Pretty Wild Thing: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 4) by Jeana E. Mann

Author:Jeana E. Mann [Mann, Jeana E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ishkadiddle Publishing
Published: 2016-06-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

TUCKER

LATER THAT night, as I lay awake in bed, no matter how hard I tried, I failed to conjure up Sydney’s face. Instead, Fallon’s amber eyes and pink lips floated in my head. Crushing guilt burned through my veins. I still felt Fallon’s soft mouth on mine, the press of her breasts against my chest. The scent of her perfume lingered on my clothes, her taste on my tongue. If my love for Sydney was true, how could I have such intense feelings for Fallon? I believed in love and fidelity. In my experience, it wasn’t possible to love two women at the same time, not without being unfaithful to one of them. I didn’t want to be that guy, the one who used one woman to get over another. I liked and respected Fallon too much to be so callous.

Desperate and confused, I pulled up Sydney’s picture on my phone. It was the last photo I’d taken of her, a quick selfie of the two of us on the sidewalk outside her hotel. She was laughing, head thrown back, wind whipping her black hair across her face. Seeing her brought back the ice pick of pain in my chest, the deep ache of her loss still present but dulled by the passage of time. As I stared at her picture, I saw the face of a stranger, not the woman I’d loved. The woman I loved didn’t exist. She’d been a figment of my imagination, a carefully crafted character played out by a skilled actor.

On Monday, I purposely avoided the train and drove to work instead. Tuesday, I stayed late at the office, working into the early hours on the latest game, trying to exhaust myself. I spent the night on the sofa in the Inner Sanctum. When my eyes finally closed of their own accord, Fallon haunted my dreams and not Sydney.

The buzz of my phone woke me Wednesday morning. I answered, disoriented, without looking to identify the caller, and heard Sam’s commanding voice.

“You’re late,” he said, a bit of amusement lacing his words. “You owe us each twenty bucks.”

“Shit.” I rolled onto my feet. “Be there in ten.”

Every Wednesday, I met up with Sam and Beckett. Sometimes we played basketball; other times we had breakfast before work or drinks after. Today, we were meeting for breakfast at the bistro down the street. By the time I arrived, both men were seated at a table on the open-air patio, sharp in their three-piece suits.

“You look like shit.” Beckett ran a skeptical gaze up and down my rumpled T-shirt and jeans, the same clothes I’d slept in.

“Thanks.” I pulled a chair alongside the table and slapped two twenty-dollar bills on their placemats, the penalty for tardiness to one of our outings. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Work or personal?” Sam arched an eyebrow.

“Both, I guess. I’ve got a new game in the works.”

The waitress stopped in front of me and smiled as she placed a glass of water on the table.

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