact that it was all wrong.

“You’re a jackass,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I never pretended to be anything but,” I said quietly while her eyes darted toward my mouth. “I never hid that from you.”

“You’re right,” she whispered, her eyes wide, searching mine.

We were standing so close that I could smell the perfume on her neck and taste the champagne she’d just drank.

Keaton swayed toward me and then slid her hands up my chest. Our foreheads touched. “You’re the worst possible person for me.”

“Are you trying to ruin my birthday?” I moved my head to the side, inhaling the perfume in her neck, ready to lick my way down the delicate column and beg for seconds, thirds, fourths. My lips pressed against her skin, and then I gave her a soft bite. Goose bumps erupted.

“Damn you, Julian Tennyson” was all she said before jerking my head down for a punishing kiss.