Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (6 page)

“He lied to me.” I tell her as quickly as I can. The faster I get it out the quicker I can forget.

“Wow.” She leans back with wide eyes, stunned. “What a prick. How can he do that? I mean that’s pretty cool he’s in the army, but lying to you about it? He’s so not alpha material anymore.”

“What would you do?” I don’t know why I ask. Second chances are on a plane with Dylan. I imagine him in his uniform. I bet he’s handsome in it. Just like my father.

“Honestly?” she asks around a smile, and I know it’s going to be dirty. “I’d hop in the lap of that friend of his. What’s his name? Bach? He’s sex on top of sex on top of mount me please.”

Honestly
. “How do you know Bach?”

“I was at one of the fraternity parties a few nights ago. There was a freaking rager going on at the end of the street in one of the non-frat houses. We all went. Bach was there.” She grins so wide I think her cheeks will crack. “Have you seen him shirtless? Even his chest hair has muscles. Seriously?” She leans in close as if to whisper a secret. “I wouldn’t mind letting him fang me.”

Too much information.
“What was Bach doing?”

“You mean who?” She laughs at my disgusted expression. “Don’t think less of me, but I’d drool, lick, and kick him.”

“I don’t get it though. How do you know Dylan’s his friend?”

“At the end of the night Bach was messed up. I mean CPR messed up. A lot of people were actually. Someone must’ve called Dylan to come and get him. It was an Ecstasy party.”

Ecstasy? I shake my head at Bach’s behavior. I don’t know what Dylan sees in him. “He isn’t
that
sexy, Len. Calm down.”

She gives me a weird look, as if I have three heads and not one of them possesses a brain with a single thought she agrees with. “Yes he is. He’s way hotter than Dylan.”

“How about this? Dylan was my kind of sexy. The non-STD having kind of sexy. Bach’s filthy.”

“Maybe that’s your problem. You need to broaden your idea of sexy. Bach’s like an ice cream cone in the summer. Everyone wants to lick it up to the very last drop. Man, I could go for some ice cream right now … ”

I imagine plenty of women had already made that a reality for Bach. “What’s Dylan like?” I ask, curious despite how uncomfortable she’s making me.

“An ice cube at the North Pole. He’s boring.”

I remind myself that Len wants a werewolf to mount her. Her opinion is just as rooted in fantasy. “I don’t see it. Sorry. I mean yeah Bach’s attractive, but I think having an ice cube at the North Pole is better. The ice cube would never melt. It would never leave. The ice cream will do both.”

“That’s the whole point,” she says, getting up and tapping my foot once more. “And you can pretend you won’t, but you’d have one hell of a time licking his cream off your body.”

She comes back once more later that night to inform me that she’s leaving. I wish her summer well and attempt to make my expression less devastated when she asks once again if I’m all right to be alone. I lie, because that’s what I want. When the front door slams I’m all alone. I roll over to face the wall and let the obnoxious wave of depression building inside of me slam against me. Eventually I manage to sleep. At least I think I do. When you lay in the same position for hours it all feels the same.

Something wakes me up. It’s still dark outside. I sit up and listen carefully, pausing for a second to steady myself against a sudden rush of dizziness. I’m lightheaded from lying for so long.

A deep pounding sounds through the apartment. Someone’s knocking on the door. For a second I wait, hoping Len will get it, and then recall she isn’t here. I wait a little longer. Maybe whoever it is will get the hint and leave. But they don’t. In fact, they knock harder.

Grumbling, I get out of bed, shuffling and awkward after being in it for the past week, over to my robe. I put it on as I make my way through the living room.

Whoever it is knocks again. Hard. Len’s paintings of Paris she bought last summer shake on the wall. “I’m coming!” I shout impatiently, unlocking the door and wrenching it open.

“About damn time,” Bach says. “What were you doing?”

I don’t have to answer him. His eyes rake over my body, taking in my disheveled hair, red eyes, and lack of proper clothing. I’m wearing Dylan’s boxers and a camisole. I never even tied my robe. I quickly tie it and duck my head.

For some reason I’m ashamed of having Bach see me like this. “What do you want?” I growl.

He raises his eyebrow at me. “You’re a fucking mess.”

“Please, Bach. Don’t flatter me too much. I’m so weak and frail I might fall for it.” I roll my eyes.

