She’s hurt by the sight of me with Sierra.
Is that because she wants me like I want her?
Everything is telling me yes.
And I don’t know whether to feel elated or fucking terrified by that thought.
“Morg—” I don’t even get a chance to finish saying her name.
She turns and walks out of my office, slamming the door behind her.
“Oops.” Sierra giggles.
My eyes narrow, lit with anger. I firmly move her back and bend down to get my towel off the floor, wrapping it back around my waist.
I stare her down. “Get the fuck out of my office. Now. And, if I ever catch you in here like that again, you’re fired.”
“You can’t just fire me.” Her hands go to her hips, eyes wide.
“I can. And I will.” I take a menacing step toward her. “If you ever cross the line like that again, I’ll have your ass out on the street before you can say pink slip.” I walk over and pick up my shirt from where I left it on the sofa along with the rest of my clothes. “Oh, and sexual harassment charges aren’t just against men, you know.”
Worry sparks in her eyes. “You wouldn’t…”
“I would. And good luck explaining to Morgan what just happened.”
Defiance narrows her eyes along with something else, something I’m not quite sure of…until she says, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to tell Morgan the truth—that we’ve fucked already. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about that. And maybe I’ll tell her that we’ve been screwing all along.” She smirks, trailing her finger over her cleavage.
The bitch. She knows I have a thing for Morgan. Shit.
I shrug like I don’t give a fuck. But the truth is, my heart is hammering in my chest.
I yank my shirt on and do up the buttons. “Go home,” I tell her, my voice hard. “I’ll talk to Morgan.”
She smiles like she’s won something. Because she has. She’s won this round.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Wild.” Then, she sashays out of my office, the door closing firmly behind her.
Morgan
Twelve and a Half Years Ago
You can try to ignore something…someone…your own feelings. But you’re not really ignoring them; you’re just pretending you are.
And I’ve gotten really good at pretending.
Pretending that I can’t stand Wilder Cross. Pretending that my heart doesn’t beat a little faster every time I see him. Pretending that my heart doesn’t sink when I see him with a girl.
Pretending that my crush hasn’t turned into real feelings for him. Because how can I have feelings for a jackass like him? It doesn’t make sense. So, therefore, the feelings can’t be real. Right?
See, I’m damn good at pretending. And I figure, if I keep on like this, one day, my pretense will just stick. It’ll become reality.
Avoidance is a great tool. If I don’t see him much, then I don’t have to fake it at all.
So, wouldn’t you just know that Wilder and I have been paired together to do an assignment for our Economics class?
We only need to do one study session together, so we can figure out which part each of us will do. But the thought of one session—just me and him, one-on-one—feels like the best and worst kind of torture.
I’m great at pretending to myself and everyone else, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to pretend if it’s just Wilder and me. And he can’t ever know that I have feelings for him.
God, could you imagine the fun he and his buddies would have with that?
Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford has a thing for Wilder Cross.
Yeah, that’s the nickname that Wilder has for me. Not the most original. He doesn’t say it to my face, but I have ears. And I can’t say that it doesn’t bother me because it does.
Not that Wilder cares about my feelings.
The only thing he cares about is sleeping with as many girls as possible.
He screws just about anything with a vagina. And, of course, they’re all slim, gorgeous girls because Wilder Cross doesn’t do anything over a size four.
At the remembrance of what he said that night, I breathe through the ache in my chest that I still get, even now.
So, I guess you could say that I’m not looking forward to this study session with him.
And, when my boss asked me if I could stay a few more hours, as one of the girls had called in sick, I said yes. Not only would the extra cash come in handy, but it also delayed the inevitable a little longer.
And, now, straight from work, I’m on my way to Wilder’s frat house, which is where we’re meeting. I did try to book a room at the library, but they were all full, and I definitely didn’t want Wilder in my dorm room. The dorm room that I no longer share with Tori.
She left a month ago. She got knocked up. Not by Wilder. By one of the guys on the football team. She went back home, wherever that is.
So, I have the room to myself. But the last time Wilder was in my room, it didn’t end so well for me, so, yeah, not happening.
The only option left was his frat house. We can work in the kitchen or whatever.
As I walk toward the address he gave me, I hear thumping music coming from inside. As I get closer, I see people out front, on the porch, drinks in their hands.
He’s having a party?
He knew I was coming. Granted, I’m two hours later than I originally said I would be, but I emailed him to let him know I had to change the time. And it’s only eight thirty now, and this party looks like it’s been going on for a while.
I hesitate, not sure what to do. Do I go in and find him? For what reason? We can’t exactly work while there’s a party happening.
But, now, I’m pissed. Because, if he was having a party, then he should’ve let me know, and we could’ve rearranged. But he definitely didn’t let me know because I quickly checked my email at work before I left, and there was nothing from him. I haven’t received a text or phone call from him either.
God, does he not ever take anything seriously?
My annoyance quickly turns to anger.
And that’s what has me marching up the front lawn and up the steps to the porch and through the open front door.
The house is full of people, drinking, dancing, and making out. Girls are wearing skimpy dresses, and I’m standing here in my work uniform.
I feel a stab of envy. I don’t party often…well, ever. I’m too busy with school and work to have a social life. And I’m not exactly rolling with the popular crowd, so my party invites are pretty rare…well, nonexistent.
I glance around, looking for Wilder. I see a few people I know from classes but no Wilder.
I walk through the living room and to the kitchen. Still no sign of him.
By this point, I’m pissed off and ready to go home, but I want to find him, so I can yell at him.
I grab a random guy and ask if he knows where Wilder is.
“Out back,” he tells me.
I make my way through the kitchen and let myself out back. There are some people out here, but I can’t see Wilder.
Then, I hear a female giggle to my left. I turn my head to find a pretty brunette pressed up against the house with Wilder leaning into her.
A flash of jealousy lances across my chest.
Almost as if he hears my pain, his head turns, and his eyes focus on me.
A smile creeps onto his lips. But it’s not a nice smile.
“A little late, aren’t you?”
“Late?” My brows furrow.
He steps away from the girl and turns to me. “Yeah, about two hours too late for our study session.”
“I emailed you to let you know I couldn’t make it and that I’d be coming now.”
His head tips to the side. “I didn’t get an email, Stickford. And, FYI, people generally text each other now. You know, cell phones.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and waves it at me.
The brunette giggles, which just pisses me off even more.
“I know, asshole. But I didn’t have access to my phone at the time, so I emailed.”
My phone is in my bag, but I’m not going to tell him that I couldn’t text or call him because I’m out of credits on my prepay phone, and I don’t have any spare cash to put some credits on it until I get paid in a few days.