Too Wrong: Hayes Brothers Book 2

TLC all weekend long.

As expected, I woke up with a headache on top of a headache and a migraine, too. The headaches were from the alcohol, but the migraine was from crying. I fell asleep dehydrated, hurt, and exhausted. If I could show Logan how awful he makes me feel, how worthless and expendable, he’d never be able to look me in the eyes again.

My bedroom was spinning until late afternoon on Saturday when I risked getting out of bed to swallow a handful of painkillers and wash them down with a glass of tap water. Neither stuck with me for long. Less than three minutes later, I threw up the tablets, water, shots, and the kiwi daiquiri.

Too weak to move, I nodded off, resting against the wall in the bathroom. And what a good choice that was… I puked on and off until late into the night. By Sunday afternoon, I started holding down tiny sips of water, my body limp as I lay on the sofa with a wet towel on my head. I hadn’t had food since Friday, but my stomach wasn’t asking for it, and I was too scared to eat in case I’d throw up again.

The good thing about feeling like I spent an hour in the washing machine on spin cycle and swallowed a bucketful of bleach is that I had no strength to think about Logan. If I’d let him in my thoughts, I’d cry and scream to let it all out.

Two words, one finger. We’re done.

Done. Funny… I remember him saying we never began.

I nodded off most of the day, the TV on as background noise, but at some point, I fell asleep for good and didn’t wake up until six on Monday morning.

The headache is gone, but I don’t feel good enough to eat and settle for a cup of black, bitter coffee, stomping around the flat, looking for my phone. I find the pesky thing under the pillow and plug it to charge while I grab a shower to wash off the stench of alcohol, puke, and sweat.

The last time I got so drunk was at college. I have a newfound respect for Kaya today. She’s always so fresh and rested the morning after a wild rager, and she functions like a normal person regardless of how wasted she is the night before.

It must be a skill. Either that or she developed an ultra-high tolerance, and hangovers don’t bother her. Or maybe she downs a glass of bubbly instead of coffee every morning.

I hear it helps.

I considered the stay-drunk route on Saturday, but one glance at a bottle of Corona in the fridge was enough to turn my stomach.

Showered, dressed, and smelling nice and clean, I sit cross-legged in front of the mirror in my bedroom, attempting to hide the dark circles under my eyes with concealer and foundation. It works to an extent. Enough that I’m not ashamed to leave the house or schedule an OBGYN appointment for nine in the morning.

Logan failed my trust, and while I don’t believe he’d knowingly risk my health, I’m not stupid enough not to get tested for STDs. He better hope he didn’t give me chlamydia.

Although… I guess out of all the sexually transmitted diseases, chlamydia wouldn’t be so bad.

I text Luke to let him know I’ll be late for work and hop in my car, heading to the clinic on the other side of town. The receptionist greets me with a smile, and the nurse ushers me into a private room within minutes.

“Here’s your gown. Get changed and hop on the bed. The doctor will be with you in a few minutes.”

I fold my jeans and t-shirt, hide my pink panties in between and sit on the bed, holding the back of the blue gown in a tight grip. I’ll show my lady parts to the doctor in a minute, but I’ll hang onto my modesty for now.

Graphic posters of woman’s reproductive system and tell-tale signs of breast cancer dot the walls among an array of reassuring lines. They’re supposed to make you feel at ease and comfortable about discussing sex and STDs with a stranger while he shoves a plastic tube in your vagina.

The door opens a moment later, and I’m relieved to see a familiar face. Dr. Jones, an older man in his sixties, has been my doctor since I moved to Newport. I’m glad he’s not retired yet, but he can’t be far off now.

“Good morning, Cassidy,” he chirps, pushing his rectangle glasses up his long, crooked nose. “What brings you over? Just a check-up?”

“I wish. I need to get tested for STDs.”

“Okay, we can do that.” He pulls a stool closer, not a hint of condemnation visible on his face. I’m sure he’s seen it all during however many years of practice, and nothing can surprise him anymore. “How long has it been since you had unprotected sex? Some infections take time to show up on the tests. It might be better to wait a couple weeks before we draw blood.”

“If I caught something, it’ll show,” I assure, ashamed that I allowed Logan between my legs for three months despite all the hurt he purposely inflicted. “I doubt there’s anything to worry about, but better safe than sorry.”

I don’t think Logan gave me an STD, but I don’t trust him anymore, and I’m not stupid enough not to get tested.

Stupid enough to let him ditch the condom, though.

My life has been on a downward spiral since I was born, but this is a brand-new level of low. How did I end up here?

