I chuckle. “Aren’t you lucky?”
“Extremely lucky.” His fingers dance around my thigh, toying with the edge of my dress.
I lean in to kiss him, but a guy in a very nice suit with three girls on his arm strolls past us in a haze of giggles and whispers, distracting me.
“That looks familiar.” Jackson snickers, drawing my attention and the glass to his lips.
Underneath me, I feel Seth’s body tighten and I look down at him. He takes his drink from my hands and takes an uncomfortable sip, his eyes never leaving Jackson.
“Familiar?” Selena asks, curiously. “You’ve had three women? At once?”
“Not me, I don’t have enough stamina to entertain three women.” His eyes flick to Seth and then his smug smile fades as realization sets in.
Does he mean Seth? Seth has had three women at once? I glance down at Seth again, whose eyes are no longer on Jackson, but on me. He’s tense, like he’s expecting me to freak out. Faintly, in the background mixed with sensual music and lively chatter, I hear Selena start a new conversation in an attempt to forget the last one. Wait…why is Seth so worried? When did he do three women? The last time he was in Vegas? When he was fighting Don?
“Three?” I spit out, feeling my own eyes widening. I glance back at the rest of the group. They’re engaged in a new conversation, ignoring Seth and I. A few seconds pass and the three of them rise from their seats and stroll toward the bar.
Seth cringes, shaking his head. “That wasn’t nice…he shouldn’t have said anyth―”
“When? The last time you were in Vegas?”
He frowns, seeming almost agitated. “No, I was with you the last time I was in Vegas. I did it when I was here on my twenty-first birthday.”
Seth’s voice lowers a few decibels and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I don’t know why I was expecting him to tell me he did it when we were together…I’m used to it, I guess. How pathetic does that sound?
Is he ashamed? No, he can’t be. Seth Marc ashamed of something he’s done? Now I’ve seen everything.
“Do you remember them?” I ask, never dropping eye contact.
“No.”
“Do you remember me?”
Trick question. I know he does, but I want to hear him say it. I want him to tell me how beautiful I am compared to them. I want him to tell me that I’m the only one he ever wants to be with. Every girl wants that when they ask these kinds of questions. We fish for compliments and reassurance. No girl will ever admit it, but it’s true. We always want to be told how much better we are than the last girl. Always. Even when we’re compared to our best friends, we want to be put on top. Girls, we can be such vain creatures.
Seth’s face doesn’t falter at my question, his intense eyes still penetrating me with the same dark gleam. “Every rise and depression, every scar—every fucking freckle.”
“Then…” I say, slowly, “we have no problem.”
He watches me closely, trying to decipher if I’m playing with him or not. Who am I to hold what he did before he met me against him? I know I’m guilty of it—especially after my little outburst in California, but since then I’ve realized when you meet someone new, it’s all about starting fresh. You can’t take someone’s past and throw it in their face. It’s called the past for a reason.
“When I drink I get a little out of control. I get mad and horny and I can’t stop…” He confesses with a small cringe on his face.
Here I am thinking he’s traumatized by his mother enough not to drink, but it’s because he’s an aggressive-horny drunk and he doesn’t like it. How unexpected…
“And you did all three of them?”
He nods. “All three.”
I feel my pussy pulsate at the thought. Sure, I’m jealous, and yes, there’s a swirling mass of nauseating butterflies in my stomach at the thought of him touching them like he touches me, but underneath all of that, there’s desire…desire to see this other side of him—to experience this other side of him. I bring the drink closer to him, holding it up to his mouth.
“You still want me to drink?” Seth asks, curiously. “Anymore and I think I’m going to be way over my safety limit.”
I pull the glass back a little. “Only if you promise to take all of your anger and passion out on me and not three strange women.”
His eyebrows arch in disbelief before pulling into a determined frown. He snatches the drink from my hand and slams it back in a few quick seconds. He leans over me, his body almost crushing me as he sets his glass down on the table. When he pulls back, I fling my arms around his neck and force my lips against his. I’m not usually one for public displays of affection, but there are enough bare tits in this room to take the attention off a couple making out in the back corner of the room.