“In that case I won’t tell you how your unwashed hair makes your lack of overall pride far less noticeable.”

“Good-bye, Bach.” I move to close my door. His bullshit is the last thing I want to deal with right now. Why is he even here?

“Harley, wait.” His arm shoots out to stop me, easing the door back open. “I came by to see how you were doing.”

He’s got to be kidding. “You just want to see me fall don’t you?”

“No. Although knowing you don’t wake up perfect has oddly satisfied me. I love being satisfied.” His pale green eyes, made even brighter by the light over my apartment door, latch onto mine. His dark brown eyelashes seem to highlight them and the naughtiness that lurks within.

“I heard.” I run my fingers self-consciously over my hair, smoothing down the mess I know it’s become. “If you’re not here to gloat then you can leave now. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t leave. He puts his hands in the pockets of his tight blue jeans and looks down at his shoes. “Dylan left this morning. I drove him to the airport.”

I swallow twice. I have to. Once to swallow my tears and another to keep them down. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

When Bach looks up I glimpse of a side of him I’ve never seen before. Something akin to what I’m feeling. I realize that Bach misses Dylan too. He’ll probably never admit it. Even if I took a picture of his face and showed him the sadness hiding on the edge of his eyes, he’d probably tell me how defined his jaw is, or how when he smirks his cheekbones smirk too.

“I guess so,” he says offhandedly, proving me right. “He wanted me to give you this.” He pulls a folded envelope out of his back pocket and hands it to me.

I stare at the envelope feeling too much to simplify into one word. Hate, love, anger, heartache; the emotions swirl around me. I take it from him, smoothing out the wrinkles. My name is written on the front in Dylan’s handwriting.

“Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Good.” I hold the letter in front of me, as if his lies will penetrate the wall I’ve built around them in five short seconds. I don’t want to read his words. Not now. They’re too late.

“What are you doing?” Bach follows me inside, closing my front door behind him.

In answer, I turn the gas stove on. Dylan’s letter goes up in blue flames. When there’s nothing left but a few black burnt pieces I turn to Bach.

And burst into tears.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Don’t cry.” He reaches for me awkwardly not knowing what to do. When he touches girls they’re probably naked and horny, begging him for it. Not fully clothed and crying. His hand settles on my elbow. “It’s only six months.”

I pull free of him, staring at his hand like it might bite me. “It’s not six months. We’re done.”

“Not my problem. I’m just the messenger.” He stares at his hand too. Then he puts it back in his pocket.

“Bach,” I whisper. I can see it again. Dylan in his uniform. Cold. Bloody. Being honored for something that took him from me. I can hear him screaming for help and none comes. I start to hyperventilate.

Poor Bach watches me helplessly.

“Why did you let him go?” I scream at him. He’s here. Dylan’s not. Who else am I supposed to scream at? “Couldn’t you have stopped him? Told him not to do it. Didn’t you want him to stay?”

“I found out about it the same day you did!” he screams back. “What could I have done?”

Dylan lied to him the same way he lied to me. For once Bach and I had something in common. “I’m scared for him.”

“So am I. I know Dylan better than you. He’s tough, way more than most, but he’s not that tough. I keep thinking of all the things that can go wrong out there. This time I’m not going to be there to protect him.” He looks down at the ground and then back up into my eyes, giving his rough exterior a break.

“We could have stopped him.”

“No,” he says. “We couldn’t have. Because if we were enough then he would’ve stayed. He never would’ve left.”

He’s so right it makes me want to burn something else. I wasn’t enough. Bach wasn’t enough. Dylan’s out there searching for something eight thousand miles away from home. From me.

“We can’t think that way though, babe. We have to pretend he’s out doing something normal like buying groceries. It may take him a while to get back with the milk, and it might be spoiled, but he’s coming back with it.”

I look into Bach’s eyes, hoping his positivity will rub off on me. “You really believe that?”

“I have to.”

I drop my arms in frustration. “I want to be alone right now. Thanks for the letter. You can go.”

He scratches his jaw, awkward again. “I was actually kind of hungry. You want to get something to eat?”

“No.” Why would I want to go anywhere with him? “I already ate.”

His expression tells me he doesn’t buy it. “You’ve probably lost five pounds since I saw you last.”

