Blindsided (21 page)

“Fine.” His voice is low, quiet. Defeat threads through every syllable.

My heart wants him. Oh, Lord, my heart wants to wrap itself around him and secure him against me. But my body and my mind? They want him to go. They want him away because then…then, it won’t hurt.

Corey swallows hard. Then he releases me and chills filter across my skin. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. All-fuckin’-right.” He steps back, his foot dropping onto the second stair, his eyes on mine. Always his eyes on mine. “All right. If that’s really what you think of me, babe, then all right.”

“It is,” I whisper. Except the words are so quiet that I don’t think anyone but I can hear them. They’re so quiet that I’m not sure they’re true at all, because if I had meant them, surely I’d have yelled them. Surely I’d have shouted them from the rooftops, ready to announce to L.A. my opinion of him.

Surely I wouldn’t be standing here, tears stinging my eyes, watching him walk away from me.

He does. Walk away from me. One step at a time, he descends the staircase, each inch another farther from me.

I get angrier. I want him to fight, dammit. I want him to run up those stairs and claim me, make me his. I want him to stay in this house until I’m one hundred percent sure I’m his.

But he doesn’t. In typical Corey fashion, in typical playboy fashion, he hits the bottom step and walks. He doesn’t even turn around.

The ache—it grows. And my eyes—they burn. The sting is a little stronger. Everything, I feel it everywhere, because maybe I’ve been kidding myself.

Mom appears where Corey just was. “You want me to call the girls?”

I shake my head. “Cole,” I manage. “Please, Mom. Cole.”

She nods, turning away.

I stare at the stairs. How could he have walked away so easily? How could he have left me so simply? That isn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to fight. He was supposed to ignore my demands and make me believe he’s more than the guy he appears to be.

He was supposed to prove that he cares.

But he doesn’t.

And I do.

I lost my own game.

I slump down against the wall, wanting the only guy who’s ever made sense to me. I want Cole to make sense of Corey.

I curl up into a ball. As curled as I can get while sitting upright, that is. I hug my knees tight because they’re all I have to hold on to. They’re the only anchor in my life right now.

I don’t know how much time passes when I finally hear him say my name.

“Lee?” Cole says softly.

“What did I do for him to treat me so fucking badly?” I look up at him, swallowing hard.

“Baby girl,” Cole whispers back, walking across the hall to me. Then he sits next to me and loops his arm around my shoulder. “Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.”

“I don’t even want to care. Do you know that? I’m mad. I’m so damn mad.” I can barely feel anything else other than that anger. “So why do I care?”

Cole doesn’t answer—he doesn’t need to. I already know why, and so does he.

Movie debut week for Mom is always crazy. It’s a mixture of calls from her agent, e-mails from random publications who can’t be bothered to contact her publicity team, and scheduled appearances.

I try to be there. I do. Every year, I’ve been backstage at every interview, ready to hug her and tell her that she’s perfect. But this time, I’m shut in my design room, surrounded by material and pins.

Frills and lace and polyester consume me without distracting me at all. They don’t calm me either. My escape isn’t working.

I step back to look at the mess of red and white fabric on the mannequin. Jesus. Is that a coat or a dress? I don’t… I don’t even know what the hell that looks like.

I rip the fabric from the fake body and pins scatter across the linoleum floor like a thousand tinkling raindrops. I grab a stubborn red scrap and tug hard, and the mannequin goes, too. I jump back as it crashes to the floor. Then I kick it.

“Stupid piece of crap.” I throw the fabric on top of it and drop onto my plush, leather chair.

“Leah? What’s wrong?” Aunt Ada pokes her head around the door.

“I’m broken,” I mutter, staring at the mess on the floor.

“Broken my backside,” she retorts, walking into the room. “I thought I taught you better than this.”

Oh hell. Of all the times for her to have her hearing aid in. “I’m fine, Aunt Ada. I just need…something.”

She claps her wrinkled hands together. The sharp sound rings out around the small room, and I jump. My eyes snap to hers.

“A man pissed you off. So what? It’s in their job description to be irritating bastards, dear. And what we do when a man pisses us off?”

I shrug. “We drink lots of wine and eat cake?”

“Leah Veronica! Most certainly not! Women do not feel sorry for themselves.” Ada frowns at me. “Why are you angry, really? Is it because he pissed you off or because he left when you told him to?”

I open my mouth. Then I close it again because I don’t want to say it out loud.