Seth pulls away as the speakers announce a new dancer and his eyes flick to the stage. After a few seconds, I feel his entire body go rigid and I drag my gaze from his lips to his eyes. The colorful spark of lust, gone; replaced with dark anger. In one rapid movement, he shifts out from underneath me, swiftly laying me flat on my back on the couch. What the hell?
In the distance, I hear the sound of a metal stool colliding with the side of the bar and it forces me out of my confused stupor as Darryl runs right by my couch and after Seth—Jackson in tow.
I push myself up onto my elbows before sitting up and swinging my legs off the edge of the couch. I watch Seth stalk his way past chairs, infatuated business men, and rowdy bachelors to get to the stage. The lone girl on stage—the one he appears to be going for—is oblivious to his approach and Jackson and Darryl are unable to reach him before he jumps onto the stage in a single bound.
“What the hell is going on?” Selena demands as she drops into the seat next to me.
We both watch Seth grab the girl on stage. She looks genuinely terrified to see him and desperately tries to cover her breasts and tiny light blue G-string.
“What the fuck, O?” Selena breathes, grabbing my wrist.
I don’t speak as I watch Seth and the girl silently yell at each other. By the time Jackson and Darryl make it to the stage, the bouncers are already there, trying to contain Seth, but he’s too powerful for them. When he shrugs them off, they stumble back several feet before they find their footing again. The girl tries to run back through the doors she came from, but he grabs her wrist, forcing her to stay with him. Her long black hair whips around and her face is flushed with both embarrassment and anger. I can’t see all of the fine details from here, but I hate that she’s so pretty.
“Who is that? Do you know who that is?”
Again I ignore Selena, heartbrokenly immersed in the scene before me. Surely I’m imagining this. Whoever this girl is, Seth doesn’t like her stripping in front of all these people, and the way he handles her with such aggression and possession sends my stomach in knots. From the dark corners of the club, six security guards march onto the stage and restrain Seth. They pull back on their heel, dragging a pissed off Seth from the stage as the girl disappears behind the staff doors. I leap off the couch and make it to the doors as Seth is forced from the club.
Outside, Darryl has Seth against the wall, trying to calm him, and Jackson is by the road, hailing a cab. Everything is happening so fast and my dizzy brain can’t take it all in. My head spins as a result of all of the alcohol and the scene that just played out before me. It can’t be what I think it is…We haven’t been in Vegas long enough for him to find someone else…right?
A cab pulls up almost immediately and it’s white—completely different to the yellow ones we have in Portland—not that that’s an important piece of information right now. Seth pushes past Darryl and I watch as he storms toward the cab. He pulls open the door and turns to me. “Get in.”
I step forward and then pause. “Seth—”
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he snaps. “I said get in!”
I glance over my shoulder at Selena and she folds her arms tightly over her chest.
“Olivia, you don’t have to go with him,” she tells me, spitting the word ‘him’ like it fills her mouth with a bad taste.
“Stay out of it, Selena,” Jackson demands and Selena opens her mouth, about to protest.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, proud of how steady my voice comes out. “I’ll call you later.”
I look back at Seth and receive no hint of warmth or sympathy for what I just witnessed—whatever the hell that was. Trusting Seth, I approach him, hoping he’ll give me some kind of sane explanation inside the cab. I hunch and climb into the taxi and he follows me, slamming the door behind him. After he grumbles out the hotel to the taxi driver, he doesn’t move or even try to explain what just happened and I don’t know if I should be the one who starts the conversation.
The Persian taxi driver smiles at me through the rear-view mirror and I decide dragging him into this isn’t a good idea. I can hear Seth’s loud, fast breathing, but I don’t do anything to comfort him. I sit with my straight posture and watch the lights whip past. I keep my hands in my lap, entwined in each other to fight the urge to touch him.
