I’m fucking sick of myself.
So I climbed into my Camero and have been driving around the city, windows down, the hard metal sounds of The End of Grace blaring through my speakers, with no destination in mind.
I just need to drive.
I turn a corner and pull through an open gate and stop the car, throw it in park, and cut the engine, the sound abruptly cutting off with it, and stare straight ahead for a few minutes.
Jesus, I can’t even think straight.
I blink and look around and realize that I’ve driven to Meg’s place, and she’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest, watching me with a frown.
Shit. She’s going to bust my balls. But I need to talk to someone, and she’s the only one I trust with this.
The guys in the band would razz me for the rest of my life if they knew I was this hung up on a woman.
What is wrong with me?
I climb out of the car, and slam the door. “Why is your gate open?”
“Why do you look like shit?”
“Fuck you.” I push my hand through my hair and glare at her and she smirks back at me.
“You’re not my type.” She loses her pretty smile and holds a hand out for me. “Come on.”
I take her hand and follow her into her house. She moved in with Will Montgomery last weekend. I’m glad she’s happy. She deserves happiness more than just about anyone I know after the shitty way her life started.
But if he hurts her, I’ll fucking kill him with my bare hands.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
“No, mom,” I reply sarcastically, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
She pours us each a mug of coffee, black, and we grab a stool at her breakfast bar.
“Gonna tell me who she is?” she asks.
Damn, she’s perceptive. She always was. I’d forgotten how much I missed that over the past few years.
I shake my head and look down into my coffee. Isn’t this why I drove here?
“I’ve been seeing Sam.” I mutter softly and take a sip of coffee, ignoring her look of shock.
“Samantha Williams?” She asks.
“That’s the only Sam I know.”
“I just saw her on Saturday.”
I shrug at her. I did too, and it went from bliss that morning to the biggest fucking mess that night.
“So what’s the problem?” Meg asks.
“We both fucked up,” I respond and laugh humorlessly. “Big time.”
“I need more info. Start at the beginning. Don’t leave out any of the sex.” She pulls her feet up under her in her stool and settles in for a story.
“I’m not telling you about my sex life.”
“Okay, tell me the rest.”
“I’ve been running with her every morning,” I start and she nods thoughtfully.
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“It’s been great. And then we sort of fell into bed and now she won’t speak to me.” I clench my hands into fists as the frustration returns full force.
“From what the groupies said back in the day, you were a better lay than that.” Meg laughs, and I know she’s trying to be funny, but it’s like a slap in the face all over again.
“I don’t fuck groupies, Megan.”
She flinches at my hard voice and I swear under my breath. “I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath.
“Don’t tell me Sam thinks you sleep your way through the line of groupies at your door.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
I don’t know where your dick has been.
“She pissed you off,” Meg comments soberly, and she’s right.
She fucking pissed me off.
“She has such a fucking stick up her ass.” I can’t sit still any more, so I start stalking around her kitchen. “We had a good week, and she was loosening up, and I enjoyed being with her. She’s funny as hell, and she can be sweet, and God, she’s fucking sexy.” I run my hands through my hair again.
“What happened, then?” Meg asks with a frown.
“I left Saturday morning, and by the time I saw her again that night, she put her fucking walls back up and told me that she didn’t want to see me anymore. We both tried to hurt each other and it worked.” I can’t get the image of her crying on her countertop out of my head. Bent over, jeans around her knees, arms folded under her body, shaking.
Fuck, I’m an asshole.
“I don’t need her shit.”
Meg’s phone rings and she frowns at the display, then holds her finger up to me to hold on a minute and takes the call.
“Hello?”
I lean against the granite and listen half-heartedly.
“Sounds like you have the flu. What’s your temp?”
Someone is always calling her for medical advice. I’m so damn proud of my little sister. She’s excellent at her job.
“You need fluids and rest. It’s a virus, but you need to take some Tylenol and watch that temp.” Her eyes flick up to me and she shrugs and then ends the call. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug her off.
“So, you don’t need her shit,” Meg prompts me.
“No, I don’t. I don’t know what the fuck her problem is, but I don’t need it.”
“So don’t see her again.”