He snorted. “Kayla? You think this is about Kayla?”
“You are marrying her tomorrow.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he sneered. “You think I’m not fully aware that I’m supposed to be her husband?”
“But—”
“I know,” Lucas snapped. “I know I’m getting married, just like I know that for the past year, the only girl I’ve wanted to kiss is you.”
My knees buckled. “Lucas.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Because I’d loved him longer than forever.
And he’d just said he wanted to kiss me.
But he was engaged to my sister.
My older, much prettier, much more stable and confident sister.
“Wrong,” he whispered. “But just once—God, just once I want to do the wrong thing. Do you think I’m a bad person?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I think you’re drunk and confused.”
“I’m drunk.” His forehead touched mine. “Not confused.”
“Lucas . . . you should sleep it off.”
He nodded and then, without warning, crushed his mouth against mine, his hips pinning me against the wall.
I didn’t know what to do except kiss him back and then very politely—because I was always polite—push him away.
“Sorry.” He hung his head. “I just . . . I wanted wrong.”
“And did it feel right?”
His smile returned. “Yeah, it did.”
My heart flipped. “Lucas, if you aren’t ready for marriage . . .”
“I’m not ready for marriage,” he said quickly.
He swayed on his feet. I let out a sigh, trying to play off that I was annoyed instead of completely frazzled, heartbroken, upset, excited. I was too many mixed-up things. I didn’t want that future for him, and I hated myself for even contemplating helping him get over his nerves about marrying Kayla, though I knew it was all wrong. It had been for a while.
“Fine, stay here, hold up the wall, and I’ll go get my room ready for you, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch. That way you won’t be in the same room as Kayla, and you can decide what you want to do, alright? The last thing you need is to go back to your parents’ house and grab keys to one of the cars or start confessing to your dad that you won’t go through with it.”
He nodded, his eyes completely unfocused. “Avery.”
“What, Lucas?”
“You always were my favorite Black sister.”
What was I supposed to say to that? Especially since I wasn’t the Black sister who had the ring on her finger. Guilt stabbed me all over until I felt numb.
Because he’d said exactly what I’d always wanted him to say.
But he was completely wasted. And marrying my sister.
“So I’ll see you at work this afternoon?” Lucas softly knocked on my head with his knuckles. “You home, Avery?”
“Ugh.” I shook my head. “Yes. Sorry. Home. Work. Dinner Tuesday. Thanks.”
I left Starbucks so fast that I almost ran into a poor old man trying to order a cup of Pike Place Roast.
Lucas Thorn was the devil.
I just sometimes wished that he’d stayed where he belonged—in hell.
Chapter Fourteen
LUCAS
We didn’t have time for sex. Okay, that’s not true. We had time. But I wasn’t interested. But admitting that meant too many awful things. Maybe it was the universe telling me to stop sticking my dick in multiple women—or maybe it was just bad luck.
Hell, at this point, everything pointed to the day Avery Black came crashing back into my life, all strawberry-blonde hair and judgmental eyes, with tall heels and kissable lips.
Tabatha kissed my neck while Cary slid her hand up my thigh. We were at brunch.
When Cary’s fingers grazed me, I had no choice but to either let her take it further or shove her away and tell her I was feeling . . . sick.
Tabatha kept kissing.
What the hell type of dude told two girls to stop while he was getting this kind of attention during mealtime?
“Lucas Thorn,” Cary breathed in my right ear while Tabatha kissed the other, her hands staying firmly planted at her sides while her roommate and best friend continued trying her best to get me off under the table.
A vision of Avery flashed through my mind.
Her eyes mostly.
Not even her body.
Her eyes, that was what did it. They had me jerking away from both girls like they had the plague.
“Whoa.” Cary stifled a laugh. “I didn’t pinch that hard.”
She pinched my business? Seriously? Who did that?
Tabatha’s tongue grazed my ear again.
“You know what?” I tossed down a few twenties and stood. “I have a meeting in a few.” When I turned, they were both flushed and ready, yet there I was, staring at them like a moron rather than taking them into the bathroom and allowing myself to get made into a Lucas Thorn sandwich. Damn it. Was I broken?
Tabatha shrugged. “That’s okay. We should probably get going anyways. Next week at the regular time? Cary’s working. You can come over—I’ll make your favorite homemade macaroni.”
I groaned and patted my stomach. “Sounds amazing.”
“Why do I get the feeling that sometimes you’d choose my macaroni over sex?” Her eyebrows arched up.
“Probably because you’ve never had bad macaroni, which means you don’t know how to appreciate the good kind.”