Seth winds down the window, letting in more fresh air and I can hear his fingers playing in an uneven beat against his denim jeans as he becomes more and more anxious.
I flinch when he finally speaks. “I know how fucked up that probably looked to you, but I’ll explain it all…once I come to terms with it myself.”
I nod without looking at him. I hope he explains it to me soon because I fear I’m about to burst into tears at any second. As the bright lights of the Las Vegas Boulevard begin to whip past, I bite my lower lip and ask myself the same question Selena was asking me earlier. Who the fuck was that and what the fuck just happened?
I lean against the wall at the base of the stairs to our bedroom, my body tight and on high alert as Seth loses the plot. He grabs a small orb candle holder and tosses it hard against the wall. The pretty red and silver glass shatters into tiny pieces on the ground and I avert my gaze as he snatches up a bar stool and puts it through the beautiful glass coffee table. Fear catapults through my body and grips my stomach as I flinch away from the loudness. Note to self: If we ever live together, avoid purchasing anything ceramic, glass or anything else he can destroy. Sadly, I’m having a serious case of déjà vu from Boston. Only now it’s over some random girl in a strip club instead of Don.
He snaps around on his heel, his dark eyes zeroing in on me. “Go to bed,” he growls and I almost flinch. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“No,” I reply, pressing myself harder against the wall for support and to prevent myself from cowering away from his dark, aggressive stare. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I want to hate him right now. I want to slap him and call him names and leave…but he told me he loved me. He has told me over and over that he’d never hurt me like that and although tonight leaves me feeling highly betrayed, I know there’s more to it. Miscommunication is a killer and I won’t let this relationship fall victim to it.
His chest rises and falls in quick pants and his lips are parted as his breath is quickly expelled from his lungs before he draws it back in again. “You’re just going to watch me flip out and give yourself another reason to love me less?”
I feel my features pinch together. “Love you less? How can I love you less?” I step forward. “It doesn’t work that way. I love you to my fullest capabilities or I don’t love you at all. There is no in between.”
“And do you love me now?”
I purse my lips. Yes. Yes, I love him now. Yes, I love him after the scene I witnessed at the strip club, but he’s in no position to ask me questions—not while I’ve yet to receive an explanation from him.
“When you’re ready to give me an explanation, I’ll be ready to give you the answer.”
I know I should be fuming. I know I should be the one throwing things and demanding answers, but sometimes a girl just needs to take a step back and be told what to do. A girl should have strong moments, where she’s fierce and in control and sometimes, a girl should have weak moments, where she’s vulnerable and wants to cry just to be told everything is going to be okay. This is a weak moment for me. Maybe I don’t want an explanation…maybe I’m scared of what he’s going to say. As quickly as he builds me up with his sweet lips, I know he can send me crashing at any second.
He doesn’t like my response. I can see panic settle in his eyes and as I’m about to crack—to tell him how much I love him—he storms from the room, slamming the door with a loud hit behind him. I sag against the wall and close my eyes. How the hell am I going to deal with this? I don’t even want to deal with this right now. I’m drunk—a weird on and off sober kind of drunk—but still, my brain is fuzzy. All I want is sleep and some cold fresh water…but first, I have to find my angry fighter.
I don’t know how long I walk around the hotel before I locate Seth in the gym. I’m so stupid. The gym should’ve been the first place I checked. I hear Seth’s fists before I see him. My heart beats harder every time his fists slam into the bag, pumping hot, nervous blood through my veins in record time.
I stroll past a long line of treadmills and over to the bags in the far corner by the weights station. Sure enough, there he is. He has his naked back to me and he doesn’t hear my approach, which is fine by me. I slip onto a nearby bench and watch his shapely back as the muscles tighten and flex while he works his knuckles into the bag. I see his body ripple every time he makes contact and the sound of him expelling air soothes me. He relaxes with every hit, his body becoming increasingly tired. Every now and then, he’ll realize he’s slowing down and then he’ll pick up again, sometimes increasing his power and speed.