Untamed Hearts (8 page)

And tonight, I sure as hell need
distracting.

sure
, I text back, and a moment later,
his reply flashes up.

already hard 4 u.

Real romantic.

I tuck my phone away with a small grin. Trey and
his dirty talk have done the trick; now my latest rejection letter
is just another in the stack, one more thing to forget about and
move on from.

I take a deep breath, and remind myself: I’m the
one in control. All those fancy fashion lines may not want me, but
I can get Trey panting with nothing but a wink and a flash of red
lace from under my tank top. Out there in the world, I may be
nothing, but put me in a room full of guys with one thing on their
minds, and they’ll want me.

They’re always going to want me for that.

I sweep aside my disappointment and head back
out to the bar, adding a swing to my hips and some strut to my
stride in my chunky lace-up boots. Garrett gives me another look of
concern so I just flash him a fake smile and keep moving, loading
up my tray with waters and going to bus some empty tables in
back.

You’ve got this, Brit. You’ll be just fine.

I see a new group enter the bar: an older
couple, and their daughter, a pretty blonde about my age. I grab a
stack of menus, about to go over to welcome them, when the door
swings open again.

Trey.

Despite myself, I smile. I guess he couldn’t
wait until I finished my shift. He’s dressed up, I notice: a
button-down shirt, good jeans, cleanly shaven. The last few times
we met, it was a late-night thing: sweaty and disheveled after a
long day at work. We both know I’m a sure thing either way, but
it’s nice he made the effort for me. Guys never do.

“Hey you,” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me.
He doesn’t even look in my direction. Instead, he walks straight
over to the far table, and the family who just walked in. He slides
in next to the blonde girl and drapes an arm around her
shoulder.

I freeze.

The girl smiles up at Trey, and he leans to drop
a kiss on her lips. She reaches up to touch his cheek, and that’s
when I see it: the ring on her engagement finger, bright and
sparkling, and full of betrayal.

My blood runs cold.

Trey still hasn’t seen me. He’s smiling, easy,
joking with the girl’s parents. They’re all having a ball of a
time, as if ten hours ago he wasn’t grunting in my ear, cursing
under his breath as he groped at every inch of flesh on my
body.

Funny, he forgot to mention his fiancée.

Rage comes, hot in my veins. I shouldn’t be
surprised anymore, how this goes. How it always goes. But after
that letter from the design company, this is like a ton of salt
dumped on the wound. All my rejection comes boiling up again, sharp
and bitter with regret.

I guess I’m only good enough to fuck.

I stalk over there before I have a chance to
reconsider. “Hi y’all, welcome to Jimmy’s.” I say flatly. I look to
Trey for some kind of reaction: shock maybe, or fear. But instead,
he has the nerve to smile at me and wink, like we’re in this
together.

“We’ve got some specials here tonight,” I
continue, my voice sharp and metallic.

“Sure,” Trey grins, lounging back in the booth.
“Let’s hear ‘em.”

I narrow my eyes. Without the tequila blurring
my vision – and good judgment – I can see he’s just a beefed up
jock with a bad goatee. Jesus, why did I even waste my time on
him?

Because there was nothing better to do. The
voice in my head answers for me. Because he helped you forget, just
for a little while, what a dead-end your life has become.

I push the voice back, and glare at Trey, like I
could strip the skin off his bones with just one look.

“Well, first up we’ve got the cheating asshole,”
I announce. “It comes with a side of whiskey dick.”

That wipes the smile off his face. Trey scowls
at me while the rest of the table blinks in confusion. “Brit—” he
warns in a menacing voice, but I’m not done yet.

“Or how about some lying piece of scum?” I
continue, “You won’t have to wait long for that. Trust me, it comes
real quick.”

“That’s enough!” Trey leaps to his feet, but I
step back, quicker.

“Damn right it is.” I spit. “Already hard for
you?” I quote his text, fury pumping in my bloodstream. “Funny how
you didn’t mention your fiancée.”

I grab a plate of nachos from the next table and
upend it all over his head. The mess of cheese and guacamole and
beans smears down his face and drips, slowly to the floor.

There’s silence. The rest of the table gasps at
me in shock.

“What the fuck?!” Trey finally finds his voice,
wiping at the mess on his shirt. “You crazy bitch!”

“What’s she talking about?” The blonde blinks,
all innocent confusion.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Trey says quickly. I
snort.

“He’s been fucking me for weeks.” I tell her
harshly. “And god knows who else. Better get tested, sweetheart. I
sure as hell will. Y’all have a nice night.” I add to the girl’s
parents, sitting there, shell-shocked.

I stride away, victory surging in my veins.
That’ll teach him not to use me like some piece of ass, then go
running back to Little Miss Perfect the minute daylight comes. I
can hear him now behind me, begging and groveling to them all.
“Don’t listen to her, baby,” I hear him plead. “You know what
everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s
nothing.”

My steps falter. Now that my rage is fading, I
realize the whole bar is staring at me. I can see their faces,
wide-eyed and scandalized. Then the whispers start, gossiping tones
drifting out to me as I hurry across the bar.

“You know those Ray kids… She gets around, for
sure… Just like their mama…”

I keep walking, my anger fading to humiliation
as reality sinks in. As far as everyone here is concerned, Trey
isn’t the one who made a fool of himself just now. No, that was me,
lashing out, flying off the handle, causing some huge scene. And
for what?

“What the hell, Brit?” Garrett steps out of the
back room in time to catch the carnage behind me.

“I’m on my break,” I snap, grabbing a bottle of
whiskey from the bar as I steam down the back hall.

“Brit, wait a second!”

