Page 5 of Trusting You
She deigns a look my way, stuck while she waits for the light to change. “You don’t remember me?”
Second head-cock of the day where I’m not trying to get laid, and it’s not even eight. There’s something familiar about her, I just can’t put my finger on it. And, if I’m honest, there’s been so many girls in my past…“There’s no way I’ve slept with you. I’d remember you for sure.”
The way she surveys me, it’s like…oh man, it’s like scorn. For once, I’m caught unawares.
“We’ve never slept together,” she says, but when the traffic stops, and she can cross, she comes closer instead.
Yes, come to me, sexy lady.
“But you’ve slept with my best friend.”
My dick shrivels. No.
“Paige Tobias. The name mean anything to you?” she continues.
“Not even a little,” I say blithely, and that sets a sexy firelight in her eyes. “Unless it’s yours.”
The girl gives a nod as if affirming something. “You don’t deserve this. I sure as hell don’t deserve this.”
I’m honestly confused. “Deserve what? Need I remind you, you came into my home, disrupted my private time, only to yell at my dick. Yeah, I saw you looking.” My smile is like a sideswipe; knocks girls flat.
Not this one.
Her cheeks stain pink with irritation. She visibly shakes with it. Her eyes glitter—literally sheen over—with tears.
Part of me is impressed with her passion. Not many people would step up to the plate for their friends like this. I kind of wish my guys would take up arms, but they’re more likely to search for a six-pack in my apartment than defend my honor—if I possess any, that is.
Then realization sets in, and I feel bad for a girl wanting so desperately to defend her friend, some chick I can’t remember for the life of me but is worth enough to send this girl over here in a rage. “Your best friend. If I hurt her, I’m sorry. Really. It’s never my intention. I always make sure the women I take home understand I’m not the boyfriend type—”
“You didn’t hurt her, asshole. You had a daughter with her.”
The girl covers her mouth abruptly like she didn’t mean to say what she just said.
Candy-Tara picks that time to come out of the apartment building, hearing this girl’s words. Before I can blink the fact she’s beside me into existence, Candy-Tara slaps me across the face. So hard the angry girl in front of me gasps like she hasn’t expected this moment but kinda enjoys it.
“You have a kid?” Candy-Tara cries.
But the sharp crack against my cheek is needed. My brain has put on the brakes, my jaw’s unhinged, my towel might as well come off again because, What the fuck did this girl just say to me?
The girl sighs, energy seeming to expel out of her in one wave, and says, “My name is Carter Jameson. And you have a ten-month-old daughter.”
Oh, Jesus.
Where’s my bacon.