Irrefutable (The Apprehensive Duet Book 2) (43 page)

"Get the fuck out right now! Get the fuck away from me! I really can’t be held accountable for my actions right now, Jason. I’m leaving in an hour to go back to work. I suggest that you come back then to get your shit. If you don’t, I swear I’ll burn whatever’s left, you disgusting bastard!" I screamed at him. It was definitely a scream this time, the anger winning out in the battle of emotions. How dare this motherfucker try to tell me it was my fault that he couldn’t keep his dick to himself? He couldn’t find the balls to ask his girlfriend for rougher sex or whatever it was that he wanted but wasn’t getting? I knew it was the pot calling the kettle black and all, but he hadn’t just found me getting nailed by some other guy. He didn’t seem to have a problem asking that bitch for what he wanted. I'd needed that anger, otherwise I knew I'd crumple to the floor. He’d hit the nail on the head with that prude comment, as though he’d known right where to aim it to inflict the most damage.

"Yeah, whatever Ashley. Truth hurts, doesn’t it?" He said as he walked out of the bedroom.

I sank down the wall as he slammed the door behind him. I sat there, hoping to calm the chaos in my head, trying to wrap my mind around the reality of everything that had just happened.

If he’d wanted something more, why hadn’t he ever asked? Had I missed the signs? Had I come off as too much of a goody-goody to be willing to try new things? I racked my brain for answers that I wasn’t sure I wanted. Maybe it had been my fault. I searched my memory for cues from Jason that I may have missed. Nothing stood out to me.

After a few minutes, I’d snapped back to reality. I knew I needed to get the hell out of that room. I moved as fast as I could, grabbing what I hoped was everything I would need for the night. I needed to get to Quinn. I needed my best friend. She would know what I needed to do.

Thoughts of that awful afternoon swirl through my mind while I sit in this damned traffic. The traffic from Hoboken, where I now live with Quinn, to Morristown, where the Jets' practice facility is located, is at a maddening standstill, and I can’t seem to keep my mind on the present.

My disastrous relationship hadn’t just ended with finding Jason in bed with the blonde or the extremely sore spot he’d pushed on his way out the door. Soon after that, I came to find out that he’d also maxed out my emergency credit cards— the ones that I’d kept for unexpected mishaps of life, like my breakup with Jason. I never carried them around with me. When Jason and I had lived together, I’d kept them at home in the drawer in the kitchen along with my extra checks, current bills, and take out menus. Jason has a decent job working on computer software and makes good money. I’d never thought he might use them, so I hadn’t thought twice about leaving them there. Jason had never seemed like that kind of guy to me. When the statements came in the mail about a week or so after Jason moved out, I was shocked. He’d put nearly two grand on one card and over four on the other. In ONE month! Hotels, bars, high-end restaurants, and lingerie stores. He must not have really cared about getting caught with his pants down because he had to have known that I was going to find out as soon as the statements came in… Or had he planned to just keep hiding them from me? Maybe that was what he’d wanted all along, me finding out. He’d probably been hoping I’d find him so he could take the coward’s way out instead of breaking up with me himself.

What the hell had I ever done to him? Okay, he was bored, so he went to someone else for what I wasn’t giving him. But why did he have to be so cruel? So vindictive and over the top. As if the cheating weren’t enough, he had to hurt me in the worst possible way—with my money and in my bed. Why not just break up with me? Or at least ask me to spice up our sex life? I would have if he’d asked. Hell, I’d wanted the same thing. I just didn’t know how to go about asking for it. It was like something taboo. What kind of woman asks to be treated dirty? What kind of girl asks to be manhandled in the bedroom without seeming like a freak or a slut?

"You're not a freak, Ash! Everyone is into the down and dirty, Sweets!" Quinn says every time we talk about this subject. She’s the only one I’ll talk about my secret desires with.

"You're just trying to make me feel better," I said back to her last time we had this conversation.

"When the fuck have I ever lied just to make you feel better? Have you forgotten my uncouth way of being too blatantly honest? You bitch about it all the time."

