Page 46 of Crashing Into You

“So you’re fucking him, then? After you promised me?”

“I promised you nothing.”

“You are fucking him.” His voice breaks. “I’ve been waiting for you. I haven’t even looked at another girl?—”

“Well, maybe you should.”

“You’re mine!” He’s shouting now. Tears come to my eyes.

“I’m not!” I scream back. “So leave me alone!” I hang up the phone before he can say anything else. My legs buckle under me and I crouch down, sobbing, my hands over my face. It takes me a few moments to get back under control, wiping my eyes. Even though I want to run to Bryce, I don’t want him to see me like this. I can take care of myself, and I can take care of this. I don’t want to pull Bryce into any more of my shit.

Sniffing, I get in my car. I check my reflection in the mirror, wiping the last bits of tell-tale moisture from my lashes, biting my lips, pinching colour back into my cheeks. I’m not kidding about going to the police if Simon doesn’t stop. I’ve had enough. Not that I know whether or not they can do anything to help, but it feels like some sort of a step in the right direction.

There’s a knock on my car window and I jump. “Shit!”

It’s Bryce, thank god. I almost tumble out of the car door, into his arms. “Hey,” I say, half-laughing, half-crying. I’m beyond glad to see him. His car is pulled up next to mine; I didn’t even notice him arriving. I try to calm down, but he sees right through me.

“What’s wrong?” He holds me back from him, his green gaze roving over my face.

“Nothing.” I try to smile, but it comes out as some sort of twisted grimace.

“Don’t bullshit me, Claire. What’s happened?”

“Simon.” I tell him about the phone call, and his expression gets darker.

“I will end that guy if I see him,” he growls.

“Just leave it, please. I can handle things.”

“How? By telling him we’re fucking? Why not just pour petrol on him and chuck a lit match his way? You need to be careful, Claire. I’ve seen what guys like him can do.” His mouth thins and he looks away, frowning.

“I will be careful,” I say, starting to worry. “And I won’t tell him we’re… doing anything else.”

He half-smiles, then. “It’s not really any of his business, is it?”

“No.” I pull him closer, wrapping my arms around his waist. He leans against me, pressing me against the car. He touches my face, his lush mouth relaxing, his green eyes soft. He’s so beautiful.

“Besides,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. “We’re not fucking yet.”

“Hmm, I know.” I return his kiss, my heart pounding at his casual use of the word “yet.” “We really need to sort that out soon. I don’t like telling fibs, not even to him.”

“We are having sex, though.” His lips travel downwards, his voice rumbling against my throat.

“Yes, but not totally.” I gasp as his hand comes to my breast, his thumb smoothing across the nipple. “Not that anyone will believe that. After all,” I manage to add, “I am supposed to be your girlfriend. And everyone knows what a sex god you are.”

“Sex god?” He pulls back, laughing. The little line between his brows smooths out.

“Oh yes. It’s what my friend Joss says, anyhow.”

“Is it now?” His hips push into mine, and I can feel he’s getting hard again. “Well,” he runs the tip of his tongue up the side of my neck, “I’d hate to prove her wrong.”

“We’d better go back to my place, then.”

His hand glides lower, dipping under my skirt. His fingers slide between my legs, caressing me over my lace thong. “Hmm,” he says. “I think we should.” He drops a kiss on my lips, then pulls back from me completely, leaving me a panting mess against the side of my car.

“You know what?” I say, trying to pull myself together. “You, Bryce Maylands, are not a sex god.”

“What am I, then?” He’s trying to hold back his laughter.