I turn to find Jenny staring up at me. Double hell.
I’ve managed to avoid seeing her for over a year. Which was fine by me. It’s strange seeing her now. Every inch of her is both familiar yet strange.
Jenny has that flawless type of beauty. Perfect bone structure, brilliant blue eyes, glossy dark hair, and a model’s body. These were the things that drew me to her in the first place.
I saw myself as a demigod back then, and thus needed to have the proper window dressing to go with my elevated status. Goes to show you what being an arrogant dick will get you.
“Do you work here?” It’s all I can think to say.
She blushes, ducking her head, and her hair falls over her shoulder in a wave of shinning brown. “No. I… well, I saw you standing here frowning at the wine…” She gives me a helpless shrug, pressing her arms close to her sides as she does it, which makes her br**sts thrust out and her ass lift.
The ducking of her head, the shrug. I’ve seen these moves a thousand times. I used to wonder if she did them to highlight her looks. Now I’m almost sure.
“I thought I’d talk to you,” she says softly, coming a bit closer.
The scent of artificial strawberry fills my nose. I know it well. Strawberry body butter. After a shower, she’d stand na**d in front of me and rub it all over herself in slow, meditative moments designed to entice. Only she was always coy about it, pretending that she was merely getting ready while not so subtly shaking her ass. One night Jenny jacked me off using a handful of the stuff. Ten minutes after I came, my dick turned bright red and f**king burned like fire. No matter how much I rinsed the poor bastard off, my skin remained irritated for a week.
My balls clench in remembered terror.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. Somehow she’s inches away from me. My back is to the wine rack. “About your injury. I know how much playing meant to you.”
She’s sorry about my injury? The second I’d heard the words “I’m sorry” coming out of her mouth, I’d assumed she was apologizing for showing the world our personal correspondence, or maybe for making people believe I was a whiny pu**y after every game. That still pisses me off.
Then again, I shouldn’t be shocked at her focus on football. Jenny always wanted me to succeed. She wanted to hear my name chanted as much as I did, until it became clear that she would no longer be part of the show.
She wanted to be my wife. Wife. The second I’d heard that word come out of her mouth, I’d wanted to run as fast as I could in the other direction. I had cared for her, liked the way she took care of me, but I hadn’t been in love with her. And in that moment, I knew I never would be. I still don’t know if my rejection broke her heart or simply pissed her off. Jenny always kept her feelings close.
“It is what it is,” I mumble. The back of my neck feels hot again, the perfumed scent of strawberry making my nose twitch.
“You’ll be back.” Her blue eyes gaze up at me sweetly. “I know you will.”
Anna had said the same thing. Only she’d glared at me when she did, as if I’d better not defy her by arguing.
Tentatively, Jenny reaches out. Her fingers are cool, the tips of her manicured nails pressing into my skin. “I’ve missed you, Drew.” One nail traces up my forearm.
Her br**sts are almost touching my chest, her lips parted in invitation. I could have her. I could follow her home and f**k her blind. Sex with Jenny was all about what she could do for me. Which sounds good in theory, but no matter how many times I asked, she’d never give me an opinion of her own. Knowing Jenny, she’d still let me do anything I want to her.
And I feel exactly nothing. Nothing except the ever-present creepy-crawly mix of anxiety and anger that has writhed under my skin since the hit.
She’s looking at me with a glimmer of victory in her eyes. As if she thinks she’s irresistible.
Maybe she is to some. And while she might appear flawless on the surface, looking my fill of her has never given me the visceral punch of want that I get from just once glance of Anna.
Anna who, with her wild curls and generous curves, is more beautiful to me than Jenny ever will be. Anna who smells of exotic spices, warm skin, and home. Anna who brings me peace yet can wind me up hotter and tighter than a suspension coil.
Anna who is staring at me from across the wine rack.
My whole body seizes, going prickling hot then ice cold.
Her syrup-rich voice comes out rough. “I just thought I’d get some wine for dinner.” With a shaking hand, she holds up a bag of wine bottles as I gape at her in mindless horror. “Looks like you were doing the same.” Her green eyes flicker to Jenny before going back to me. “I’ll leave you to your…chat.”
And then she’s walking away, and the floor feels like it’s falling out from under me.
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK a duck. I stride through the parking lot, paid wine in hand, my head pounding in time with my frantic heartbeat. I hate what I just saw. Hate it. My stomach turns and my mouth fills with saliva. I want to go back there and grab that little skank by her hair and smash her face into the cabernet section.
My fingers fumble with the car key, which shakes as I turn the lock and wrench open the door.
I know who she is. Jenny. The nasty little bitch who tried to ruin Drew’s life when he wouldn’t roll over for her. I know because the twat had on a pink football jersey—a size too small—with the name “Jenny” printed along the back. Gag. I cannot believe Drew went out with someone who wears clothes with her name on them.