Mad Addiction (Crazy Beautiful #2) Read online

  Without missing a beat, Ryan retorts, “If you think that’s what you need to do—and that he’ll be the one to satisfy you—go ahead.” He looks right at me with a smug coolness that is indifferent yet still somehow challenging. “But I think we both know there’s a better chance of hell freezing over.”

  Now he’s purposely trying to needle me.

  And it’s working.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, now majorly insulted.

  He throws his arms up in mock surrender. “Hey, you wouldn’t want anything to derail your train to Prince Charming.” He leans in closer before snidely adding, “I hear he’s coming in on the 10 AM express tomorrow, so you don’t want to chance missing him, right?”

  He smiles in what I assume is meant to be a playful way, but it just gets my blood boiling. He keeps twisting my words around so they sound so pathetic.

  OK, maybe it is a little pathetic to put my entire life on hold for some man I’m not sure exists yet. But I’ll be damned if I let Ryan Blake think I’m helpless and naive. I might believe in things like true love and soul mates, but that doesn’t have to mean I don’t know how to live in the moment. It has been seven years . . . maybe it is time I have a little fun.

  I down the rest of my glass of champagne in one gulp before pinning Ryan with an icy stare. “Good thing I’m both punctual and a morning person, then. But tonight, I think it’s safe to say, is Mr. Wrong’s lucky night.” And with that I try to storm over to the man with the dimples.

  Ryan grabs my arm to spin me back around toward his chest before I can get very far.

  Oh, hello rock solid abs . . .

  “Fuck, OK, hold on there, Brooks. I was just teasing you. There’s no reason to go screw some random guy you’ve never met just to prove a point to me. I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely apologetic as he squeezes my shoulder. The way he goes from cruel to kind in a matter of seconds confuses me.

  I look into his eyes, wanting to make sure he knows I’m not some sort of clueless shrinking violet. “I’m not naive, Blake. I don’t think that if I make one small, stupid decision now it will throw off my entire life. And even if it did, I make my own choices and deal with my own consequences.”

  Ryan’s eyes get softer. “I respect that. I really do, Kell. It’s your life, so it’s your call how you choose to live it. But I can see you desperately need to let loose a little and I want to help. I just didn’t think you’d be so feisty about it.” He smiles and I feel a strange flutter in the pit of my stomach.

  I cross my arms again, shielding both him from my feistiness and myself from his genuine stare. It’d be easier to hate him if he really was just a raging asshole, but the sad truth is he’s simply able to put into words every doubt and fear I’ve always tried to ignore. I don’t want to feel like I’m missing out on an experience because I’m too stubborn to admit I might be too idealistic.

  And that makes me want to prove him—and myself—wrong even more.

  “And how exactly do you plan to help?” I question flatly, trying to keep my curiosity from getting the best of me.

  Ryan takes a moment to read me before leaning back against the table. “I have a proposition for you.”

  I raise my eyebrow, intrigued.

  He continues, “One night—tonight. You and me. Unattached, random, meaningless sex. We both go in knowing exactly what it’s meant to be—a brief fling to make each other feel good—and then tomorrow you can go back to waiting for Mr. Right and see that the world is still spinning like nothing ever happened.”

  I consider his proposal, trying not to linger on the fact that Ryan Blake just propositioned me to have sex. “And how is that any different from what I was going to do with Dimples?”

  “Well for starters, I don’t have a fucking sissy nickname like Dimples.” He grunts, and I can’t help but crack a small smile. “And secondly, you know I fully understand this arrangement going in. We know enough about each other that you can trust me, but we also don’t know each other well enough for it to be awkward.”

  I don’t agree, but I don’t say no, either. Part of me is tired of waiting around for some faceless, nameless Mr. Right, and part of me (mainly the lower part) wants to know if all the rumors about Ryan are true. Stupid horny hormones.

