Christine wanted to turn around and comfort her friend, but she couldn’t. Not this time. She entered the elevator on autopilot, her emotions shut down and locked up tight somewhere inside her. She left the elevator and hobbled down the hallway, her eyes on her door. As soon as she got there…she’d be okay. She had to be.
As she passed Tyler’s room, she heard something loud crash against the door, followed by a string of curses. She flinched, knowing he hated her right now. She wanted to knock and continue their discussion, but she couldn’t. Not now.
Instead, she opened her door and closed it quietly, not wanting him to know she’d come up, too. Then, and only then, she let herself slide down the door and crouched on the floor in front of it, her back pressed against the steel and her injured leg straight out. Her facade crumbled, and so did she. God, so did she.
Tears blurred her vision, and she covered her face with her hands, sobbing hard and deeply. For the first time since Mexico…she cried.
And once she started, she couldn’t figure out how to stop.
Chapter Seventeen
Tyler took a swig of vodka, set down the bottle, and fell back on the bed, his eyes scrunched shut. He massaged his temples, unable to believe the turn his evening had taken. A list. This whole damn thing had been about a stupid sex list, and he hadn’t seen it coming at all. He’d thought she was as into him as he was with her, and she’d been playing him the whole fucking time. He’d been willing to move for her, and she’d been laughing at him this whole time.
Knowing that when the wedding was over, she’d be gone from his life for good.
Knowing they never stood a chance in hell. But she hadn’t cared, because she hadn’t wanted them to stand a chance, had she? The irony of the situation hit him hard. She didn’t give a damn about him, and he couldn’t stop giving a damn about her.
He growled and rolled over, rising to his feet. The vase full of fake flowers he’d thrown against the door lay in shards now. Something more he’d have to pay for, but it had been worth it. Watching that vase shatter had been more satisfying than he’d thought it would be.
He picked up the bottle of vodka. Tipping his head back, he lifted the bottle to his lips but nothing else came out. He cursed and shook the bottle as if that would magically make more appear. When it didn’t, he chucked it into the recycle bin.
He needed another drink. His head wasn’t spinning enough yet.
And the pain wasn’t gone, either.
He crossed the room, bent down, and picked up the shards, tossing it into the recycle bin. Then he laid the fake flowers on the desk. Much like the broken vase on the floor, it was time to pick up the pieces and move on. He had a huge promotion waiting for him in Portland. A nice house. Enough money to help out those who needed it, and plenty of reasons to smile.
He’d give himself tonight to mope about her not wanting to be with him, and then he would move on. He would watch his sister marry the man she loved. He would report for duty with his job in Portland. But first? He needed to get fucking drunk.
So drunk that he didn’t give a damn about Christine.
As he exited his room, he hesitated in the hallway. If he turned left, he’d hit the elevator. If he went right…well, he’d be in front of her room. Was she in there? Had she left the waltz when he had? She’d said she was going to her room.
Maybe if he had more time with her, he could make her want him as much as he wanted her. It might have been all about her list for her, but she’d had fun with him, too. There was no denying that. If he could get back into her bed, he could win her over through seduction.
But what if that was all she wanted to give him? It wouldn’t be enough. He wanted more. He wanted her heart. When it came to Christine, it was all or nothing.
She had to belong to him.
He headed for the elevator. The whole ride down, he fought the urge to go right back up to her room. But he wouldn’t give in to the urge to chase after her. Not this time. He’d have enough drinks to be plastered into oblivion and go back to his room, crash hard, and wake up a new man.
A man who learned a hard lesson: love fucking hurt.
He sank down onto the barstool, not even bothering to scan the room for any familiar faces. If he had any luck left, there wouldn’t be anyone he knew. If he had any luck at all, he would be able to drink in peace.
The bartender came over and smiled at him, her eyes inviting. “What can I get you?”
She picked the wrong guy to flirt with tonight. She didn’t have red hair or blue eyes or a list of ways to fuck with his head. “I’ll have some Maker’s Mark, please. Two glasses.”
“You waiting for someone else?”
“Nope,” he said. “They’re both for me.”
“Oh,” she said, her tone even. “All right. I’ll be right back.”
She must’ve read the anger in his voice well enough to know he wasn’t in a playful mood. Good. For once, he didn’t want to be that guy, as Christine called it.
When the bartender set the drinks in front of him, he downed the first one and picked up the second. He should probably wait a few minutes to see how the bourbon mixed with the vodka he’d already drunk. His mouth quirked, and he downed the second glass defiantly.
He lifted the empty glasses and wiggled them in the air. “I’ll have two more, please.”
“You’re upset about something.” The bartender watched him with critical eyes. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?”
He laughed, the alcohol already numbing a fraction of the pain. About damn time. “You got it, ma’am.”
“Want to talk about it?” she asked, making her way over to collect his empty glasses.
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Fair enough.” She picked them up and inclined her head toward the doorway. “But there’s a woman glowering at you right now, and it looks like she’ll be heading this way soon. Be warned.”
“There is?” His hands curled into fists. “Shit.”
If it was Christine, he would walk right up to her, tell her she’d lost a man who could love her the way she deserved, and kiss her until she begged him to stay. Until she told him she wanted to be with him. Then…he’d stay by her side for the rest of his life.
Yeah. That’s what he’d do.
That would teach her a lesson.
He turned around, trying to be nonchalant but probably failing, and scanned the bar. In the doorway, a woman did glare at him—but it wasn’t his Christine.
No, it was worse. It was his sister. He lifted his hand and waved.
Kady stomped over to him, her eyes promising a hell he didn’t want to visit right now. “What are you doing here, drinking like you’re hoping to not remember anything at all, when you’re the one who ruined my waltz?”
He flinched. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that,” he slurred. “Wasn’t my intention.”
The words came out in one long drawl. He hadn’t had that much, had he?
“Ugh. You’re drunk,” she said, her eyes narrowing on him. “I’ve never seen you get drunk.”
It was true. She hadn’t. Well, there was a first time for everything. “Some things are enough to drive a man to drink. Christine is one of those things.”
She sat down beside him. “What happened tonight?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Here you are.” The bartender set his drink in front of him and smiled at Kady. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, I’ll have a dirty martini,” Kady said, giving her a small smile. As the bartender walked away, Kady said, “And you will be telling me what the hell is going on between you and Christine.”
His grip tightened on his glass. “Absolutely nothing. That’s the problem.”
“Stop speaking drunk, and tell me everything in English.”
“I thought we had something between us. Something real, but we didn’t,” Tyler said, his gaze on the amber liquid. “She wanted payback for something I’d done to her in the past, and s
he got it.”
She made a weird noise and shook her head. The bartender brought over her drink, and she picked it up, taking a dainty sip. “What could you have possibly done to make her want payback?”
He hesitated. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes. I do.” She glowered at him. “You’re going to tell me what you did, but first? Know this. Christine doesn’t have a spiteful bone in her body. You’re wrong about her.”
He glowered at his own drink. “No, you’re wrong. She wanted to punish me for taking her virginity and leaving, and she did. I fell for the whole act, hook, line, and sinker.”