His speech is the first sign I’ve seen tonight to remind me that he’s really a nerd at heart.
Moments ago, he was anything but. My pulse pounds in my temple, and my skin tingles where we touch. I’ve never wanted a man to touch me as much as I want to be in Reed’s arms right now. I look into his face and wonder why I’m wasting time fighting this reaction to him.
And then he speaks.
“Although, I’m not sure you’re one hundred percent inculpable here. You seem experienced enough to recognize an asshole like Dylan.”
I’m not sure what to be most outraged about: that he finds me partially responsible for what happened or his slam against my reputation. “Excuse me?”
“When you play with fire, you’re liable to get burned. Even children know this platitude.”
Just when I think he can’t get worse, he proves me wrong.
I try to break free of his hold but his arm keeps me in place.
“Aren’t you doing the same thing you just called Dylan out for?” I seethe.
His eyes darken. “The difference is you want to be here with me.”
I want to call him a liar, but I’m too busy staring at his lips and wishing they’d do something else other than talk.
His arm falls from my waist and he lifts his hand to my face, tilting my head back so he has full access to my mouth. He stares into my eyes, his own a blaze of desire.
My breath comes in short pants as my stomach tightens and other parts of me throb. I want him to kiss me, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Ever.
He leans down, his lips inches from mine, and his hands drop so that the only thing holding us together is pure want.
“I think I’ve proved my point,” he murmurs into my ear.
It takes me a full two seconds to figure out what point he just made.
Reed Pendergraft has just made a fool out of me.
I take a step back, horror crashing through me. I thought he was different, but it turns out he’s just as manipulative as Dylan. Their goals were different—Dylan wanted sex, while Reed wants revenge —but at least Dylan was up front about it.
I take a step back. “Congratulations, Reed. Bravo. Point made.”
Confusion flickers in his eyes before I spin around to find Scarlett. She’s dancing with Tucker and her eyes widen in alarm when she sees me. It takes me seconds to get through the crowd to her, but she’s already out of Tucker’s embrace, reaching for me.
“Caroline, are you all right?”
“I have to get out of here.”
Reed is close behind, but Tucker has picked up that he’s the person I’m escaping from. He blocks Reed’s path, holding him back. Their shouts are lost in the noise of the crowd as Scarlett grabs my purse from our table and leads me through the crowd and out the doors to my car. “Do you want me to come home with you? You’ve been drinking.”
I keep my face down, digging my keys out of my purse. “No. I’ve sobered up.” This would be easier to take if I was drunk. “Go back inside to Tucker.”
“I saw what happened with Dylan. Tucker was about to go beat the shit out of him before Reed stepped in. What happened after that?”
I find my keys and unlock my door with shaky hands. “Reed’s an ass, just like every other guy on the face of the planet.”
“Not every guy,” Scarlett says quietly. “Tucker’s not an ass.”
I look into her face. “Well, congratulations, Scarlett.” My tone is snottier than I intend, but I’m too broken right now to care. “You got the last good man alive.” I open my car door and slide into the driver’s seat.
“Caroline….” she pleads.
I see Reed push past Tucker out of the club. I can’t face him right now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I love you, but I just want to go home.”
She nods and backs away as I shut my door. I hold in my tears until I’m turning onto the street and then break into a sob. This is my first good cry since I broke up with Justin last year and I’m pissed as hell that I’m wasting perfectly good tears on Reed Pendergraft.
I’m the world’s biggest idiot and Reed has just driven that point home. Again.
Chapter Four
On Sunday afternoon, I’m in the same place that I’ve spent most of the weekend. I’m bundled under an afghan on the sofa with my two favorite guys—Ben and Jerry—watching marathon sessions of Gossip Girl. Watching rich kids with mundane problems turned glamorous usually makes me feel better. But not this time. Maybe it’s because in the past, whenever I watched, I always presumed that I would live that life someday.
For the first time, I consider the idea that I might not.
The idea is terrifying. It’s not because I want that life. Having money has never been about having things, although that would be nice. Having money has been about having security. I recognize my need for money is unhealthy. I’m smart enough to know this, but my irrational fear of living without it still exists. It’s like people who hoard food. It’s not about eating the food. It’s about knowing the food is there if you need it.
Tina had never been subjected to my wallowing last winter, but she must have been warned because she’s been scarce most of the weekend. I suspect she’s complained to Scarlett, because Scarlett shows up with two containers of ice cream and a plastic container of macaroni and cheese.
She sets the ice cream and mac and cheese on the coffee table, then picks up my empty ice cream carton and the empty pot that I’d cooked macaroni and cheese in the day before. I hadn’t wasted time putting it into a bowl. Scarlett disappears into the kitchen and returns with fresh spoons, handing me one before she plops down next to me, crosses her legs and tucks the afghan around her.