Offside (27 page)

Jenni danced her way off the dance
floor and Honey reluctantly followed with a glance over her
shoulder to scan the room for Matt. She didn’t see him.

She soon had another French martini in
her hand. Dene moved closer to her. “You look great, Honey,” he
said. “Can’t believe you’re back.”

“Did you even notice I was gone?” she
couldn’t resist asking dryly.

He blinked, his eyes a little blurry
from alcohol. Oh, who was she to judge? She’d been tipping back the
French martinis all evening, trying to make this whole thing more
bearable.

“Of coursh I notished,” he said.
“Missed you, Honey.”

“Uh-huh. That’s so sweet.”

“Give me your number,” he said. “I’ll
call you. We should go out some time.”

That was the last thing she wanted.
She should tell him she was seeing someone else. But they
programmed each other’s numbers into their phones. She didn’t have
to use it.

“Let’s dance,” Dene said, setting down
his drink and grabbing her hand.

Back to the dance floor she went, this
time with Dene. Her stomach churned a little, feeling…god, was that
guilt? Yep, that’s what that was. Guilt about leaving Matt to drink
and dance with these loser people she really didn’t care anything
about.

Shit.

From the dance floor she spotted Matt
up in their private VIP area, standing at the railing looking down.
Looking right at her. It was too dark and he was too far away to
really see his face, but she felt his gaze on her. She beamed him a
big smile and waved, beckoning him to come down there and rescue
her.

But he didn’t.

Back at their table after one dance
with Dene, Cressa and Chandler exchanged some pointed barbs and
heated looks, and when he muttered something under his breath that
sounded like, “Stupid cunt”, Honey’s jaw dropped. Her gaze snapped
back to Cressa to see if she’d heard. Apparently she had. Her eyes
filled with tears.

“Cressa,” Honey murmured, sliding
closer to her. “Are you and Chandler together?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” she mumbled.
“We’ve been together about a year now.”

“Is something wrong? You both don’t
seem very happy.”

“Something’s always wrong.” She
dragged the back of her hand beneath one eye. “Oh Honey. I missed
you so much.”

Um. Yeah. Honey’d never heard from
Cressa all the time she’d been at school. Sure, she’d missed her.
But whatever. Cressa was crying. Honey slipped an arm around her
shoulders. “Let’s go to the ladies’ room.”

Cressa let her lead her across the
bar, down the hall and into the ladies’ room, which was also huge
and packed with girls all primping in front of the big mirrors, and
some lined up waiting for toilets. One girl had a mini flat iron
that she was using to touch up her hair. Honey rolled her eyes.
Okay, maybe she’d done that. Once. A few times.

“Why would you stay with a guy who
calls you a cunt?” she asked Cressa, once she’d established her in
a quieter corner of the ladies’ lounge.

“Because I love him.”

Honey blinked. “Okay, I’ll ask another
way. How can you love a guy who calls you a cunt?”

“He doesn’t mean it. He’s just
mad.”

“What’s he mad about?” Oh, she should
not have even asked that question. Did it matter? He’d called her
the c-word. Honey had no objections to that word when used in
reference to female anatomy, despite her comments to Matt about his
swearing, but when it was used as an insult—that was a deal
breaker.

Or, it was now. There may have been a
time she never really thought about it that much. A time when she
laughed off guys’ insults. Because she didn’t want to think about
it, or what that meant about her that she’d let a guy insult her
like that.

Frack.

She didn’t even know Cressa anymore
and wasn’t sure if she actually still even liked her, but the girl
was upset and teary and she couldn’t just ignore that.

“I don’t know,” Cressa whispered.
“He’s always mad about something.”

“Dump his ass,” Honey said.

Cressa blinked wetly at her. “You’ve
changed.”

“God, I hope so.” Honey gave a faint
smile. “Seriously, Cressa. You don’t need that.”

“I need someone.” Cressa grimaced.
“You know what it’s like.”

Yeah. She did. Her heart squeezed for
Cressa. “Oh sweetie,” she whispered. “It doesn’t have to be like
that.”

She shouldn’t let herself be dragged
back into this. She shouldn’t care. But Cressa was dissolving into
tears, sobbing and wailing. Erm. Where were her other girlfriends,
the ones she’d come with? Nowhere near, that was for sure, probably
having a good time out on the dance floor or snorting coke
somewhere. Honey let out a long breath and tried to get Cressa to
calm down.

This took some time, and then doing
makeup repair in front of the mirror took even more time. Then they
were finally ready to go back out and find their group again. She’d
been gone a lot longer than she’d planned, dealing with Cressa’s
little meltdown. Was Matt looking for her? Wondering where she
was?

The others were preparing to leave
when she and Cressa got back to their table. “Come with us, Honey!
We’re going to a party. At Paul Azariah’s.”

She lifted her eyebrows at the mention
of the movie star, a recent runner-up for
People
magazine’s
sexiest man of the year. “Sounds like fun. But I came with
Matt.”

“Where is he?” Cressa said, frowning.
“Go get him! Bring him along. He’s sexy. He’s a hockey player,” she
told the others.

“We’re here with some of his friends,”
Honey said.

“Bring them too!”

Yeah…no. Crashing a party with one
extra person, maybe. With a whole entourage…well, that had never
stopped her before, but now…just no.

“I can’t,” she said. “Tempting as it
is! Wow! Paul Azariah!”

“I know! I’ll call you!” Cressa called
out as they left the club. She waved at Honey.

Honey just shook her head. Cressa. She
didn’t even have Honey’s number. How would she call her?

