Perv (Filth #1) (18 page)

Robyn eats an olive at that, glances around, and elbows her way out of the crowd. I force myself to lean on the bar. Duke's intentions may have been good, but Robyn wants nothing to do with me. I'm a shitty reminder she's lost a friend.

The bartender hands me my drink. I knock back half before making my way out of the fray. I glance at the table and my feet freeze. Robyn is sitting next to Duke. Her boss is still running his mouth, and he's settled into a chair.

Robyn has occupied my seat. She's playing with the bow tie I left behind. That doesn't mean anything, I tell hope. The bitch. Robyn's there to take mental note of the promises Duke likely makes to her boss.

Collecting myself, I make my way over. She doesn't turn to me when I sit beside her but she doesn't stop wrapping my bow tie around her fingers. My stomach is tight. I'm transfixed by her hands. Delicate, brown and I know every digit is strong. I know what it feels like to have them brushing my mouth, my cock.

Jesus. I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is hell. When the night is over I'm going to squeeze Duke's neck until his eyeballs pop out. Until then, I listen to them drone on about some big case working its way up to the US Supreme Court.

She leans to the side and whispers, “Stop staring at me.”

“
Can't. I won't touch you, but I have to look.”

“
Stop it.” She bows her head and draws the tie to her lap. She shakes her head, raises her voice. “Excuse me, Steve. I need some air.”

Her boss blinks. “Sure, sure. I'll text you if I need anything.”

She looks at me and notches her head to the left. I don't need any more social cues to follow. Duke slides his gaze to mine and mouths,
you're welcome.

I give her departure about a two minute buffer and then I trace her path out to the balcony. She's braced her hands along the railing. There's a bite of cold in the air. I lean against the wall so there's space. I won't be tempted to cup her face.

“
Did you mean it when you apologized to me? Or was it just something you think I wanted to hear? You do that, you know. I can't be sure if your remorse is sincere, or if I just need it to be.”

“
Loraine deserved better.”

Her shoulders go up. “You remember her name. Still.” Her voice breaks. “Why couldn't you have done that when she was alive? Something that small.”

Shame fills my gut and I have to swallow it down. “Because despite my parents raising me to be a better man, I'm a shit human being. And I liked her. I enjoyed spending time with her.”

“
Then what went wrong?”

I'm quiet long enough she faces me. Anger has tightened her mouth. “Tell me, Nate. What could she have possibly done to make you fuck her and drop her?”

I frown. “I didn't. She dumped me.”

“
But you would have.”

“
I wasn't what she needed. I was never going to be. Staying with her would have been unfair if I couldn't love her back.”

It's a fair answer, a truthful one, and we both know it. Still she gives me her back again. She leans forward on the railing on her elbows. “I'm sorry I just didn't tell you. That wasn't right. I knew it, but I was pissed at you, and I had myself convinced it didn't matter. We were just fucking.”

“
I know.”

“
She died, and you got to live. You could barely remember her, and your name was...” She stops and shakes her head. “I don't know what happened. I got my revenge. Then you hunted me down. You were...just sitting there in the coffee shop. My coffee shop, and I couldn't think past wanting you.” She laughs low and it's not a happy sound.

Before I could only assume she hadn't planned to fuck me. “And then it turned into self-loathing,” I whisper.

“
A little bit. I fell for your whole devil-may-care appeal.” She turns her head and smiles at me. “You're good at that.”

I glance up so the smile doesn't pull me in and make me cross a line we've put between us. “And the more you slapped me down, the more I wanted you. You're a first, Robyn. You're the first woman I've wanted to be with in a long time. And now I'm not sure if we can. How can you?”

Why would she? Once the grief passes she'll go back to normal.

“
You're not pissed at me?”

I meet her eye, surprised by the question. “Why would I be?”

“
I used you.”

“
You were hurt, and you told me that's what you wanted to do to me. I was dumb enough to ignore the warning.” I shake my head. “I didn't care. I wanted you too much.”

“
Don't...” She bows her head and a sigh shudders out. “Don't give me a pass.”

“
This once, it's deserved.”

She faces me and folds her arms over her stomach. I want to tell her how much I've missed her then kiss her, touch her. The thought of her skin against mine makes me ache. The realization that I'd never see her smile, the one that crinkles her eyes, feels like a knife between my ribs.

Maybe she can read that on my face because she closes the distance. She doesn't hesitate to cup my cheek. It's fucking unfair she's the one I fall in love with. Yes. Love. There shouldn't be any doubt of that by now, but she is my karma. The kick to the face I should have gotten a long time ago.

I close my eyes and turn my mouth into her palm. Her Robyn scent works through me, and for the first time in a month everything feels right. I bring my hand up to hers. She gasps and leans into me.

She whispers, “I told myself I wouldn't touch you again.”

“
Stop listening to common sense.”

She laughs. “Nate.”

Our eyes meet for a long second. In the next her mouth is on mine. I don't care we shouldn't. This time our mouths mating feels real. There's no ghosts. She wants to kiss me because it's me. I grip her waist and pull her up. Her hands slide around my shoulders.

I fall into her. My tongue and teeth tease her mouth and she moans for me. She holds me tighter. It's going to feel like a small death when we break apart but until then I give us both what we need—something hot, sweet and wet. I don't know how long we kiss but it's not long enough.

She pulls away first, not meeting my eyes. I drag her down my torso until she's back on her feet. She wipes at the lipstick on my mouth. I fix hers too—taking any excuse to keep touching her.

Finally, we both look presentable.

“
I have to get back,” she says.

We don't feel finished, but she's already pulling away.

I can't force her to stay. I can't use the three words that want to spill out of my mouth. I never want her to touch me, fuck me, let me eat her, and all the while feel guilt. That's going to take time. If ever.

