On a normal night, that would likely be true. I wouldn’t think twice; I’d just walk away. Shrug it off. Head home to watchThe Great British Bake Offin my safe little bubble.
But this isn’t a normal night. And beneath the annoyance I feel when I look at Sienna, there’s something else, something deeper — a simmering resentment that has nothing to do with a game of beer pong.
“Screw it,” I mutter, reaching for the closest cup.
Chapter Four
ARCHER
I siton the edge of the bed for a while after Sienna leaves, trying to clear my head before I go back downstairs. It’s no use. No amount of deep breathing will be enough to wipe the memories of tonight away.
Or the guilt.
I’m not insulted Sienna didn’t stick around. V-card in hand, she promptly kissed my cheek and vanished through the door. I seriously doubt I rocked her world, but she didn’t seem to mind. For her, sex is more about power — about popularity — than physical pleasure. Just another tactic to make herself relevant.
Seeing how the guys on the team trail her around like lovestruck puppies, it’s a damn effective strategy. The way to a man’s heart may be through his stomach, but the way to a teenage boy’s sits directly behind his zipper. And Sienna is more than happy to trade a quick romp between the sheets for undivided male attention — however fleeting. Fake orgasms are just one more line item on her list of artificial qualities.
Fake tan.
Fake hair.
Fake nails.
Fake nice.
The girl adopts and discards new personality traits faster than most people change their socks. I honestly can’t stand her. Terrible to admit, given I’ve just bonked her brains out and all, but it’s the truth. It’s also the only reason I let her lead me into this bedroom.
Better her than someone who might think it actually means something.
I drop my head into my hands and rub them over my face, hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyes. Slapping my own cheeks, I command myself to stop being such a mopey fucker.
I made a choice.
There’s no taking it back.
No changing it.
Just living with it… and its fallout.
After all, that was the whole point of this charade, wasn’t it? I didn’t screw Sienna for my health; I sure as shit didn’t do it for my heart. It wasn’t a drunken mistake or a momentary lapse in judgment. It was a calculated move, designed to inflict maximum damage.
When I walked through this door, I knew exactly what I was doing — and who I’d be hurting. I knew I was drawing a line through my old life. Crossing out certain possibilities with permanent marker.
A face flashes in my head. One I’d memorized every facet of by age four; one I’ve spent every year since staring at with ever-increasing intensity.
Upturned nose, smattering of freckles.
Quick smile, dimpled cheeks.
Jo.
I slap myself again.Hard. Rattling every thought of her out of my skull. As if the physical pain I inflict on myself will somehow detract from the relentless ache inside my chest.
I’d cut my own heart out if I thought it would help. But there’s no help for this.
For me.
For us.