I'm suddenly reminded of the poor sales clerk at Neiman Marcus that Quinn nearly made cry. The poor girl hadn’t done anything wrong except catch Quinn on a bad day.

"Neiman Marcus," I answered. "And yes, you’re right. You are never nice for anyone's benefit other than your own."

"Oh, come on! I snap at one poorly dressed sales girl one time, and now I'm never nice? I was having a bad day and was about to start my period. Cut me some slack. Bad days and PMS never mix well for anyone." Quinn defended herself before turning back to our original conversation. "Really, though, if you want some spice in the bedroom, ask for it. You know how that saying goes. ‘Lady in the streets, but a freak in the sheets,” she reminded. I had no choice but to giggle.

I smile thinking back to that conversation and Quinn's advice. We’d been unpacking some boxes that day, about a week after I moved in with her. After Jason had maxed me out, Quinn offered up her extra bedroom to me. I’d only grudgingly agreed, and we argued about it at first. I’d been in a bad a place, so I couldn’t see how awesome Quinn was being.

With about a month left before my lease was up on the place I’d shared with Jason at the time of our breakup, I’d been stressed the hell out about money, which was something new for me. I wasn’t a rich girl like Quinn, but I also wasn’t used to being a paycheck-to-paycheck girl with no pot to piss in or—in a month—no window to throw it out. After I’d opened those credit card statements from Jason, I’d known that the road ahead would be bumpy. I knew there was no way in hell I would be seeing that money from Jason, and those cards needed to be paid off. I couldn’t let him destroy my credit along with everything else he’d already destroyed, like my trust and confidence.

At the time of the breakup, we had four more months left in our lease. Thank God, we hadn’t sent in the lease renewal yet. The lease was only in my name because Jason hadn’t had the greatest credit. So I was the only one legally responsible for making sure it got paid. My savings had been enough to about cover most of the remaining rent. The rent was two thousand for that now-awful apartment. I didn’t want to live there anymore, let alone pay two grand a month for it. It wasn’t bad when I was splitting everything with Jason. But shouldering the full rent, utilities, regular bills, student loans and now these huge credit card bills, I was wiped out! Yup, Jason had fucked me good! And not in the sense that either of us apparently wanted. Quinn had pushed me to go after Jason for the money, but it wasn’t worth it to me. I didn’t want to have to see him again and relive the memories of him banging that chick.

When Quinn had offered me the spare bedroom in her apartment, I’d agreed straight away. Until she told me not to worry about paying rent. Then I freaked out on her.

“I am not a fucking charity case, Quinn Taylor!" I told her.

"I never said you were, Sweets!" She stared me down, daring me to argue. "But I don’t need the money and right now you do." Quinn has always had money to burn and didn’t see what the problem was. Her father is some hot shot investment something-or-other in the city. She works for him but also still gets a healthy monthly allowance from her parents.

"Then I’m not moving in. If you don’t let me pay half the rent, then I’m not moving in here with you. I’ll find somewhere else to live."

"Ugh, fine! How much do you want to pay then?" She huffed, clearly annoyed at my stubbornness.

"Half," was my answer.

Quinn picked her head up and looked at me seriously this time. "Ashley, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t let you pay half."

"Why not?" I asked innocently.

"Because you can't afford to pay half right now. So tell me how much will make you happy, and you can pay that. How about what you were paying with Jason? Will that make you happy?" she asked me, still not telling me how much the rent was.

"Well, is the rent here two thousand?" I asked, knowing it most likely wasn’t.

"No, it's not. I pay five grand a month here, and I know that you can’t afford twenty-five hundred a month. I really don’t want you to pay me at all to live here. My parents pay for this place, not me. Trust me, they can afford it."

"But that isn’t the type of person I am, and you know it. I’m not mooching off my friend's rich parents," I answered, meaning every word.

"Fine, tell me how much to get you to shut the hell up and move the fuck in here with me."