Garrett’s voice and the noise of the bar recede
behind me as I hurry up the back stairs. I bypass his apartment on
the first floor, and keep climbing, even when the staircase narrows
into a winding spiral. Finally, I heave open the rusted fire escape
and push outside into the crisp night air.

The rooftop is empty, home to a couple of old
lawn chairs and an ancient grill. I walk slowly to the edge and
lean out over the railing.

Why do you always do this?

The scene replays in my mind, but I don’t see
Trey’s smug face staring back at me. No, I see the blonde girl
instead. Sweet, and pretty, and so damn naïve. Sitting there with
her perfect family, it never crossed her mind for a second that
Trey could betray her.

I can’t tell if she’s lucky or just another
fool.

He didn’t take me to dinner. They never do. I’m
not that girl, you see: the one who gets dates and flowers and
sweet whispered goodnights. I’m the one they screw up against the
back wall of a club in a neon-lit alley; who they text at 2:00 a.m.
when they’re bored and need something to pass the time.

I always told myself it was better this way. No
use believing in a dream that would only fade to ashes in the end.
But feeling this used and empty, over and over again… What’s better
about that?

I take a gulp of the whiskey, feeling it sting
in the back of my throat. The anger, the adrenalin, it slowly seeps
away, leaving me with nothing but the low burn of rejection in my
gut. I look out across the harbor and the few lights bobbing on the
water, down past the row of tourist stores and the new beachfront
townhouses. In the pale dusk light, Beachwood lies quiet and still,
lights glimmering,—with nothing to drown out the echoes in my
mind.

“You know what everyone says about her. She’s
just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.”

It’s true. That’s what they do say about me.
Growing up in a small town like this, with a junkie mom and a
runaway dad, I was never going to escape the gossip. I figured I’d
just embrace it instead. Let people say what the hell they want
about me: I won’t tie myself up in knots trying to live down the
family name. They want to write me off, spread rumors, and ‘tsk’
under their breath as I walk by? Let them.

I even used to revel in it when I was younger:
strutting around town wearing the sluttiest outfits, flirting with
all the men, seeing the look of disapproval in everyone’s eyes,
like their good opinion meant a damn thing to me. It was all just a
game, anyway. And this way, I could feel like I was winning.

Then everything changed.

One night: that’s all it took for me to get a
glimpse of what life could be like, and after that, it all just
felt wrong. The victories didn’t taste so sweet; the gossip and
rumors started to get to me. Slowly, my bad reputation felt less
like a badge of pride, and more like an albatross around my neck,
always dragging me down. Now I wonder what it would be like if I’d
grown up normal. Unknown. Able to walk down the street without the
whispers behind me, to meet some guy who hadn’t heard the rumors,
the half-true legends of all my wild antics. Someone who didn’t
think they had an easy shot just because of my last name.

Someone to know me, the real me.

I brush away the thought and take another swig
of whiskey. This is the rejection talking, and the booze. I know,
even if they got to know me, it wouldn’t mean a thing. A few weeks
of playing at happiness, maybe, before they hit the road again.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life,
it’s that people always leave.

I sink down into one of the chairs. The whiskey
is finally working its magic, warming my bones from the inside,
even though it feels like I’m made of solid ice. I should go back
down and help out Garrett, I know, but I can’t drag myself away
just yet. The last wisps of twilight are fading, and way up here, I
can pretend the ugly mess downstairs doesn’t exist. Nothing exists
but me and the distant lights of the shoreline, so pretty that I
can almost forget what this town is like up close.

I come here all the time. This is my secret
spot, up above it all. It’s where I come to think and be alone, to
spend hours just watching the bustle of the town below, letting the
distant sound of the ocean wash away my pain as I daydream of some
other life, some other future, far away from this town and all the
memories chasing me down.

Some good those daydreams are. The years slip
past, and I’m still here: hiding away up on my rooftop, while they
all gossip and scorn me behind my back. I wanted so badly to prove
them wrong, but all I do is live up to their low expectations.

“That was quite some scene.”

A guy’s voice comes from behind me, amused.

“Leave me the hell alone,” I snap, not turning.
I’m not in the mood to deal with any more bullshit
tonight—especially not from some guy who heard the whispers and
figures I’m an easy score. “This is private property.”

There’s a low hum of laughter. “The Brit I knew
never cared about that.”

My heart stops.

It can’t be, I tell myself. Not here, not again,
after all this time.

But it is. I know the truth even before I brace
myself and turn. I’d recognize that voice anywhere: the low, sexy
drawl that echoes in my dreams, smooth as honey and sweet as the
night we shared together, three long years ago.

Hunter Covington.

“Waste of a good plate of nachos, if you ask
me.” Hunter grins at me across the rooftop, hair glinting dark gold
in the setting sun. “And you always said, nothing exciting ever
happens in this town.”

My heart pounds as I stare at him, disbelieving.
He’s leaning in the doorway, casual as can be. A ghost, a relic, a
memory I’ve clung to through dark nights and desperate days.

I never thought I’d see him again.

My legs give way beneath me, and I clutch at the
back of the lawn chair for support.

“You’re here,” I breathe.

“I’m here,” he agrees, and fixes me with a
crooked, heartbreaking smile.

Everything falls away.

The bar, the rejection letter, Trey—it all
dissolves under Hunter’s piercing gaze. My eyes devour him
hungrily. He’s older now, we both are, but somehow I’ve been
carrying the picture of who he used to be. The boy he was, not the
man he’s so clearly become. There’s power to his athletic body now,
clear in the broad frame of his shoulders, the muscles beneath his
preppy Oxford shirt. His blonde hair falls over his golden skin,
blue eyes still blazing like the brightest summer sky I’ve ever
seen.