For All The Wrong Reasons Page 2

  Every time I watch as the next notch on her bedpost walks out our front door.

  Kara always appears a few minutes after they leave, fresh out of the shower, dressed in only a t-shirt and panties. Coffee in hand and a smile on her face.

  Not that I mind a glimpse of her bronzed legs. I just hate that they were recently wrapped around another man. It’s like she has no shame.

  Her confidence is one thing I’ve always loved about her. She knows who she is and embraces it. Flaws and all. But being proud of her . . . conquests? Something just feels wrong about it.

  This morning, though, was my breaking point with the whole situation.

  There was a completely naked couple asleep on our couch. Another naked couple on the living room floor. White powder dusting the kitchen table. Beer bottles littered around the house.

  And in my kitchen . . . the one man I’d hoped I’d never see again.

  I’d know that scrawny figure anywhere, but the large cross tattoo that covers his entre back confirms it’s the one person I was hoping Kara’d never invite back in her bed.

  James fucking Camden.

  Kara’s ex.

  The one who cheated on her during their entire relationship. With more than one other girl.

  He treated her like shit. Spoke to her as if he owned her. Controlling and overbearing.

  The final straw was when he grabbed her so hard by the arm he left fingerprint bruises you were able to see through her tattoos. It was her wakeup call, or so I thought.

  When they broke up, she vowed never to speak to him again. Her words were spoken in anger. Hatred for him and everything he had done to her. Kara wasn’t hurt. Her heart wasn’t broken like most girls’ when a relationship ends.

  She was pissed.

  For the first time since meeting her, her badass exterior matched how she felt inside.

  You see, Kara looks like a hard ass. She rides a motorcycle. Both of her arms are covered in tattoos, full sleeves. She keeps her hair dyed black, paints her makeup on to match, and prefers leather pants and combat boots over anything else.

  And she rocks her look. She’s fucking gorgeous.

  On the inside, she’s the sweetest, kindest person you will ever meet.

  In my opinion, the best of both worlds. Dark and dangerous meets girl-next-door.

  Unless you piss her off.

  And James did just that.

  So why the hell was he standing in my kitchen? In a pair of tighty whities. Ass in the air, head in the refrigerator.

  All rational thought left my body as I grabbed on to the back of his neck and yanked, slamming the fridge shut.

  “What the fuck, man? Can’t a guy get a glass of OJ without being assaulted?”

  Clenching my fists at my sides, I stare straight into his eyes, hoping he sees the vile hatred I have for him. I’m not afraid of him like others are. I don’t give a shit if he’s been known to carry a gun or spent time in jail. He’s a badass. I get it. Who fucking cares.

  Not me.

  I tower over him by more than three inches. It’d take him years to gain muscles like mine. If I knocked him on his ass, he might break he’s so thin and frail looking, which probably has something to do with the white powder on the table.

  Nothing like a little cocaine to suppress your appetite.

  People are only threatened by him because of the stereotype he personifies. Drug dealer with a gun. Not afraid of anything or anyone.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks once he recognizes me. “Trying to move in on my girl?”

  The laughter in his voice sets me off, and my fist is flying toward his face before I have a chance to think my actions through. I’m a lover, not a fighter. A peacemaker. I use my words to diffuse situations like this all the time. Yet, here I am, throwing the first punch. At a man with a reputation of beating the shit out of people for no other reason than they looked at him wrong.

  When my fist connects, I hear the crunching of bones. The force from the blow knocks him off balance, and he trips, falling to the floor as blood begins pouring from his nose.

  “Get. The fuck. Out of my house.”

  My words are perfectly clear as I step past him and march up the stairs to the bathroom. The shower is running. Kara is probably in there, washing the sweat and scent of sex off her body. I don’t care. We need to talk, and I’m not waiting for her to finish her daily cleanse.

  Barging through the door, Kara startles, dropping something to the floor of the tub with a loud bang.

  “What’s he doing here?” I ask through gritted teeth as I close and lock the door behind me.

  “He’s my guest,” she replies with a snarl, popping her head out from behind the curtain. Her hair is covered in bubbles, a thin line of soap running down her temple and dripping off her chin.

  “He’s not welcome here. Do you not remember—”

  “You don’t have to remind me. I lived it, Quinn! Now get the hell out of here. I’d like to shower in peace.”

  Yanking the curtain closed, Kara disappears again, ending our conversation. For now. It’s far from over.

  She may not want to talk about it, but she owes me an explanation. And it better be a damn good one.

  Leaning back against the bathroom door after I close it behind me, I hear the one sound that breaks through the anger in my heart. Kara’s soft sobs shred my last strand of resolve. I want to hold her. To comfort her. To show her not all men are assholes.

  If given a chance, there are people who want to treat her the way she deserves to be treated.

  But I can’t tell her that. I need to show her. She needs to see there are good men out there.

  I want her to see I’m one of them.

  Right now, all she wants is what she can’t have. The man who broke her. He’ll be gone before she’s out of the shower, just like all the rest.

  She’ll call him, and he won’t answer. If he does, it’s only for another roll in the sheets. Deep down, I’m sure she knows the reality of it all. That’s probably why she’s crying.

