Chapter 26

twenty-six

HENDRIX

There wasn't a party at my house.

I never invited anyone. I never intended to, and while I hated lies, I hated the way I felt about Lola more.

About an hour ago, I'd made the mistake of pulling up Lola's most recent InstaPic post—a photo of Gracie, Lola, and the wannabe, young, dickass Daddy Warbucks of Barrington on a motherfucking boat. Smiling. Lola's cheeks were pink from the sun, her wet, blond hair stuck to her perfect face, and Gracie in her lap. Mr. Barrington sat wedged right beside the girls who used to be mine.

I hated everything about it.

Ever since I'd seen that picture, I'd sat on my bed in my boxers, ignoring texts from Bell and Wolf asking if I was coming to the dump party while I strummed over the worn strings of my guitar. The guitar I hadn't played in two years because I'd pawned it for her. Medusa. The girl who had turned my once-beating heart to stone.

As much as it meant to me, I hadn't thought twice when I'd pawned it to get the ring. The ring that, for some reason, still sat in my nightstand drawer. When I had confronted her the night after I saw her at the clinic with Kyle and she had told me the baby wasn't mine, that she'd cheated, damn did the thought I gave it up for her break me.

Angry as hell, I went straight back to the shop, thinking I could get the guitar back, but it was already gone.

Lola knew how much it meant to me, and the irony that she was the one to bring it back to me was why I couldn't make myself tell her thanks. It hurt, just like everything else about her did.

Sighing, I plucked out the chorus of "Glycerine."

The lyrics fit Dayton. And the older I grew, the more that song shifted and changed until it made absolute sense. And damn, did it make more sense than it ever had right about then. Push and pull and utter desperation.

I strummed out the tune, changing the lyrics just enough to make sense for me.

She had been here, then she'd been away.

I'd been alone with a revolving door of girls.

And the fuck could I love anyone more.

I needed her. When she wanted us less …

And just fuck…

I finished off the song, something heavy as shit in my chest. I had one life. One. And at the end of the day, regardless of what she'd done, I just wanted her in it.

Forget the goddamn days gone by…

I dropped my skull against the headboard, my grip on the guitar neck tightening as I stared up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars. Out of sight, never out of mind, but nowhere close to within my grasp, and I'd never, not once, stopped loving that girl. She'd always been my gravity, and right then, I had proof she was with someone else. Giving that rich boy my damn smiles, and all I wanted to do was float the fuck into oblivion.

What the actual hell was wrong with me? Gravity? Float into oblivion?

That was what Medusa had turned me into, a sniveling, poetic little prick of a man. Where was the pettiness?

I snatched my phone from the foot of my bed, stamping my fingers over the screen.

Me: Having a good time with Mr. Golden Dick?

Medusa: Why do you care? Shouldn't you be busy rattling your headboard?

Oh, she was just as bothered as me. That response was way too fast.

Me: The night is young, and my balls are full.

Medusa: Yes, it is… I'm busy.

She sent a picture of her on an expensive-looking couch next to Chad. My jaw dropped a little. My fingers flew over the screen. And just like that, all that hurt pulled an Incredible Green Hulk move, shifting right into a massive, raging, jealous monster.

Me: Tell Dickface Moneybags I said he can Star-Spangle my balls, motherfucker.

Bubbles danced across the screen, then stopped.

They stopped. She never sent another message. She never made another post, and all I could do was lay in my bed and think she really was busy.

Midnight came and went, and she hadn't come home. I went downstairs and turned on some low-budget slasher film, trying to distract myself. But it didn't work.

I typed out about ten different texts, deleting every one. She wasn't mine. But she sure as hell wasn't his…

It was almost one thirty when headlights shined through the window. A car door slammed shut, and I got up, peeking through the plastic blinds at Kyle's shitty Honda idling at the end of the drive as Lola got out.

The caveman inside of me beat its chest, jealous rage sizzling through my veins when the front door creaked open, then softly shut.

The thought of that blond dickhead being the last person she'd fucked, made me insane. Primitive drive overtook everything when I stepped into the entranceway, grabbed her ponytail, and yanked her head back. "Did you fuck another guy, Lola?"

"You're asking me that?" She got out half of a laugh before I snapped and shoved her against the wall at the foot of the stairs.

"Go ahead." I raked my teeth over her throat, searching for any hint, any taste of another man. "Tell me you fucked someone else."

"What if I tell you that he made sweet, romantic love to me?"

My grip on her hips tightened at the thought of some other guy touching her, kissing her. All I could think about was fucking whatever piece of him he'd left right out of her. "Did he make you come?" I thrust my hardening cock against her. "Or did he leave you with a swollen, unsatisfied pussy."

I already knew the answer. She could fuck anyone she wanted, but not a damn soul on this Earth would make her come the way I did. It was a waste of her time. A waste of his. "What's the matter, Lola? Thinking about how much you wish it had been my dick stretching out that pretty little pussy?"

One swipe of my tongue over her throat, one hard press of my dick against her, and she snapped, too, shoving her hand into my boxers and wrapping it around my dick.

I groaned at the soft feel of her hand, the touch that knew me all too damn well.

"Did you fuck another girl?" She gave me a possessive squeeze. "Did she touch you like this?"

I thrust in her hand. "Maybe she touched me better."

"Maybe his dick was bigger…"

Motherfucker. I yanked her away from the wall, grabbing at the fly of her shorts and tearing them off before I threw her to the floor underneath me, legs spread. "Maybe her pussy was tighter…"

I pulled my dick through my boxers, and I slammed into her. Tight. Wet. I went just that much farther until her back arched from the floor and her nails dug into my shoulder blades.

"Did she make you come in seconds like I can?" Her pussy gripped me, and I bit back the groan, telling myself not to get off. "What's the matter, Hendrix? Distracted?"

I pulled out, then pounded into her. Each deliberate thrust moved us across the floor until the top of her head was against the bottom step, her hips rolling against me on deep moans.

"Any time you fuck another guy. This is what I'm going to do to you." I buried myself balls deep. "Fuck him right back out." Was it psychotic? Absolutely. But I couldn't help myself with her.

One more hard thrust and she came, moaning my name, pussy strangling my dick.

I pulled out, pushed onto my knees, and shoved up her T-shirt before I came on her chest. "At the end of the day, Lola…" I smeared it up her neck, wrapping my hand around her throat. "No matter who else fucks you. No matter how much I hate you. You'll always be mine."

Then I got up and went to my room, leaving her half-naked and covered in my come at the bottom of the stairs.