Page 96 of Screwed
“It kind of seemed that way from the text you sent the next day. And it kind of seemed that way because I haven’t seen or heard from you since.” She couldn’t prevent the bitterness that saturated her voice. She lifted her chin and met his eyes head on. She let the anger burn through her, needing that to stop her from throwing herself into his arms. Asshole.
“I’m not mad. I’m just…” He rubbed his face.
“You’re just blowing me off.”
A guilty look made his gaze drop briefly and his lips dip.
She smiled tightly. “Don’t worry, Cash. I get it. I knew what was happening with us. It could never go anywhere, and I’m just not…” Her throat squeezed, and she couldn’t actually get the words out.
I’m just not good enough.
She pressed a hand to her aching throat, her eyes stinging. All those raw, painful feelings she’d grown up with rushed back over her, nearly sending her to her knees.
She’d never been good enough.
Never good enough for her parents—they cared more about image and money than about her. She remembered longing to hear words of praise for the good report cards or the awards she’d won for her art. Longing just to hear the words “I love you.”
She hadn’t been good enough for Beau—he’d cheated on her with someone else, their marriage a humiliating failure. She remembered sobbing alone in her bed, asking herself why she wasn’t enough for him. What was she lacking that he’d had to find it with another woman?
And now she wasn’t good enough for Cash. Well, maybe good enough for sneaking around having sex. But not good enough to mean more to him than Beau.
She got it.
She flipped her hair back and tried to relax her throat. She stretched her mouth into a smile, a desperation to save face surging inside her. “Never mind. You know what they say.”
The corners of his eyes creased up, and he regarded her somberly. “What?”
“The best way to get back at a man who cheats on you…is to fuck his best friend.”
Cash’s eyes flew open, and his lips parted. Then his eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened into a thin line, his jaw rock hard. She whirled around, thankfully keeping her balance, and bolted across the field back to her friends.
Chapter Twenty-One
Revenge fuck.
Cash spent the next week in a fog, starting the week hungover, progressing to hurt, sadness, then anger. He’d been a revenge fuck.
He’d gone for long runs in a pissed-off rage, running until he couldn’t take another step, sweat stinging his eyes, his legs on fire, lungs heaving. It was an attempt to make the physical pain distract him from the heartbreak deep inside. It didn’t work. But that was okay, because he deserved it.
He deserved it because he’d been an asshole. He’d fallen for a woman he could never have, and he’d given in to the temptation to be with her, knowing it could never be long term, knowing he was hurting his best friend, knowing he was risking their business and risking Callie’s reputation.
The worst thing was, if Callie’d been using him to get back at Beau for cheating on her, that meant she still cared about Beau. Because why would she bother trying to get back at him if shedidn’tcare? Christ.
That twisted the knife even deeper.
That weekend at the beach should have been fun—hanging out with his football buddies and a few other guys, golfing, trash talking, eating seafood, and drinking beer. The beach house was impressive—big enough for eight guys to stay there comfortably, near enough to the ocean to hear the waves. So maybe he hadn’t been totally into it, but he’d tried. Friday night at the Astros game had been torture, listening to Ginnie go on and on about the bakery and how amazing Callie was and how much fun she was having working there. When he’d arrived at Crystal Beach Saturday, he’d tried to take his mind off Callie by getting to know the guys and drinking a lot of beer. He’d been mostly successful…until he’d run into her at the Crab Festival.
She’d been all sexy in her short little cut-off jean shorts, showing lots of tanned leg, and a lacy white top falling off one smooth shoulder. Her smile had beamed, even though he could tell she’d been drinking and she wasn’t exactly pleased about seeing him.
And then she’d made that comment—and figuratively held up her hand, dropped the mic, and walked away.
It still burned inside.
Beau walked into his office. “Okay, let’s have a look at the RFP for the new transmission line.”
Cash tried to corral his thoughts. Picking up a file folder and his coffee, he rose and rounded the end of his desk. He dropped the folder on the small table in his office and sat, hoping he could focus enough to make sense as they talked business.
“We need to make sure we’re managing right-of-way clearing and access road construction,” Beau said.