“
Robyn, if you can...” The statement is selfish. I know the moment the words leave my mouth. She owes me jack shit. “Goodbye.”

“
See,” she says, sounding breathless. “You're being a person. I like that.” She presses her fingers to my lips and I linger for as long as she lets me.

Then she's gone again. I close my eyes and pray it's not forever.

Samantha rips the cover back an inch and shoves a wine bottle into my hand. “This has got to stop. It's one thing to be sad over a break up. Another to be pathetic.”

She's already taken out the cork. I sit up enough to swig straight from the bottle. “I'm not pathetic. I'm sleepy.”

“
Is that what they call living in PJs now? Don't you have work?”

Annoyed, I throw back, “I'm back up to four days a week at work.”

“
You know why? Because nine months is long enough. You can't hit pause on your life. Even when you have damn good reasons.” She tips the bottom of the bottle so I can take in more wine.

I break the hold and wine dribbles onto Spongebob's stupid happy face. She has a key to my place and I have one to hers. At one point check-ins were needed. Some days they were necessary.
“You're not here to comfort me.”

“
I'm the swift kick to your ass. You did it for me, and now it's my turn.”

Samantha and I met in a grief support group seven months ago. My doctor recommended the outing to me after noting “a drastic change in my overall demeanor.” He told me I had to do more than work and go home. He also wrote a note suggesting I cut my hours until I got steadier on my feet, because apparently a deep depression is not helped by a high-pressured job. I didn't take him up on the latter until a month before I met Nate.

To put this into perspective: my doctor is usually a straight to the point asshole. Bedside manner are two words that mean nothing. That's how bad off I was for a while, but I was there for Loraine's last moments. I had to stand by as she slipped away from the world. Then I learned about the morphine overdose. I swallowed every emotion down and soldiered on until I broke.

The break was bad enough my asshole of a doctor noticed, and my shark of a boss agreed I should take it easy at work. My life for the last nine months have been shaky at best. From the determined expression on Samantha face, she wants me to bounce back.

She wants me to be the Robyn who would exact revenge.

I shake my head. I don't know if I can be that Robyn anymore. Or ever again.

“
For three years Loraine and I were attached at the hip. Almost a year has gone by, and sometimes I still pick up my phone, dying to tell her something and then I remember. Her death hits me all over again.”

“
I know.
I know,
” she says but curls her lips as though to keep any other opinion to herself.

And I know she wants to mention Nate. I shake my head harder the second time.

“
She wasn't a parent, a childhood friend I knew all my life or a favorite aunt. She was the family I chose.” My voice cracks. “Some days that cuts bone deep.”

Samantha sighs. “I know. All too well.”

Since she did, I press my face into the pillow. Stupid tears. Not a one will bring her back. Samantha's warm hand rests on my back. She gives me time to pull myself together.

I miss Loraine. I miss her so much it hurts. The problem is I now miss Nate too. I've told myself for a month I'll get over him. Then I saw him and I couldn't not touch him.

“
I think I've finally lost my mind from grief,” I say into the pillow. “I fell for him, knowing what he is, what he did—I fell for him.”

I put myself in his path for a little revenge and he worked his voodoo on me. Revenge turned to lust. Lust to the reason why I was on day two of sitting in bed, drinking wine when it wasn't even noon yet.

Samantha considers me for a second. “Crazy isn't the word I'd use.”

“
Stupid? Disloyal? Thinking with my lower bits. Naive.”

“
In love.” She pauses. “So, yeah, maybe a little stupid, but that's a byproduct of the emotion.”

I laugh at the unexpected answer. “He's a mistake. I know this. What would Loraine think?”

“
She'd laugh her ass off, and say I told you so. He's lethal, and if you get caught up, you're going to go for one hell of a ride.”

That's not what she'd said in her last moments. Yeah. Every time before that she'd admit being with Nate was thrilling and fun. She was young and naive.

But when the memories counted the most, Loraine had said she'd wasted precious time out of her life on Nate, and here I was tempted to do the same. And why? Every inch of me buzzed to life when I'm near him. He was fun, funny, and an unrepentant sexual deviant.

Okay. Those were good things. Not making my point.

“
How can I put aside that he hurt women? Lots of them. Doesn't matter if it was his intent or not. Doesn't matter if he gave fair warning. My friend, my best friend was one of them. What a way—”

“
Who is this Loraine you're remembering? This holier-than-thou memory you've made of her? The stories you've told me about her... Are you sure you're talking about your friend, your
real
friend here?”

“
Loraine—”

“
The woman you told me about, and trust me I've listened to hours of you talking about her, she'd be...She's probably now officially the patron saint of fuckboys.”

It was both so ridiculous...and true, I can't hold in the snort.

Samantha adds in a kind, understanding tone, “Remember the real Loraine. Not the saint you've turned her into. She was real, flawed, awesome and you loved her. Remember that woman.”

I close my eyes and try to recall the woman I'd met years ago. The woman I spent countless hours gossiping with. The one who asked a million questions about the BDSM lifestyle, buttplugs, and other toys. The one who encouraged me to date and date widely until I found the right one. And sometimes told me to just fuck the Right Now man.

Remember her and not the woman I watched die, delirious on meds, still in so much pain, and so angry about her life ending much too soon. Angry at everyone who got to live and was wasting it.

I murmur, “Loraine would have handed me a box of condoms and waited around for details with wine and a good meal.”

Samantha says, “The Loraine you told me about would have never stopped laughing that you got trapped by him.”

“
She would have pissed herself, because I never believed her. I always thought she was exaggerating.”

My friend leans forward and holds my gaze. “But then she'd see your face and know whatever is going on is real. If it turned to shit, she'd kneecap him, but she'd encourage you to buck the rules and live every moment to its fullest.”