I blame it on Thalia and her stupid, considerate, caring husband who threw her a party. If not for that party…

I shake my head, dismissing the thoughts. What’s done is done. I can’t turn back time, so there’s no point in dwelling on what’s out of my control.

“I was also thinking of getting an implant.”

Dr. Jones flicks through my medical history and scribbles in the notepad, nodding along. “Any reason why? Are you not feeling well on the pill?”

“No, but implants are less hassle.”

“We can talk about this once we’ve got the results back. You’ve not had a check-up for a while, so I’ll do a quick exam while you’re here, get a swab, and then you’ll pee in the cup, and we’ll draw blood.” He gestures to the bed, inviting me to get comfortable or as comfortable as one can be at a gynecologist’s office. “Are your periods regular? No issues?”

“Yes, no changes there. I hardly bleed on the pill. Will I have normal periods again when I’m on the implant?”

He reaches for a speculum and covers it with lubricant, spreading me open with his fingers dressed in latex gloves. I hate this part; the gel is cold and the speculum stretching me so Dr. Jones can take a good look gives me the visual of a can-opener for some reason.

“It’s hard to predict,” he mutters, lifting his head from between my legs. “You might have normal periods or not have them at all. It varies.” He dives back down, his gray hair all I can see. “How’s work?”

Yeah, why not have a casual chat while he’s looking deep inside me? That’ll surely take my mind off what he’s doing and why I’m here.

As promised, the exam takes all but five minutes. With the swabs taken, my insides checked, and my boobs felt for tumors, I lock myself in the bathroom to pee in the cup and change back into my clothes.

Isn’t this every girl’s dream come true?

A real-life fairy tale: fall for the perfect man, make love to him all night, and then check if he gave you gonorrhea because he’s an asshole who can’t keep it in his pants.

“We should have the results by Wednesday,” Dr. Jones says, meeting me in the foyer once a nurse draws my blood. “We’ll call you once they’re here to book you in for another appointment. Do you want to book in to have the implant, too?”

“Maybe when I come back,” I say, nervous for the first time since I walked through the door, as if my brain is only now catching up to the horror. “I’ll wait for the call.”

He pulls a strip of colorful condoms out of a big fishbowl on the reception desks and hands them over with a cheeky grin. “Rip it, grip it, and roll it.”

I force a chuckle, hiding the condoms in my bag. “Thank you. Too bad it’s a little too late for that.”

I’m jolted out of sleep by a loud bang. My heart kicks into the highest gear even before my eyes fully open.

Bang, bang, bang!

I frown, glancing at the phone on my coffee table, a little confused that I dozed off on the couch. It’s not even nine in the evening yet. A few unread messages wait on the screen, but one thing at a time.

The banging continues, shaking the windows in my tiny apartment. It’s Tuesday evening. My neighbors won’t appreciate the disturbance, while most need to be up for work at five or six in the morning.

“I’m coming,” I mutter, kicking the blanket aside.

I should’ve checked the messages before I flung the door open because they’re probably from the same person, and had I known, I would’ve pretended not to be home.

“Leave, Logan,” I say, holding onto the door, unsure whether to slam it in his face or open it further. The mere sight of him floods my system with endorphins. “Leave,” I say again.

It’s my only line of defense, but my tone lacks resolve. Even I don’t believe I want him to go. He’s vile. He hurts me and makes me feel worse than anyone else in my life, but I miss him. His scent, dark eyes, the firm touch of his hands worshipping my skin…

“Please, just leave me alone, okay? You said we’re done.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He lets himself in, bursting past me into the kitchen. “I also said we’ll only fuck once, and look what happened. Why haven’t you replied to my texts?”

“I was sleeping, and I have nothing to say to you,” I clip, feeding off his anger that rekindles mine. “Leave, Logan.”

He rests against the kitchen counter, jaw squared, eyes narrowed. “Not until you explain why you kissed Rush.”

I fold my hands across my chest, mimicking his stance. “You had no trouble sticking your tongue in the brunette’s mouth, and I don’t hear you explaining.” I step closer, my chest heaving. The anxiety associated with the test results I’ll get tomorrow blends with hurt and anger, creating an explosive mixture. “I guess we weren’t exclusive. You could’ve told me that before you fucked me without protection!” I shove him toward the door. “Leave. Right now.”

He grips my forearm, yanking me closer. “We were exclusive. We are exclusive. I kissed the brunette, but you kissed Rush, so call it even.”

I try to shrug him off, but his hold on me tightens. “The only thing we are is done, Logan. You think you can come here like nothing happened? Like you didn’t say all that shit you did on Friday?!” I stab his chest with my finger. “Get out of my house! And better pray you didn’t give me an STD, or I swear I’ll kill you as soon as I get the results!”

