Stone: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 9) by Hazel Parker

Author:Hazel Parker [Parker, Hazel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10: Christine

One Week Earlier

I knew this meant he wasn’t interested.

I knew, rationally, that a man who hadn’t called after a week was a man who wasn’t going to call at all.

I just wished it hadn’t happened the first time that I had really put myself out there and risked being vulnerable. Except you weren’t. He told you his past, and you didn’t even hint at yours. You just danced away.

It’s how it always is. It’s why you started drinking, isn’t it? You can’t face up to your demons and your darkness, so you avoid them as much as you can until it’s so far too late and you have no choice but to admit your weakness and failures.

You fool.

It was making it even worse that I actually liked him. There was so much that, if I could, I would go back and change. I should have just kissed him. It wasn’t like a kiss made us marriage material. It just meant that we liked each other enough to take that step.

I felt stupid and ashamed. I groaned loudly in my office, called myself a fucking idiot out loud, and sat in the chair before my nearest painting.

But I didn’t want to paint. I didn’t want to call Marcel.

I… I… wanted a drink.

Yeah, I did. I wanted a fucking drink. I wanted a glass of wine or a shot of vodka or something to help dull the pain a little bit. I wanted something that wouldn’t make me feel like such a goddamn idiot. I wanted something that wouldn’t embarrass me as I had embarrassed myself. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, given that I’d now been sober for sixty-eight days, the answer was yes. Really, the answer could have been sixty-eight hours, and it would have been too much to ask.

But unlike most other spots, when “too much to ask” implied a bad thing, in this case, I knew it was saving my ass. It was preventing me from making an enormous mistake.

But I was just so in my head, so disappointed with how this had fallen apart, and so confused about how a first date could have gone from what we had into… well, what we didn’t have. I needed some outlet, and painting wasn’t going to do it. Alcohol wasn’t going to do it.

Maybe sex?

The thought only came to mind because Tucker, unlike Marcel, had not stopped calling. I ignored his calls on Sunday and Wednesday, holding out hope that Marcel was still going to call, but with it being Friday, it seemed like a fait accompli that he was never going to call me. If I wanted to have some relief through sex, Tucker was the option.

And on top of that, he could get me back into the Wall Street game. It would have paid infinitely better than the job at Egg, the benefits and future would have looked much brighter, I could have even set myself up to retire young…

But young was a loose term. Young meant forty, not in forty days.

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