Page 60 of Missing Pieces

Chapter Twenty-Four

I shimmy into one of my tight little dresses. I know I’m only meeting Easton at Sawyer’s, but I want to seduce him tonight. I give Poe a kiss, head out the door, and jump into the truck.

Butterflies coat my stomach even though I have no idea why. He’s seen me naked. We’ve talked a lot about our pasts. Maybe it’s just that he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. Not that my husband didn’t make me feel things, he did at one point, but it’s been a long time since that happened.

I don’t even realize I’ve made it all the way into town until I see the diner. I drive around the block and pull into the back. I hop out of the truck and push my dress down my thighs. I half regret wearing heels because the gravelly dirt I walk across has me three seconds away from face planting. I somehow make it to the sidewalk and exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I round the corner and walk into Sawyer’s.

I stop dead in my tracks. The smell of whiskey permeates my nose, but all I see is Quinn with her arms wrapped around Easton’s neck and her tongue halfway down his throat. I back up and run into someone. He yells at me for not paying attention. I apologize and make my way to the door three feet away as calmly as I can. Once I step outside, I head toward the corner to get to the lot as quickly as possible.

As I turn the corner a strong hand grabs my forearm and pulls me back. “It’s not what you think.”

I turn and glare at him trying to pull away. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t mistake her tongue down your throat.”

He growls at me and pulls me against his hard body. “That bitch shoved her tongue down my throat. I didn’t kiss her. And you didn’t stay long enough to see me push her away.”

I start to speak to him, but he pushes back. “Don’t say anything. You walked in and I saw you. You. Not her. But she noticed. So she did what she does. She made you jealous. But Quinn, she means shit to me. You are the only thing in my life.”

I push him off me. “You really think I am going to believe you? This is the same shit I’ve heard for years. Fuck you. I know when someone has used someone and moved past it.” I push him again for the hell of it. “I am done. I am over this. Fuck you. And fuck whatever you think you can prove to me. I am done.”

I storm off. Not to my car but toward the restaurant down the street. The only other bar in this godforsaken town. Easton made it easy for me to decide I need to leave this town. And I have no idea why I’ve stayed so long. I’m a fool to believe that I found something real here. I don’t think I can find anything real anywhere. Love isn’t real. It’s just some stupid thing that writers and Hollywood convince people of.

I don’t want anything to do with this Podunk town anymore; no matter the fact it felt like home for a small amount of time.

I walk into the restaurant and hightail it to the bar. I order a double shot of whiskey. Nate, the bartender, who I’ve met a handful of times at the café pours me a strong triple, and I down it in a couple of gulps. I order another and just as I put it to my lips, I feel it ripped from my hand.

“Stop.”

I crack my knuckles. Pissed off. This is not why I came here.

“Fuck you,” I respond. Not exactly the witty statement I wanted, but at this point, I don’t care.

I rip my drink from his grip and down the double Nate so nicely poured.

“Stop drinking.”

“Why?” I ask him. “Do you think I’m being irresponsible? Do I need to apologize to you? Because I won’t. I am done with that. Go back to your whore.”

“No babe. Drink what you want.” He leans forward, his fingers trailing down my spine, whispering in my ear, “You know, deep down, I didn’t kiss her.” His eyes trap me in a staring contest. I know he wouldn’t kiss her. He made that clear before but just seeing him with her brought back too many memories. But I am not about to admit that to him.

I turn back to the bar and go to order another drink, but I stumble a bit in my heels. Shit. Maybe five shots of whiskey in five minutes wasn’t a good idea. I fumble through my clutch and throw a couple twenties on the bar. I can feel Easton’s eyes on me. I know he’s going to follow me the second I walk out of here but it’s not like I can hop in a cab and disappear.

The alcohol hits me hard as I attempt to walk back to the truck. I can hear Easton’s footsteps behind me, so I try to walk as straight as possible. It doesn’t go well as I stumble on the cobblestone. I’m surprised he doesn’t try to steady me. I continue to walk toward the lot although I have no idea how I am going to drive. I guess I could sleep in the truck.

I stumble again. “Goddamn it,” I mumble. I bend over and rip my shoes off. “Fucking shoes, fucking sidewalk, fucking Quinn.”

I don’t even make it a step before big brawny arms circle my waist and throw me over a shoulder. It takes my brain a second to register the fact that Easton is carrying me and I should be pissed off about it. I bang on his back. “Put me down, you brute. I can walk just fine.”

I’m sure anyone who walks past us will see my ass since my dress isn’t exactly modest. He must realize this because I feel his other hand pull my dress down and hover on the back of my thighs.

He chuckles. “Really? You can walk. You could barely walk a straight line. And those fuck me heels were gonna cause you to break an ankle.”

“That’s why I took them off,” I growl. “And they weren’t fuck me heels.”

He continues laughing even though this is far from funny. “Yes, they were.”

“Well, it’s not like they would have worked on you!” I tried to sound defiant, but it came out a bit more childish.

“Oh Edy,” he says as he slaps my ass. I let out an oomph. “Those shoes definitely worked on me. In fact, I’m gonna make you put them back on later.”