Page 78 of False Promises

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The next day, I did my best to stay as far away from home as possible. When I woke up and padded to the kitchen to make tea, the fucking new furniture still stood there as if to nag at me. The sight of it was enough to start another tug-of-war inside me. The sane part screamed at me to run for my life, but the empathetic side begged me to wait and see if she needed help. That there could be some sort of explanation for Savannah’s behavior. Not in the mood to spend another minute here, I grabbed breakfast to go and parked by the beach. After a long conversation with Taylor and Riley about our plan of action, I felt better somehow. Still, the restlessness wouldn’t leave me. Agitation traveled through my bloodstream. I couldn’t stay still for more than a minute without crippling thoughts messing with my brain.

I replayed every conversation Savannah and I ever had on a loop in my head. Like a freaking ongoing movie I couldn’t escape from. All the moments we shared, all our interactions. Were any of them genuine?

Grabbing the duffle bag I kept in the trunk for situations like these, when my mind wouldn’t shut off, I made my way to the gym. Some place downtown where I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed.

For the next five hours, I ran eleven miles on the treadmill and pumped iron until my arms called it quits. In a calmer state, I returned home around six, only to find Savannah in discussion with a man I’d never seen before. In our kitchen.

Other than to fight, Savannah and I had barely acknowledged each other since I returned from Nashville.

“Oh Carter, you’re here,” she exclaimed in a small, overly cheery voice that didn’t sound like her. She air-kissed my cheeks. “Oh, you smell.” She pinched her nose. “Freshen up and change. We’ll wait for you. Food is almost here. And please burn those clothes while you’re at it.”

She turned on her heels and brought her attention back to her friend without introducing me.

I shook my head, my hopes for any cease-fire tonight sinking. No, Savannah hadn’t gotten out of her crazy ways. All day, I had prayed this was all in my head. That I’d dreamed the entire episode since I flew back in town and we would go back to being us. No such luck.

So far, I’d identified three distinct personalities of her. The vulnerable child-woman needing protection, the entitled diva, and the insatiable siren.

Right now, this version of her reminded me of the one I’d encountered at Dylan Daughtry’s birthday celebration a while back. One I had forgotten to include in the list.

I studied her profile and demeanor for a long minute. Her gestures told me a lot. She leaned in, pressing her hand against her male friend’s chest, whispering something in his ear, and laughing at everything he said.

She batted her eyelashes a few times and bit the tip of her forefinger, an unmistakable sign she was on the prowl.

Yeah, I knew all her telltale signs. In the past, it usually ended up with her lips around my cock or scorching hot sex.

At their interactions, my insides twisted.

The man cupped Savannah’s cheek as she stared at him with soft eyes, and I almost lost it.

What was the game she was playing here? Because, by now, I’d realized everything with Savannah Prince was some sort of competition or a means to an end. How could I have been so blind for so long? How had she succeeded at sucking me into her diabolical vortex?

She tilted her head backward and laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. My heart churned at the overwhelming whiff of her perfume lingering in the air.

Was she trying to make me jealous? Or to prove a point? Right now, I had no idea and didn’t care. This little tactic, using another male to taunt me, had become stale. It didn’t affect me like it used to.

After I showered and dressed in washed-out denims and a vintage Carter Hills Band T-shirt, I rejoined them in the kitchen.

With purpose in every step, I walked to Savannah and her friend and interrupted their fun as I held out a hand.

“Hi, I’m Carter. Nice to meet you. And you are?”

I glared at the man from my height, squeezing his hand more than necessary. He swallowed hard and gave Savannah a hesitant glance.

She shrugged but said nothing, watching us with glee in her eyes.

“I’m Jean-Jacques. A producer on Savannah’s newest project. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hills. I’ve heard about you, but I’m not a country music fan. I prefer indie music and opera.”

I released his hand from my tight grip, and the man stepped back, massaging his palm with a thumb.

“Too bad your tastes in music are questionable.” I winked.

Savannah slapped my chest. “Carter, don’t be rude. Jean-Jacques is our guest. Not everyone enjoys your weird love songs and sad melodies. They’re not even that good.” She moved to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of wine and poured three glasses as if she hadn’t just insulted me and my career. Those weird songs had paid for her new décor. And she knew I didn’t drink, yet these days, every chance she got, she tried to encourage me to. No. Not happening. I wouldn’t fall for more of her evil schemes.

I placed the glass she handed me on the counter.

Before I could say something, the doorbell rang.