Page 15 of It Kills Me
He was in a tuxedo, his dirty-blond hair combed neatly, looking handsome in his dress attire. There was no smug grin, no playfulness, just his stern stare.
“Told me he didn’t want to be involved with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” He cocked his head slightly, like he was genuinely caught off guard.
“My criminal ties…my ambitions. When our relationship started, we were just hooking up, but then it became more serious. And now he’s thinking about his future and realizing I’m not what he wants.”
He still didn’t make his usual antagonistic comments. He just listened.
“He asked me to leave all of this… And I told him to fuck off.”
“Good.” He rested his arm on the counter, his eyes so absorbed by my face it was as if there was no one else in the room. “He can have a boring life if he wants. You’re destined for something more—and you need a man who can handle that.”
“A man like you, right?”
His expression didn’t change. “Let’s take a seat.”
I stayed at the bar and downed the entire glass with one go. “Another, please.”
He watched me but didn’t try to stop me.
I got the next glass and took another big drink.
He took the glass out of my hand. “Enough.”
“Don’t tell me what to do?—”
“At this rate, you’re going to end up in the hospital.” He set it out of my reach and looked at the bartender. “No more for her.”
“Wow…”
“Don’t let this pussy devastate you like this,” he said coldly. “You’re better than that.”
Just when I thought I couldn’t feel worse, I did. I was actually embarrassed. “Let’s get out of here.” I was the one who’d had doubts about Ryan, but I was still the one who got dumped. I was still the one who wasn’t good enough. Now I wanted to feel wanted by a man infinitely more attractive than he was, like that would somehow even the score.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“The Tuscan Rose is right across the street.”
He stared at me, his blue eyes hard in temptation. “Let’s take a seat.”
“Why?”
“Come on.” His arm moved around my waist, and he guided me across the room to where the tables were placed, tall flowers in beautiful vases in the center of each table. My father was engaged with a group of people, so he didn’t seem to realize my distress. Axel guided me to an unoccupied chair and pulled it out for me to sit.
I sat down, crossing my legs with my hands folded in my lap.
He sat beside me and said nothing. “Getting shit-faced isn’t the answer. And getting fucked isn’t either.”
“Come on.” My hand moved to his thigh, hidden from view by the table, and I slowly moved it up, feeling the muscles in his thigh through the fabric. I propped my elbow on the table, and I watched his face, seeing his reaction to me. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
He let my hand explore him for a moment before he took a deep breath. Then he forced himself to grab my hand and hold it on his knee. “I’m not a rebound. I’m not second best. I’m not going to fuck a woman while she thinks about another man.”
Another rush of embarrassment flooded through me, and I pulled my hand away. “Then why are you here?” I looked around the room, seeing everyone mingling, so rich that the only problem they had was deciding which piece of art belonged in their mansions.
“Because I’m your friend.”
“You’re the one who said we aren’t friends.”