She left the dance floor and found
Matt up on the dais with his friends, standing talking to Joe and
Bryn. He held a beer in a relaxed grip, laughing about something.
She paused at the top of the stairs to watch him for a moment. He
was so beautiful. So special and good.

When he saw her, his smile
disappeared.

Not good.

Even so, he slid an arm around her
waist and pulled her in close. “Decided to come back,” he said in a
low tone.

“Of course.” She smiled with the
relief of being back with him. “The others have left to go to a
party at Paul Azariah’s. Want to go?

“Fuck no.”

“Just thought I’d ask.” She was
totally joking, but he didn’t seem to get it.

He frowned. “
You
want to
go?”

“He
was
almost voted sexiest
man of the year.”

Matt rolled his eyes. She gave him a
nudge of her elbow. “I’m kidding. Although, Cressa wanted you to
come.”

He gave her a hard stare.

Shit. Was he angry at her?

Her insides went hollow and her chest
ached.

But then heat flared inside her. What
the fuck was he angry about? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d
talked to some old friends, danced a little…she’d stayed away
longer than she’d intended but most of that time had been spent
with Cressa crying in the ladies’ room.

“Yeah,” she said. “She wants another
threesome. Just like old times.”

His eyebrows jerked together and his
gaze narrowed.

Shit. She’d crossed a line. She knew
it as soon as she said it. “Let’s go dance more,” she said, trying
to pull away.

“You’ve danced enough, babe,” he said
tightly. “I think we should call it a night.”

“Already?” Truthfully, all she wanted
to do was kick off her high heels, crawl into her bed, pull the
covers over her head and stay there for about a year.

“Yeah. We’re outta here.” He pulled
out his cell phone and called the car service to bring the car up
front, then had a word with Joe and Dobie. Honey moved over to say
good night to Bryn.

“I’ll talk to you next week,” Bryn
said. “About the gala. And we’ll see you there!”

At least Bryn had actually taken her
number. But Honey knew exactly how that “I’ll call you” line
worked.

She and Matt collected their jackets
from the VIP coat check then emerged out the front doors onto the
sidewalk. Lights immediately exploded in their faces. Fuck! More
cameras.

These were the paps who couldn’t get
into the club.

“Honey!” someone called. “We heard you
were here! You living back in L.A. now?”

There’d been a time when she would
have paused to strike a pose, smiling at the cameras, flirting with
the guys. Now, she just wanted to run. But she didn’t. She pulled
out that smile again, tossed her hair back and started
walking.

Matt stepped between her and the
cameras, arm around her, hustling her along.

“You two dating, Matt?” someone
called. “How long have you been together?”

“How are you feeling after your
injury?” someone else yelled.

More flashes.

They kept walking. Fast. The car Matt
had hired for them waited at the curb. They hurried over to it. The
driver opened the door for them, and Matt handed Honey in. Her
short dress rode up on her thighs as she slid in and to her shock
another flash fired right in front of her, a photographer crouched
low on the sidewalk.

“Fuck that bullshit,” Matt growled,
and he grabbed the photographer and lifted him up. Actually lifted
him right off his feet. “You wanna get punched right in the face,
dude? Delete that picture. Right fucking now.”

The guy started to protest, but Matt
gave another growl and backed him up against the fender of the
car.

“Hey, hey, hands off,” the guy cried,
and a couple of other photographers closed in. “I’ll press charges
for assault…or sue you—”

“Try it,” Matt snapped. He yanked the
camera away from the guy and peered at it. “Delete the fucking
picture. Now. Or you’ll be the one getting your ass sued. Not to
mention nose broken and your expensive camera smashed on the
sidewalk.”

“This is a public place,” the guy
stammered. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Honey watched this all unfold like a
dream, her eyes wide, her heart thudding in slow, painful
beats.

Matt gave him a searing
look.

“Fine,” the photographer muttered. He
showed Matt the picture, and deleted it. Matt shoved him away and
climbed into the car. Honey scrambled across the seat to make room
for him.

The driver jumped in and even as Matt
slammed his door shut, they pulled out from the curb with a squeal
of tires.

Chapter Twenty

Adrenaline punched through Matt’s
system. His hands curled into fists and he forced them to relax. He
wanted to punch something. First of all that fucking
photographer.

The fucktard had been going for a
pussy shot as Honey got in the car. What he’d gotten had been
pretty revealing. Thank Christ she was wearing panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his jaw so tight
it ached. He looked out the side window at the city lights passing
by. “Fucking hell.”

Every muscle tense, his face hot, he
sat there willing himself to calm the fuck down.

He glanced at Honey, way the hell on
the other side of the car, jammed into the corner, her eyes closed,
lips rolled in. She held her little purse on her lap with both
hands, knuckles pale.

What in the holy mother of
fuckers?

He sucked in air through his nose and
let out it slowly.

“Thank you.”

He looked back at Honey at her soft
words.

“And I’m sorry.” She made a
face.

He gave her a hard stare then turned
back to the window. They rode the rest of the way back to his place
in thick silence.

When the car pulled up in the curved
driveway of Matt’s apartment building, the driver jumped out and
opened Honey’s door. She didn’t move.

“Do you want me to go home?” she asked
quietly.

Matt paused with one leg out of the
car. Christ, he was so furious he couldn’t sort it all out. “I
think we should talk about this in the morning.”

He climbed out, went around and gave
the driver Honey’s address and a hefty tip, then walked into his
apartment building.

Alone.

*****

Honey leaned against the door of the
town car, her head against the glass. The city lights were a blur
of colors outside the window. The car was silent other than the
noise of passing traffic.