He lets go of me at that; his eyebrow raised, utter disbelief painted across his stupid, handsome face. “You got tested? Why? I’d never touch you if I wasn’t sure I was clean. You know that, Cassidy. You trust me!”

“Trust?” He has to be kidding. “I don’t trust you, and I don’t want you coming over here. Leave and don’t come back!” I shove him again. “Two words, one finger. Get out!”

Silence sprinkles the room, and Logan’s animosity washes away like chalk drawings in the spring rain. “I’m sorry about what I said on Friday. I really am, Cass. I don’t want us to part ways like this,” he says, heaving a heavy sigh. “I kissed that girl because—”

“I don’t care! Even if you didn’t, we—” I cut myself off, biting my lip. There is no we. “This,” I gesture between us, “would end soon anyway.” I inhale a deep breath because the anger subsides, and hurt takes its place, threatening to bring me to my knees. “You got what you wanted, Logan, and you tossed me aside like a broken toy. We’re done. You said it. Now get out.”

“I’m not tossing you aside.” He yanks the baseball cap off, griping a fistful of his hair. “You know the drill. You agreed to sex only, and now, what? You want more? You’re besties with Kaya, for God’s sake!”

“Don’t forget I fucked Theo.”

He grits his teeth, pinning me down with a pained stare, his face a picture of devastation. And then, his attitude changes before my eyes. His features soften, and he glances at my lips, a look of unwavering determination in his brown eyes a second before he cuffs my wrist and yanks me to him.

I react the way I always do to his touch, with a fit of shivers and heat pooling in my stomach. As if he can sense my resolve wearing thin, his lips capture mine. The softness and familiarity of his mouth tear apart the tall wall I’ve been building around me for days. The first thought to push him away vanishes faster than it appeared, leaving no trace.

When he holds me, when his lips battle with mine, his kisses greedy, downright ruthless, I don’t know why I was mad at him in the first place. It’s a blur. An unfocused, faded memory. A thing of the past that’s less than one minute old.

A needy whimper escapes me, and Logan drinks that sound straight from my lips, his tongue teasing mine in a more sensual, calm way. “I know I’m an asshole. I know I keep hurting you, but… I don’t want us to end this while we’re mad, okay?” he whispers, moving his lips to my neck, grazing the flesh with his teeth. “We’ll make up in bed, and then we’re done, I promise.” He grips my wrists in one hand, tracing the other down my side until he finds my waist. “You’re amazing, baby, you know that? I’ll make you feel good. I always do.”

There.

That sound…

The cracking in the background.

That’s my resolve; my determination not to let him close, not to let him touch and brainwash me, shattering.

I can’t fight him.

I love him, and I want him, and I need him.

He hauls me onto the countertop, lips on mine, hands climbing my thighs until his fingers disappear under the hem of my night dress and his breathing hitches.

“So soft,” he murmurs, nipping my lower lip. “So warm. Open, baby,” he coaxes. “Nice and wide.”

I spread my legs, my mind devoid of rational thoughts. It’s just me and him.

Him.

Nothing else matters.

He moves my panties aside and slides two fingers in slowly as if he’s afraid I’ll lash out if he’s not careful. “I’m going to fuck that anger out of you right here, but first…” he curls his fingers, stroking my G spot. “…you’ll come for me. I want to feel you dripping on my fingers.”

I part my lips, resting my forehead on his shoulder, eyes closed, boobs flush against his chest. I can’t stop this. There’s no strength left in my body to push him away, to protect my mind that’s almost gone now.

I’m not in control when he’s close. I only attempt to control the situation when there’s distance between us, so I shouldn’t have let him in tonight. I shouldn’t have opened the door. I can scream and fight when he’s a foot away, but I can’t defend myself when he’s touching me.

And I don’t want to.

I’m lost in this man. In his tenderness and his fierceness. In the affection reserved for the short moments when we’re alone, dead to the world.

“I missed you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my temple while his fingers bring me higher. “I missed you like crazy.”

My heart swells, surrounded by a pleasant warmness. I’m not naïve enough to think this is significant. That maybe he wants more than sex, but his words act like a soothing balm over hundreds of cuts and bruises on my neglected mind.

He won’t ever see me as more than a hookup, but when he holds me close to his chest, one hand draped over my shoulder blades as if to cuddle me into him; as if to protect me and take care of me, I can’t bring myself to fight him.

I’ll cry another river tomorrow, but for now, I savor his closeness, the peace he brings, and the happiness he evokes.

