Page 91 of Inseparable
I bury my head in my hands, groaning. I’ve managed to keep my cover for almost five years, and, in one night, Devin is unraveling everything.
She leans across the table. “I’m your friend. You can tell me, and I promise I won’t breathe a word.” I lift my head, mortified when tears pool in my eyes. “Hey, you, don’t get upset.” Her expression softens as she reaches over, lacing her fingers through mine. “Who is that guy?”
I sniffle, removing my wallet from my purse and extracting the dog-eared photo. I slide it to her. “His name is Devin Morgan, and I’ve been in love with him forever.” I spend the next hour telling her everything, and she listens attentively, never interrupting.
“Holy fuck, Ro, or do I call you Ange now?” she asks, after I’ve finished speaking and I’m hunched over the table, physically and mentally drained from reliving the sordid details of my past.
“Ro. I’m still Roberta. Angelina Ward died years ago.”
“Does Scott know all this?”
“Fuck no, and you can’t tell him.” I pierce her with pleading eyes.
“Chill. I already told you I’ll keep your confidence.”
I crick my neck from side to side, trying to loosen some of the tension. “I know. Sorry, I’m just really on edge right now.”
“Why’d you keep Scott around anyway? It’s not like either of you are faithful.” She lights up a cigarette, blowing smoke circles into the air.
I shrug. “Better the devil you know, I suppose. Besides, he pays half the rent, and he’s a worse alcoholic than me so he doesn’t care if I stumble in the door barely knowing my name,” I half-joke. Her pitiful look sours the vodka sloshing around in my stomach. “He’s low maintenance,” I add, feeling a need to justify myself, “and it’s better than living alone.” Not that it really makes much of a difference.
You can be surrounded by people and still be the loneliest creature in existence.
She props her elbows on the table, blowing smoke out her mouth with a pensive look on her face. “I think you should talk to him,” she says after a bit. “You didn’t see the look on his face when he first noticed you. I did. That Devin guy has missed you like crazy. Loves you like crazy. I’d bet any money on it.” She stubs out her ciggy, and her expression softens. “I get why you ran away, but maybe it’s time to put it behind you. You can’t still feel responsible.”
“I do,” I rush to confirm. “Iamstill responsible. I made bad choices and those choices led to someone I loved taking his own life. He doesn’t get a do-over, so why should I?”
She takes my hand in hers again. “For a smart girl, you sure are fucking dumb sometimes.”
I yank my hand away, irritated at her cutting remark. “I didn’t tell you so you could sit in judgment or lecture me.”
“Sometimes the truth hurts, chica. You’re purposely hiding away in this shithole with a shit for brains lowlife as a boyfriend and a dead-end job instead of facing facts. And you have options, girl. Options I would kill for. You don’t have to live this life. You choose to. Why the hell can’t you see you’re just making more bad choices?”
I toss the last shot down my throat, slamming the glass so hard on the table, it splits and cracks up one side. “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you the truth before.”
She grabs her wallet and slides out of the booth. “I love you, you idiot, but sometimes you are your own worst enemy.”
A couple hours later, I’m three sheets to the wind, blissfully plastered, and being towed out to the corridor leading to the bathrooms. The guy’s hand is warm but callused, dwarfing mine. He’s older but still hot with dirty blond hair, gray-blue eyes, and he wears his jeans well. Haven’t a clue what his name is. Didn’t stop to ask before I launched myself at him out on the dance floor. He didn’t complain, instantly shoving his tongue into my mouth and grinding his obvious arousal against me. After fifteen minutes of sweaty dry humping on the dance floor, I didn’t object when he suggested we take this someplace a little more private.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he exclaims, slamming my back against the wall as he kneads my tits through the thin material of my dress.
“And you’re not moving fast enough,” I taunt, flicking the button on his jeans.
“In a hurry to get off, sweetheart?”
“Stop talking,” I hiss, irritated by the rough cadence of his voice. He was much more attractive when he wasn’t speaking. Shoving my hand down the front of his boxers, I grab his erection, happy it’s long and thick in my hand.
He moans. “Fuck, yeah, baby. That feels good.” His hand creeps up my thigh, finding my lace thong, and he shoves it aside, plunging two fingers inside me. “Nice, baby. Real nice. Do you want Daddy’s cock now?”
Rolling my eyes, I ignore his pitiful attempt at dirty talk, tugging his jeans and boxers to the floor.
He rolls a condom on and then lifts my leg up and out to the side, ramming into me in one swift thrust. I ignore the brief sting of pain, wrapping my leg around his waist while steadying my other foot on the floor and flattening my back against the wall. My hands dig into his shoulders as he starts thrusting in and out. He doesn’t hold back, grunting and groaning as he fucks me hard, just how I like it. My head falls back, my eyes close, and I lose myself to the carnal act, ignoring the way my head is spinning and my empty stomach is slopping copious liters of vodka around.
Tiny tendrils of awareness seep into my semi-comatose state, and my eyes flick open. The corridor is dark and camera-less on purpose. You can bet we’re not the only fornicating couple to have hidden in the shadows for sex tonight. A form moves at the far end of the corridor, nearest the exit to the club, and, even in the dark, I can detect Devin’s shape. He’s not moving, he’s simply watching, his body strung tight.
Our eyes meet, and he stares at me with dark intensity. His jaw clenches but he’s in control. Watching. Waiting. Biding his time.
Well then.