My old aunt smiles. “Ah-ha. Now, it makes sense.” She hobbles across the room and puts her hand on my cheek. “Dear Lele, listen to Great-Aunt Ada. The best way to get a man to come back is to make him think you don’t want him to.”

“I don’t want him to.”

“Sure you don’t. Call Macey and go and meet another guy, then.”

“I don’t want to do that either.”

“Sounds like you don’t know what you want, dear.”

Something like that. “Can we get to the point of this seemingly pointless conversation?”

Ada laughs and drops her hand. She straightens and looks down at me, her eyes sparkling fondly. “When a man pisses you off, one does not sit back and wallow in one’s self-guilt. One gets up, gets beautiful, and pisses him off straight back.”

With those words, she turns and leaves the room. I stare at her as she walks down the hall to her bedroom and disappears through the door. What was that?

If only it were that simple. If only I really could get up, get dressed, and piss him off.

He’s probably already moved on.

I ignore the sting that that thought brings. Because hell, if he’s moved on, and I’d bet my ass he has, then I can, too.

I grab my phone from my desk and call Macey.

“Hello?”

“Mace.”

“If you’re gonna go ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ on me, then I’m sorry. I’m closed for business.”

My lips twitch. “No. I want some advice.”

“On the quickest way to remove balls from a guy’s body? Or how far up their ass they can go?”

Tempting… “I want to know how to piss off a guy without making it seem like I want him to come back.”

Silence. Then a loud, gleeful giggle. “Why, you get dressed and you come out with me, of course!” The sound of a door shutting comes down the line. “I’ll be over in thirty minutes. Order pizza. I’ll bring the wine.”

I
flick the beer cap up. It spins in the air then drops down onto the table with a clunk.

My house is too quiet, which means the thoughts in my head are extra fucking loud. Each one is a painful scream begging me to listen to it. One after the other, they circle until my temples throb and there’s a steady pounding at the base of my skull.

I drop back onto the sofa and run my fingers through my hair. I’ve fucked up many times in my life, but this is the biggest one. And the worst thing is that I don’t have a clue what I have to do to fix it.

I don’t know if there is anything I can do.

I’ve already given her something I’ve never given anyone—a chance at more. Even if she doesn’t know it. I’m afraid that, with every word she’s ever spoken, every smile she’s ever given me, every kiss she’s placed on my lips, she’s wriggled her way under my skin. She’s clawed her way through the asshole act and hit my fucking heart.

“What?” I open my front door.

“Did I interrupt a jack-off?” Jack laughs.

“Fuck you.”

He follows me inside. “You see the news?”

“Do I look like I’ve watched the bullshit?” I motion toward my TV and grab a beer from the fridge. I offer the bottle to Jack and he nods in response.

“You should.”

“Or you could just tell me what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

He takes the beer from me. “Apparently, the media vultures had a new plaything downtown last night.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Leah went out with Macey. Pictures show her leaving Vibe with some guy.”

I freeze. “You fuckin’ what?”

Jack pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes his thumb across the screen. Then he drops it on the kitchen table and slides it to me. “See for yourself.”

I ignore the words, my muscles tightening. I want to see the pictures—I want to see that it isn’t fucking true and they don’t fucking exist.

They do. And it’s sure as shit her. Long legs, curves hugged by black fabric, blond hair swept to the side. Then some asshole standing next to her with his arm around her waist.

His
arm.
My
girl.

Fuck no.

I throw Jack his phone and drop my bottle in the sink. It falls over, the undrunk beer spilling out of the top, filling the sink. After tucking my phone into the pocket of my jeans, I grab my shoes and shove my feet into them.

“Whoa—where are you goin’?”

“Leah’s house.” I grab my keys.

“How many beers have you had?”

“Four. Maybe.”

Jack snatches my keys. “You aren’t fucking driving, you idiot.”

“You won’t stop me going ‘round there.”

“I’m not trying to. Despite the fact that you’re probably safer sending roses or some shit, I’m telling you to get in my car. I’ll give you a ride.” He puts his bottle down and opens my front door. “I’m not offering this shit again, so get in or walk.”

I sigh heavily and follow him to the car. I’m… I don’t know how the fuck I feel. I’m mad and I’m confused. I’m torn and I’m fucking fuming.

Two days ago, she was standing in front of me, trying to not to cry as she demanded I get out of her house. One day ago, she was leaving a club with some prick.

My girl, my Leah, was leaving with someone else.

Someone else was touching her, kissing her. Someone was taking everything she had denied me.