“You just gave up! You walked away and started fucking other people again, and I wasn’t going to be the stupid girl that waited around and watched you do it. I’d already been that girl, remember?” Trix’s eyes filled with frustrated tears.
“You wouldn’t even be in the same room with me, Trix,” I mumbled back tiredly. “After bein’ friends for all those years—you cut me off at the fuckin’ knees.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides.
I didn’t want her “sorry.” I kicked off my boots, then moved past her toward the hallway. “I’m takin’ a nap. This has been a shitty fuckin’ day and it ain’t even noon.”
She sniffled as I walked away, but didn’t say another word as I left the room.
I didn’t like it that she was crying, but I was done trying to explain myself. I’d never done anything to hurt her—she’d been the bitch. She’d been the one to completely cut me out of her life. She’d been the one to act like I was some kind of whore for fucking other women. What had she expected me to do?
I’d never make comments about the men she’d been with. I hated that she’d had sex with anyone else, and I didn’t want to hear about it or think about it—but I’d never make her feel badly about it, either. I’d known after she left me in the clearing when she was seventeen years old that I’d gone about shit the wrong way—but even when I’d been livid about her having sex, I’d never made her feel bad about it.
Was I pissed back then? Yes. Did I think there was anything wrong with her for wanting to have sex? Hell, no. I just wanted to be the man in her bed.
I peeled off my clothes and climbed gingerly into the guest bed, lying flat on my back as my ribs protested the movement.
I needed to get some sleep so when I saw her again, I didn’t want to pack her ass up and leave her with her parents just to get the fuck away from her.
Chapter 4
Trix
I messed up.
Well, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I’d messed up or if I’d done myself a huge favor by pissing Cam off. He was right—completely right. I was the one who’d ended our friendship. I just hadn’t been able to watch him with other women, and by the time I was old enough—mature enough—to be with him, I was doing everything I could to avoid him. I’d expected him to be celibate, even though we’d had no relationship whatsoever at that point. Not exactly fair… or realistic.
If I was thinking clearly, I knew he wouldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt me. But when I was with Cam, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was all twisted up, eager to hold on to the chance of having him, but at the same time, completely afraid of what that would mean.
What if it didn’t work out? How would I be able to handle seeing his parade of club skanks at every birthday party and barbeque? Even worse, he might find someone he wanted to be with for good—and that would kill me.
If things did work out—if we did end up staying together, did that mean I would have to become my mother? She had a degree from the same university I was almost graduated from, but she’d never used it. She’d been a housewife when she was married to my stepdad and had continued staying home once she and my pop got back together. It seemed like all of the women I was close to except my nan stayed home to take care of the kids—and while I didn’t think that was a bad thing, it also wasn’t what I wanted.
I’d worked my ass off for my business degree, and I wanted to use it. I didn’t want to own my own business, but I really wanted to run someone else’s. It didn’t matter what kind of business I ended up in—a tattoo parlor or an advertising firm—I just wanted to put my new skills to good use. I wanted to strategize and implement new ideas, make money and feel the thrill of a job well done. I thrived on that shit.
A part of me loved the idea of settling down with Cam and having a house full of babies, but the other part of me wanted to make my own way, stand on my own two feet. If I got with Cam, I knew that he would take control. Our dynamic from the very beginning had been of a leader and a follower. Because of the age difference, I’d always been the follower, and I’d never questioned it.
But a lot had happened in the last four years. He was no longer the adult—we both were, and I couldn’t be content with following him anymore. I wanted us to be equals.