No other man could get me to the brink of an orgasm as fast as Logan. He’s attuned to my body. He knows what to do, where to press, and where to push to get me to the highest high. To make me moan and cling to him.

My gasps fill the air, growing more audible. The cramps in my abdomen intensify, and I buckle against him with each precise, targeted stroke of his fingers.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” he coos in a soft voice. “Let me have it.” He holds me closer, tighter, his lips firmly on my temple when I come on his fingers, still and silent before I bite his shoulder. “There you go. Don’t fight it. Don’t fight me.” He inches away, retreating his fingers, caressing my thigh before he cups my face, his eyes boring into mine. “Better?”

I nod, too afraid to speak in case I’ll burst into tears. He doesn’t expect me to speak, though. His lips catch mine again, the kiss slow, deep, almost affectionate. As if he wants to soothe me. As if he’s trying to apologize with gestures because he knows I don’t believe his words.

“I make you feel good. No one else. Only me, princess.” He stamps a kiss on my head and drops his hands to my thighs. “I changed my mind. I want you in bed.”

My legs have nowhere to go other than around his waist when he slides me off the counter and into his arms. Worked up to the limit, almost blinded by lust, I try to take off his jersey, but my moves are too uncoordinated. Logan’s not helping me focus, kissing my neck and biting my ear. I yank the fabric up, pushing my hands underneath, touching his immaculate abs.

“So impatient,” he murmurs, throwing me on the bed. He tears his jersey off in one move before his body covers mine.

I devote myself to the moment, driven by passion and longing. I fight for his touch as our clothes fly across the room until we’re both naked, and I cling to his hot skin. As soon as I meet his gaze, Logan pushes his hips forward without warning, filling me with every stiff inch. A piercing shudder shakes my body, the sensation almost unbearable in all its perfection.

“Hold me,” I utter, clawing at his back. “Please just—”

He shushes me with a kiss, his arms boxing me in, skin on skin, chest to chest, as he slowly retreats and thrusts back in.

“One more,” he says in my ear, making my heart skip a beat and a wave of heat flood my thighs. “I want to hear you, baby.”

I graze my teeth on his shoulder, planting open-mouthed kisses in the crook of his neck, but every desperate, hard thrust that scoots me up the bed brings me closer to another orgasm. I can’t keep the soft, almost inaudible moans quiet any longer.

Logan watches me between kissing every inch of my skin within his reach. The low grunts and shallow breaths force a fit of shivers down my spine.

God, I never want to see him in a different state than the one he’s in now, watching me with dark, lustful eyes as if I’m the only person in the world he needs.

“There it is,” he rasps when the orgasm hits me, painting the backs of my eyelids with a stark whiteness. “Good, that’s it… I love seeing you like this.”

I pull him as close as I can while my body’s in his possession and falling apart in the sweetest way. A satisfied, peaceful smile curls his lips before he reassumes the excruciating tempo for a few more thrusts until he stills, coming in my arms just as hard as I did in his.

His lips find mine again as if he missed me despite having me right here all this time. He pulls out slowly, holding onto my hip, and the most unexpected thing happens… he collapses beside me, wraps me in his arms, and takes a deep, calming breath.

◆◆◆

The bed creaks under Logan’s weight when he sits, flinging his legs over the edge. He cuddled me into his chest after wild sex, and I must’ve dozed off, too comfortable with his warm body beside me.

I didn’t expect him to stay, but here he is, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. My insides swell, and hope reappears. Is this the first step to more?

I turn onto my side, prop my head on my elbow, and ghost my fingers down the line of his spine, feeling his muscles bunch under my touch. It’s dark outside, the clock on the bedside table showing just past four a.m.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, arching away from my touch before he stands, grabbing his jersey off the floor.

I’m still half-asleep, and it takes me a moment to realize why he’s up in the middle of the night. He’s sneaking out before my neighbors wake up, so no one will see him leave in the morning.

A gross feeling that I’m filthy coils itself around my neck.

I curl into a ball, digging my nails into my hands to stop the oncoming tears. How many more ways will Logan find to break me? To give me hope and snatch it away with one small gesture?

I watch through tears as he slips into his jeans, buckles the belt, and shrugs on his jacket. Then, he leans over me to press a tight-lipped kiss to the crown of my head.

I want to move away.

I want to jump out of bed, toss everything within reach at his face, and kick him out of here, screaming at the top of my lungs, but I’m frozen in place, afraid to move a muscle.

I’ll lose my composure, and instead of fighting, I’ll beg.

“I’ll see you around,” he whispers into the darkness before he walks away.

No one will ever stick around.

No one will ever love me.

No one will ever care.