  She made a mistake.

  We all make them from time to time.

  Because the heart is a fickle beast. Making you ache for the things you can’t have. Forcing you to make decisions that would otherwise be against your better judgment.

  I have an idea how I can use that to my advantage, though.

  Chapter Three

  GABRIELLE

  Downing the last of my coffee, I rinse my mug out and load it into the dishwasher. After a quick look around the kitchen for anything I may have missed, I close the dishwasher door and press start.

  The advantages of living alone are endless.

  Only cleaning up after one person is probably the best part, though.

  One load of laundry at a time. One load of dishes. My loft stays clean unless I get lazy, which doesn’t happen often. I try to pick up after myself every morning before I leave for class or before I crawl in bed at night.

  Now that I’m pushing through my ‘mourning period,’ I’m back in my daily routine. My place hasn’t been this clean and organized in months, and it feels good to be back on top of things.

  There are also disadvantages to living alone. For starters, it’s lonely sometimes. No one is here when I get home. There’s no one to talk to when I’m upset. It gets eerily quiet in here sometimes. The kind of quiet that freaks you out when you do hear a random noise.

  Also, it can be expensive. Thankfully, my parents want me to focus on school and are kind enough to pay for my apartment. I don’t want people to think I’m a slacker or some rich kid living off mom and dad. Yes, I have a trust fund. No, I don’t dip into it every time I want to buy myself something new.

  It’s my safety net.

  I support myself mostly. I work hard every summer saving up enough money to pay for everything else throughout the year. If I had to pay for this place as well… I’d struggle like most college students. I’d have to juggle a part-time job along with m
y classes. I’m grateful that’s not the case, and I make sure my parents know how much I appreciate their support.

  Stalling as I shove my laptop in my messenger bag, I take another look around and try searching for something to do before I walk out the door. Anything that will delay me even another five minutes. There’s nothing.

  As much as I’m not looking forward to what happens next, it’s time to leave.

  When I received Quinn’s text, I read it four times before replying, and that was to ask if he was drunk. He had seemed fine when I saw him a few weeks ago at lunch. A little agitated, tired maybe, but otherwise normal, cheerful Quinn. The school year was just getting started. We were all feeling the same way.

  A new routine. Early classes and late nights.

  And for Quinn, new living arrangements. Nathan, Jade, and I were all skeptical of his decision to move in with Kara and Tess. We’re all aware of how infatuated he is with Kara. I’m not sure why he thought living with her would be a good idea. And after the text he sent me, I have a feeling he’s finding out exactly why we were all concerned about him.

  After he assured me he was sober, I entertained his idea for a few minutes, texting him back and asking for details. All he would tell me is that we could help each other out. He had a plan for me to win Gavin back and for him to win over Kara all at the same time.

  The notion that I could be with Gavin again had my heart racing in my chest. I tried to calm it, to think reasonably, but my brain and heart were on the warpath. They both wanted me to go down swinging, and this was my chance to fight.

  So I agreed to meet him this morning before class.

  Just the two of us.

  To talk about the plan. To give him a chance to explain to me how this is all going to work. Because, if I’m being honest with myself, the idea of being with Gavin again both thrills and scares the shit out of me. I’m excited at the thought of his arms wrapped around me and scared he’ll break my heart again. A heart that’s still not healed completely from the last battle it fought.

  If things were to turn out the same way again, I don’t think I would survive. Eating brownies for every meal would be the least of my concerns.

  Walking up to the Commons, I stand outside the building for a minute, breathing deeply, as I mentally prepare to accept whatever he’s about to propose for all the wrong reasons. Reasons I’m not ready to admit to myself.

  My fear of being alone.

  Of never finding someone else.

  Of getting my heart broken time and time again.

  Of never being loved by a man the way I was loved by Gavin.

  “Gabby?” I hear a familiar voice say from behind me. “What are you doing?”

  And just like that, all the air is sucked from my lungs, and I feel like I’m about to faint. Because thinking about him all day, every day isn’t enough. Having a class with him every Monday and Wednesday for two hours isn’t enough. Now I have to run into him on campus.

  As I slowly turn, I find Gavin with his arm around the waist of a vaguely familiar petite blond. She’s loudly smacking her gum and staring at her phone, oblivious to the fact I’m standing in front of them.

  Clearing my throat and directing my attention to the stray strand of hair falling over Gavin’s left brow, I finally find my voice. “Hey.”

  “Are you okay? You look pale like you’re about to be sick.”

  He has no idea how nauseated I feel right now, but it isn’t the flu. It isn’t even my fears of meeting with Quinn anymore. It’s the fact he’s standing in front of me. The fact we’re having our first conversation since that dreadful night at the restaurant when he broke my soul into a million pieces.

  I’ve avoided talking to him until now. Until the moment I was supposed to meet with another man and plan a way to win him back.

  I feel sick because I’m holding in every other feeling I’m having right now.

  Desire to be the one his arm is wrapped around.

  Hatred for the blond bitch who has his attention.

  Love.

  Sorrow.