“Good. I needed to.”

He laughs airily. “Yeah right. You lose any more weight and you’ll lose those curves. You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” I ask, even though I probably shouldn’t. Why do I care what Bach thinks about my curves?

“What’s left?” he wonders coolly. “Your warm, light brown eyes? Your golden brown hair? Your soft pink lips? You definitely need those curves, Harley. You’re hurting without them.”

An unfamiliar heat rushes over my body. It’s so unexpected it catches me off guard. I don’t know whether to drool, lick, or kick him. I think I want to do them all. In that order. Preferably the last one. Over and over again. “I’m good,” I assure him, recovering. “I don’t feel like going anywhere tonight.”

“Then we’ll stay in together. I haven’t done that since … ” He thinks about it. “Ever.”

“Yeah, you’re in something all right. Just not a house.” It has a pulse and breasts, although I wasn’t sure he required the first one.

He laughs boisterously, eyes widening at my comment. Frankly, I’m shocked too. “Does Dylan know you have a potty mouth?”

“No. It’s especially for you.”

“I’m touched.” He grins cockily.

In the second he’s grinning at me I have to admit it’s a gorgeous smile. Wide and bright, only made brighter by his straight white teeth and smooth lips. But I also have to admit that smile isn’t going to work on me. “Go home, Bach.”

“What would you prefer? Chinese or something easier like pizza?” He pulls his cell out, pulling up his browser app. “I can order on my phone.”

“Does Bach not have a date tonight?” I force a gasp. “Did you finally go through every girl in Crystal Gulf?”

“No. There’s still one left.” He looks at me from under his lashes as his fingers continue to tap on his phone. “I have ten different ways to take your robe off without even moving a finger. Keep talking.”

“Ten?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you need ten for? Do the first nine start with bullshit too?”

He licks his lips and shakes his head, his gaze heating up. I can’t tell if he’s irritated or really hungry for pizza. “No. The first nine’s not enough. I need that tenth one to make your pussy quiver.”

I have a great comeback. However against my will I wonder what it would be like to quiver from an orgasm. The possibilities embarrassingly entice me. I shake off the heat in my belly and smile sweetly at him. “I’m sorry you can’t get it right the first time.”

“Mmm,” he groans. “Dylan didn’t tell me you had this in you.”

“Dylan didn’t tell me you had such bad luck in bed either. Imagine that.”

His light green eyes lower even more, hiding the color from me but leaving sight of the heat burning in them. “He would have, but he was probably too busy trying to teach you how to work a cock.”

Oh this guy is full of shit. The game stops there. I can’t believe I played along at all. But something about him was hard not to … engage. “Don’t you have some Ecstasy orgy to attend?”

“You heard about that?”

What a creep. It’s a shame that someone so insanely sexy is dirtier than a used condom. It’s like watching a sports car drive by. Yeah you want to drive it, but then you have to get insurance and sign a release form first. But damn Bach can use his eyes. They practically send heat to me. I surreptitiously fan myself with my robe and leave the kitchen.

“You’re disgusting.”

He grumbles something undoubtedly rude under his breath as he follows. “Why am I disgusting? Because I like to have a good time?”

I sink down onto the couch, watching as his large imposing body does the same. “I like to have a good time too, Bach. There’s nothing wrong with that. I also like to know I’m not a walking, talking STD.”

He twists his hair in his fist then drops his hand on his thigh. The smack is loud in the quiet apartment, dragging my eyes down to his thighs. They stretch his jeans tightly, long and muscular. “I get tested once a month. They have free testing at the University. I’m clean. I mean I don’t know about this month, but I was clean last month.”

“Huh,” I mutter.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do. I do.” I didn’t.

“Oh come on. You think Dylan was always such a snob?”

“No. I know he used to be … bad. Just not as bad as you.” I refuse to think of Dylan at an Ecstasy orgy.

“Oh get off it, Harley. You just don’t want to believe that he could have been this fucking amazing. Or worse.”

“You’re not amazing, Bach. You’re extremely attractive. But so are flat screen TV’s and paintings. Both of which are only fun to look at.”

His beautiful jaw, so sharp and damn it, okay, defined, drops. “Wow, Harley. You’re really turning me on right now. Don’t stop. I might jizz in my jeans.” His voice is dry, heavy with his irritation.