Adriane Leigh - Light in Mourning

I was right. She did.

I was pissed, but I held it in. That little dark-haired pixie could meddle like no one’s business. What punched me in the gut was she spoke to Georgia often; she knew how her life was now. I walked around like a mute, refusing to ask questions, but Drew filled me in anyway.

She told me Georgia was in rough shape.

I told her I didn’t care. Secretly, I did. I cared so fucking much it hurt.

Drew told me I should call her. I told her no fucking way. Georgia had to come to me. We’d been a fucking mess all summer, back and forth and back and forth, and I was done with it. Georgia needed to choose me, something she hadn’t done all summer.

She also had to choose herself, what she wanted. And what she thought she wanted was Kyle, so I had to respect that, no matter how much it made my stomach boil with anger and hurt.

I threw myself on the couch when Gavin and Drew finally left. Back to being by myself, just me and Charlie; exactly how I wanted it. No one to nag me, no one to shoot me pitiful glances. I had my dog, some beer, Internet . . . and it was all I really needed.

One evening, I was at the store picking up more beer and dog food, when I ran into Briana, or was it Kelsey? Fuck if I remembered. I could hardly keep them straight when I’d screwed them this summer. I tossed a jar of peanut butter into my cart when a hand slid around my waist and a husky voice whispered in my ear. I’d be lying if I said my dick didn’t twitch to life—purely reactionary—because the second thing my brain registered was this girl was trouble wrapped up in psycho.

“Didn’t know you were back in town. Why didn’t you call me?” she breathed as her hand trailed down to my ass and gave a squeeze. I rolled my eyes before I turned and plastered a smile on my face.

“Hey, what’s up?” I took her in. Briana, I think it was. Tight jeans, heels, bright red sweater that covered her sizable tits, but still managed to be indecent.

“You been here long?” she murmured in my ear as her hand smoothed down the front of my jeans and brushed against my cock. For a split second, I thought about taking her home. My body and mind raged. I wanted to fuck Georgia out of my system. Sink balls-deep into this girl and fuck away the pain. But the thought of being with anyone other than Georgia had my stomach twisting painfully.

“Few weeks,” I said before removing her hand from my junk.

“Let’s get together. You still have my number, right?” She caressed my arm suggestively.

“Yeah, I have it.” That was a lie. I’d cleared all numbers out of my phone that weren’t Georgia’s one night on the boat when I was drunk and bitter. “I’ll call you.” I turned back to the cart, trying to blow her off.

“Are you busy tonight? I have plans, but I could be persuaded into canceling them.” She brushed her tits against my arm. My dick was still stirring to life. He was all in. My fucking head wasn’t, though. I was getting pissed. I was so sick of girls that refused to take a hint.

“Got things to do. Sorry.” I pushed the cart down the aisle and headed for the liquor. Tonight was going to be a scotch kind of night.

“Maybe tomorrow, then?” She trailed after me.

“Maybe. I’ll call you.” I continued to walk.

“Okay, Tristan. Good to see you.” She cupped my ass and her fingers wrapped around to my balls from behind. I sucked in a quick breath as all the blood rushed to my dick. My head refused to think straight.

Fuck.

I ground my teeth together.

All I wanted was Georgia.

Could I fuck someone else? Did I want to? I’d tried that all summer and it hadn’t worked for shit. Except now, Georgia wasn’t here to pull me back in. I wouldn’t have to wake up the next morning, the smell of sweaty sex on me from some other chick, and look into her pained eyes. My dick pounded in my jeans as I scrubbed my palm over my face.

“See you later,” I grumbled, pushing the cart with a little more force than necessary. I bee-lined for the scotch, grabbed the most expensive bottle they had, and then hit the checkout lane.

Close fucking call. It was a good thing I didn’t have the girl's number because it was possible I’d be tempted to cave some night when I was drunk and angry as fuck with Georgia. Thankfully, at this moment, I’d had the foresight to see I’d only wake up with a sick sense of regret in the morning. I headed back out to my truck and prayed I wouldn’t run into her again.

That week, I finally got back into my routine. I felt semi-settled—my couch, my chair, my TV—I felt like I was getting back to a new normal. I'd hired a contractor to come in and fix up the place, including a new roof. The quaint three-bedroom was small, but I could see the potential. The wide-open space of the kitchen, living, and dining areas made it feel more spacious, and the wraparound deck off the back looked out over the ocean.

Every morning, I woke up just as dawn hit the horizon and went for my morning run with Charlie. He was old, so he dragged ass, but it was good for him to get some exercise. If I let him, he’d lie like a pile of bones on the leather couch all day. He always took his time getting out of the house in the morning, but after a few minutes, we hit a rhythm and he trailed behind me happily.

Despite the fact that we were into late fall and I’d been at the cottage for more than a month now, the days could still have a humid stickiness to them. On those mornings, Charlie and I ran the first half of our morning jog and walked the way back. The dog was odd and had a favorite stick that he kept outside the front door. He chewed on it for a few weeks until it was down to nothing before he’d find another. So it was that morning he’d chosen a new stick and I was tossing it down the beach for him. We were on the way back from our run and he was galloping into the waves, trying to bite at them with his teeth, before I threw the stick and he paddled out to get it. He came bounding back to me, dropped the stick at my feet, and gave a shake every single fucking time. Wet dog stink in the morning. Nothing better. I grinned and gave his ears a scratch before throwing the stick back into the water for him. We walked down the beach until my dock and Georgia’s beach house came into view. I bit my bottom lip painfully, trying to redirect the pain that sliced into my gut at the sight of her house. I saw the little sand dune where we’d sat and read Tristan and Iseult .

Charlie came bounding up to me, dropped the stick, did his shake, and the cool water hitting me brought me out of my thoughts.

“Hey, old man, still got it, don’t ya?” I gave him a pat and tossed the stick again, my thoughts returning instantly to Georgia. It’d been over a week since I’d run into Briana at the store and I was thankful I’d turned her down. I was also thankful that I didn’t have her number, because I’d gotten so pissed drunk later that night on scotch I probably would have fucked anything on two legs if given the opportunity. In hindsight, scotch had been a bad choice. I was also thankful she didn’t know where I lived; I had no doubt she’d be tapping on my door all hours of the night, looking for a fuck if she did. Another Sophie all over again. Christ, was my radar off? Why was I landing in bed with the psycho ones lately?

“Come on, Charlie. Let’s head in.” I patted my leg and the old dog wagged his tail and then led the way up the dock to the porch of the cottage. I felt a twisting in my stomach, just like I always did when I passed the spot where Georgia and I had had sex for the first time. I kept walking and tried not to go down that road all over again.