  I also realize I’ve gotten used to rationalizing my abstinence as waiting for “the one,” but what if I’m really just scared? Ryan picks up on my hesitation. “Unless you still think this will somehow ruin you for your future husband . . .”

  While he sounds sincere, the implied taunt gives me the courage to respond. I stand up straight, take a deep breath, and extend my hand. “Well, Blake, looks like you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Ryan

  I swear, going in, I had no intention of seducing Kelley Brooks tonight.

  But fuck me, that’s sure as shit what I just did.

  We shake on our deal and, without letting go of her hand, I lead her out of the room. I make my way toward the bathroom at the far end of the hall, knowing it’s set out of the way and has a lock. Let’s just say it’s not the first time I’ve been down this particular path.

  We may not agree on a lot of things, but something about the way Kelley is as straightforward as me is refreshing. It doesn’t hurt she looks hot as hell, either. So why can’t we have a little fun? It’s only for tonight, which has been made perfectly clear.

  My one non-negotiable rule about women is that they have to know the deal going in: sex is just sex, nothing more. There will be no cuddling. There will be no morning after phone calls. And there sure as fuck will be no second dates.

  And no, this doesn’t mean I’m a heartless asshole, either. It just means I like to be up front. So yes, that might mean I come off as a dick, but at least I’m an honest dick. Which is why this deal with Kelley is perfect for both of us. We both know this isn’t going anywhere, but who says we can’t help each other out with a little temporary pleasure? Hell, better me than that douche with the dimples. Usually I wouldn’t care what—or who—a woman does, but considering Kelley and I are sort of friends, the thought of some random asshole taking advantage of her makes me want to punch something. At least I know I’ll be careful with her.

  Given my history with addiction, I know to keep women at a distance. Sleeping together more than once leads to a pattern, a pattern leads to comfort, comfort leads to a relationship, and a relationship leads to dependence. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to issues of dependency, so I choose to remove temptation. It’s why I don’t let girls into my apartment and why I keep my personal life just that. Fucking personal.

  I glance back to make sure Kelley is keeping up in her tight dress and high heels. She looks confident, but nervous. I remember while this may not be new for me, it is for her. It’s just sex, but I don’t think a quickie against a bathroom sink is the best call on this one. Without breaking my stride, I turn left down the next hall and head for the door that leads outside. On the outskirts of the patio is a secluded storage house. I reach for the door, saying a silent thank fucking god that it’s unlocked, and pull Kelley inside. It’s cramped and dark, but beats being next to a toilet.

  I close the door and latch it behind us, hesitating before making another move. She confirmed she’s not a virgin, but, if she’s only ever been with one guy and it’s been years, there’s still part of me that feels like an asshole. I just couldn’t stand to see the frustration and defeat in her eyes when she talked about waiting for “the one.” I barely know Kelley, but from the few times we’ve interacted I can tell she knows how to take care of herself, so why she lets a non-existent man dictate her sex life is beyond my fucking comprehension. She needs to loosen up and have a little harmless fun.

  And I’m more than happy to be the one to help push her physical limits. If she wants me to, that is.

  “What are you waiting for?” The patio lights outside provide just enough of a glow to make out Kelley’s features. Her eyes look anxious, but
her voice is calm.

  I take a small step toward her. “Just want to make sure you’re not having second thoughts.” Another step. “Because once we get started, there’s no going back.”

  She releases a breath. “Jesus, Blake. I may not typically screw guys at weddings like this, but that doesn’t make me a fucking delicate flower.” She closes the gap between us and reaches up to loosen my tie before adding, “I promise I’m not going to break, so you don’t have to be gentle.”

  You don’t have to tell me twice.

  That’s all the confirmation I need to crash my lips onto hers, and she reciprocates with just as much enthusiasm. Before I know it, my jacket and shirt are being cast off, fast and frantic.