  The ache in my chest is overwhelming me. I can’t tell if it’s from the pain he’s caused me or the love I still carry around for him threatening to explode.

  And then a firm set of arms wraps around my waist, pulling me back against an equally firm chest. The hairs on my arms stand on end, goosebumps prickling my skin.

  I haven’t been touched this intimately in months. Not since the last time Gavin and I were together. And I’m sure Quinn can tell when I stiffen in his arms. My body refuses to relax into his, even when he gives me a gentle squeeze to try and ease my hesitation.

  “Gavin,” Quinn states as he places a kiss on the side of my neck.

  “Quinn. I didn’t realize you two were together now. Not that it surprises me.” Gavin’s statement is dismissive. He never had a problem with my relationship with Quinn when we were dating. In fact, he used to come to our group lunches any chance he could to catch up with the guys.

  Nathan and Quinn made sure Gavin always felt included.

  We’re a tight-knit group. We have inside jokes and stories that only we understand. We spent an entire summer together and grew close. That was the best summer of my life. I had more fun with them, working and living together for three months, than I’ve ever had in my life. I’m grateful that we’ve all remained close, especially since we don’t all go to the same college.

  Nathan and Jade are about an hour away from us. Not too far, but not close either. Still, we get together on the first Friday of every month and have lunch together. Normally it’s just the four of us. When I was dating Gavin, he’d come as often as he could, and Nathan’s girlfriend would show up on occasion as well.

  My favorite lunches are the ones when it’s just the four of us. We’ll spend a few minutes catching up and then reminisce about all the crazy shit we did that summer.

  Yes, we were basically trapped on an island together. Sure, we could leave, but why would we have? We had everything we needed. We had each other. We had our jobs. There was always something to do, and if it was a quiet night in town, we’d find something to keep ourselves entertained.

  Bonfires on the beach. Racing around the island on our bikes, the only mode of transportation allowed aside from horse and buggy. Game nights in our backyard, under the stars, telling jokes or drinking around the fire pit. Hanging out at the local tavern, drinking more than we should have, after the last ferry took all the tourists back to the mainland.

  It didn’t matter what we did as long as we did it together.

  We spent three and a half months together. Practically twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Unless one of us was at work, we were like the four musketeers. We didn’t go anywhere without each other.

  And Quinn and I . . . well, I grew closer to him than anyone else that summer. Our schedules were practically the same. I spent the most time with him since we were the oldest of the group, Nathan and Jade being a year younger than us. That didn’t mean we all weren’t going to graduate at the same time, though. Quinn and I were both on the five-year plan, having changed our majors, setting us back. Nathan and Jade were luckier than we were. They both knew what they wanted to do with their lives before they started college.

  Before the summer came to a close and we had to return to the mainland, to our respective colleges, and resume life as we knew it, we made a pact.

  Our last night on the island, there was a huge bonfire hosted by the hotel Quinn and Nathan both worked at. The four of us stood by the fire, staring out at the vast expanse of Lake Huron, and swore we would keep in touch. I knew I’d see Quinn since we went to the same school, but I didn’t want to lose touch with Nathan or Jade.

  So the plan was to meet the first Friday of every month for lunch. We’ve been able to stick to it for the last two years, but with everyone graduating in the spring, I have no idea what will happen after that. It will all depend on where we go. What kind of jobs we take.

&nbs
p; Hell, I might move across the country if I have nothing keeping me here. Right now, that option sounds fantastic, considering my circumstance.

  “I didn’t realize we needed your permission.” Quinn’s calm and soothing voice brings me back from my memories.

  If I was given the choice, I would have stayed in my happy place in my head, remembering the most amazing summer I’ve ever had. I don’t want to be here right now. I don’t want to have this conversation. I wasn’t prepared to be in this situation yet.

  Still, here I am, diving headfirst into a fake relationship with Quinn in hopes of making Gavin jealous enough to want me back.

  At least, that’s the plan.

  It’s a shitty plan too.

  There’s a reason I hesitated before meeting him this morning. Yes, I want to be with Gavin again. I want things to go back to the way they were. I want the future I dreamed of with him. Because deep down, I’m still in love with him, and I probably always will be.

  I want all of that to happen for the right reasons. Because he misses me. Because he realizes he made a mistake breaking up with me. Because he’s still in love with me too.

  This doesn’t feel right. This feels very, very wrong. This feels like deceit, and it is.

  A fake relationship to make two people jealous. To trick their hearts into wanting something they don’t think they can have and then when the moment strikes, giving them what they desire most . . . the unattainable.

  Which, in turn, will give us exactly what we wanted all along.

  It’s wrong. On so many levels. A part of me wants nothing to do with the plan anymore. This isn’t me. Or Quinn for that matter. We’re better than this. We deserve better than this.

  I’m about to speak up, to tell Quinn I want out, but the look on Gavin’s face stops me. It makes all my uncertainty vanish. Because beyond the forced smile on his face is the jealousy in his eyes.

  And when I place my hands over Quinn’s as they rest just beneath my breasts, I can see Gavin’s hatred and anger simmering below the surface.