There’s Wild, Then There’s You (The Wild Ones #3)(52)
Author: M. Leighton

“I am not,” I hear Jet’s familiar voice say.

“Actually, bro, you are. Who would’ve thought one simple bet could bring a bucking bronco like you down?”

“Nothing has—”

“Look,” the strange voice continues, “you made your point. We thought even you weren’t that bad. None of us thought you’d actually go to one of those meetings and pick up a sex addict. I mean, shit, dude! That’s cold! But damn if you didn’t prove us wrong. You won the bet. You bedded a damn nympho. You’re the king of all players, the big dick around here. We bow down to you and shit. Blah, blah, blah. Now stop pretending you’re pu**y-whipped and get back to bringing the strange.”

My feet weigh a million pounds as I drag them around the corner to look at the band members sprawled about the room. They’re all here—laughing at my expense—but for Jet, who must be in the bathroom.

You won the bet.

I see them with perfect clarity, but I no longer hear them. I hear only the words they’ve already said, ringing through my head, an unstoppable noise. An earsplitting scream.

You bedded a damn nympho.

Stop pretending.

I hear only the beating of my heart and the tearing of my soul. I’m in a daze of pure agony as I look from one laughing man to another. No one notices I’m here. No one bothers to look around, until the drummer throws his head back to laugh at something and happens to glance in my direction. His expression falls and he whips his head around, surprised and sheepish.

I stare blankly at him. I feel nothing. Not even humiliation. I’m numb. Completely and utterly numb.

I watch him throw whatever is in his hand at the guy in front of me. He’s sitting with his back to me, but I recognize him when he turns. It’s Sam, the bass player. Both of them just watch me, like they’re watching a car accident unfold right before their eyes.

And I feel like that car accident. I feel the metal of my world caving in around me. I sense the devastating injuries. But I don’t feel their pain. I’m still in shock. The hurt will come later.

I see their mouths moving, but I don’t hear anything more than the gush of blood as it pulses through my veins. The whole scene is surreal. And devastating.

On stiff legs, I pivot to walk back the way I came. Just before I round to the anteroom, from the corner of my eye I see Jet step back into the room.

Quickly, I turn away, holding tight to the fragile pieces bound by nothing more than a delicate thread, and I run. I run as fast as I can.

THIRTY-EIGHT: Jet

Holy mother of shit!

“Was that . . . ?” I ask Sam as I catch a glimpse of dark hair and see a familiar profile disappear around the corner. I’d recognize that beautiful face anywhere, but I’m hoping for all I’m worth that it didn’t belong to who I think it did.

Sam is grinning and nodding. “Sure was.”

“Why the hell are you laughing?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seems funny that you got busted. What difference does it make?”

“Are you kidding me? She’s gonna hate me, damn you!”

“So? Like you care.” He laughs again.

“Sam, I’d shut that hole right now before I come over there and beat your ass.”

Sam holds up his hands in surrender, but I can still see that shitty smirk around his mouth.

As I stand in the doorway, astounded, looking around at the other members of the band, I realize something that’s pretty damn sad. They’re all good guys, deep down. They like their fun and they like their women, but basically they’re all decent people. They would never have done what I did. Not one of them would ever have dreamed of attending a sex addicts meeting to prove a point, or to tap some nympho ass just to win some stupid, thoughtless bet. None of them believed that even I could be that cold. Because it’s the shittiest thing in the world to do.

And I did it.

Because, in a room full of decent people, I’m the only real ass**le here.

I take off after Violet. For a million reasons, the first of which being that I can’t picture my life without her in it. And I have no desire to try.

THIRTY-NINE: Violet

I keep my head down and move as quickly as I can back through the crowd and out the front doors. When the night air slaps me in the face, the dam bursts and I feel the tears come. And in the quiet privacy of the deserted parking lot, I let them fall.

I thought I’d been hurt when Jet had cooled so much on the trip back from New Orleans, but that is nothing compared to this. These feelings of betrayal and humiliation and devastating heartbreak are enough to steal my breath. It’s because I’m gasping and trying to choke back sobs that I don’t hear my name at first.

I don’t know how many times he calls before I hear him, but finally, I do. And I recognize the voice. Sometimes I think I’ll never be able to forget it.

“Violet! Violet, wait!”

My heart lurches in my chest. I don’t want to talk to Jet right now. Maybe not ever again. I feel so stupid and so embarrassed and so deceived that I want to crawl in a hole and die.

I pick up the pace and run for my car.

His voice gets louder and louder, closer and closer, his longer legs eating up the distance between us.

“Violet, stop! Wait.”

When I reach my car, I pause, fumbling in my pocket for my keys. I tug them out and notice that my hand is shaking as I depress the remote unlock button. But I’m not fast enough. Before I can wrench open the car door, Jet is grabbing my arm.

“Violet, please. Let me explain.”

He turns me toward him. I keep my head down. I don’t want him to see that I’ve been crying.

He’s breathing heavily, and so am I. “Let me go, Jet,” I say quietly.

“Not until you let me explain.”

“I don’t need an explanation. I heard all I needed to hear.”

“But it’s not what you think.”

I flinch at the sudden burst of hope that blooms in my chest like a rose. I hate that I want so much to feel it, for it to be real. But something inside warns me not to trust it.

“So there was no bet?”

Jet’s pause tells me all that I need to know. “It’s not what you think,” he repeats vaguely.

My sorrow and humiliation give way to fury, fury that he’s trying to weasel his way out of this.

“Oh, really?” I ask, finally looking up, anger spitting from my eyes. I feel it like the snap of firecrackers. Jerking my arms free, I cross them over my chest, eyeing him sharply. “So you are a sex addict, and you were at those meetings legitimately?”