"Umm, how about fifteen hundred?" I knew it was more than I could afford, but at least I would feel like I was paying my way, not taking advantage.

"Fine! Whatever! But not a dollar more, and utilities are included," Quinn said, amending my offer and effectively ending the conversation. "Subject closed!" So I’d moved in with Quinn about two months ago.

I was slowly climbing from the red into the black. My security deposit from the apartment in Jersey City had paid off one credit card Jason ran up and a little bit of the other. My savings had helped me cover the other half of the rent that used to be Jason's. I was still stretched slightly beyond my limit, but I was making do. Knowing I’m not the kind of girl to ask for it, Quinn tried to hide her help from me. She didn’t think that I’d noticed the extra twenties she stuck in my wallet from time to time or the meals that she made sure were there waiting for me when I got home so I didn’t need to pay for dinner. Quinn had gone through the trouble to try to help me discreetly, so I let it go, even though it bothered me. I suppose that’s what best friends are for.

Quinn and I had met our freshman year of college and have been inseparable ever since. Seven years running, and I couldn’t be more thankful for the randomness of college roommate assignments. I only feel comfortable talking to Quinn about my "issues". I don’t think there are too many people out there more open-minded than she is. I hadn’t been all that upset over losing Jason himself, but the way it had ended and what he’d said to me had hit a nerve. At the time, I’d believed that I loved him, but now I’m not so sure. Thinking back, I probably stayed so long because I felt secure with him.

His claim that if I weren’t such a prude, he would have been sexually satisfied still bothers me after all these months, brings out my insecurities. I’ve wondered if anyone I’d ever been with has been sexually satisfied. I’m not shy per se, but I guess I am kind of reserved. I usually just followed Jason's lead when we were intimate—missionary, on top, rarely taken from behind, and always in a bed. I’ve racked my brain for any hints he might have made about wanting more, but he never did, which was why his little stunt caught me completely by surprise.

I’d wanted more too, still want more. I want someone to push me up against a wall, pin my hands over my head. Total Christian Grey elevator-style! I want someone to tell me how much they want me and how hard I make them. I want him to push me to my knees and give me no choice but to keep my mouth open as he shoves his cock in my mouth without even asking. I want him to tell me how good it feels to fuck me without remorse. I want all that and then some, but how the hell does one ask someone for that without coming off like a complete whore? Again.

These are the thoughts running through my mind as I pull up to the practice facility of the New York Jets for the interview. I glance at the clock on my dashboard. Wow, great! I’m ten minutes late, sweaty, and most likely smell like a farm animal. On top of that, I’m also a little turned on by the thoughts that I’d just been entertaining. I check my rearview mirror and am pleased to see my makeup isn’t too bad. I fix my hair quickly and rush from the parking lot to go interview the playboy quarterback, Tanner Garrison.

After doing my research yesterday, I’m even more hesitant about this interview. Pictures of the hot quarterback are all over the Internet. He's a local boy who grew up in Staten Island, so he’s definitely a big deal around here. The fact that he’s downright delicious, with bright green eyes and a messy crop of brown hair, doesn’t hurt either. You can tell he knows it, too. He’s always photographed with one particular bombshell—stunning, super skinny, great boobs, perfectly dressed in the latest fashions, and never a hair out of place.

This Melissa Finnegan girl is in a lot of photos with him. Most articles say she’s his girlfriend. There are also plenty of pictures of him with other girls, and the captions always claim he’s stepping out on Melissa again. He sounds like a typical player. On and off the field. It’s disgusting, and I feel awful for Melissa if she is his girlfriend. I know how she feels. At least the whole world didn’t get a front row seat to witness my embarrassment. This should be a fun interview. I don't know the first fucking thing about football, and now I’m so worked up over Jason that I don’t know how I’ll put up with this playboy. I can’t stand that I have to interview someone who is nothing more than your everyday jock with a padded bank account and a sense of entitlement that makes him believe he can do whatever the hell he wants. Ugh, here goes nothing.