  I reach behind her to unzip the dark purple dress that fits her like a glove, pushing it down her round shoulders, past the dip of her small waist, over the curve of her full hips, and down her long, toned legs. Soon she is standing before me in nothing but a pair of heels and a strapless bra, complete with matching panties. Her long brown hair is twisted up behind her head. A few loose pieces hang down the sides of her face. She pauses, letting me admire her. I let my gaze scan her body before settling on her eyes. One is blue and one is brown and they manage to say so much about her that it’s damn hard to look away. She stares at me with equal parts innocent lamb and devilish sex-kitten which drives me insane. I grab her and pull her to the floor over me. What better way to let her feel empowered than have her on top where she has full control?

  Our tongues continue exploring each other’s mouths as I help her get the rest of my clothes off. I can taste the slightest hint of champagne on her sweet lips, and that alone is intoxicating enough to make me want more. She moves expertly over me and I wonder if the near-virgin thing was all an act. For a girl who doesn’t do this kind of thing, she sure as shit got the hang of it quickly. It’s as if I’ve rubbed a magic lamp that unleashed a majorly hot sex genie.

  And I’m just the lucky fucking bastard who’s about to have all of his wishes come true . . .

  I reach for my wallet to pull out a condom and move swiftly to get it on as she starts to grind her hips against mine. I push her underwear aside and swipe my fingers across her slit, making sure she’s wet and ready, before she slowly—but deliberately—slides herself onto me.

  I lie still in order to give her time to adjust, but once I’m fully buried inside her she only needs to take one deep breath before rocking her hips back and forth, increasing the speed and rhythm of our bodies.

  Her hands grip my shoulders tightly and I hold her steady at her waist. I push my hips to slam up into her. She closes her eyes and bites her lip. For a split second I think I might be hurting her, but then she tosses her head back and a soft—definitely pleasurable—moan escapes from the base of her throat. She moves her hips at a perfect pace, allowing me to meet each of her thrusts.

  She rides me for what seems like both forever and not long enough before I feel her muscles clench and convulse as she falls apart with her hands against my chest, crying out in pleasure, which is surprisingly all it takes for me to join her a second later.

  We lay still, the sound of our labored breathing the only noise in the air. I’m still trying to recover when Kelley gracefully pushes herself off me and begins to re-adjust her clothes. I sit up on my elbows, damp with sweat and unable to fully comprehend what the fuck just happened while Kelley shimmies back into her dress.

  As she zips herself up she glances over at me and coolly says “Guess you were right, Blake. Sex can be fun and meaningless. So, thanks for that.”

  In my head I know this means nothing, but for some reason the way she’s so easily able to grasp this casual thing like a seasoned pro makes me feel fucking weird. Something about the way she pressed her hands against my heart as she came felt . . . intimate. Or maybe her talk about true love and soul mates and all that crap got stuck in my head. Or maybe I feel guilty for being the one to pop her random-hookup cherry. I shake it off. Clearly she’s able to handle it like a champ, so no harm done, right?

  Thankfully the blood has a chance to start flowing throughout the rest of my body again, and I’m able to respond with a cocky, “My pleasure.”

  I hoist myself off the floor to clean up with the handkerchief from my jacket pocket and pull my own clothes back on. Not caring for the awkward silence, I break it by pretending to examine the ceiling before stating, “Huh. And look at that . . . the sky hasn’t fallen or anything.” She scoffs as I plaster on a big grin and reach for the door, nodding toward the main building. “Now come on, Brooks. Let’s get you back out there so you can meet Mr. Right.”

  Kelley

  Four Weeks Later

  Two pink lines.

  That’s all it takes to indicate how royally screwed I am.

  Two. Pink. Fucking. Lines.

  This is what I get for messing with fate and riding Ryan Blake in a storage shed like some sort of sex fiend.

  It’s all his fault.

  OK, half his fault.

  Truth is I have no one to be mad at but myself. As much as he might have been involved, Ryan never forced me to do anything. If memory serves, I was more than willing to be an eager participant. Now that I know that kind of intense bliss, I do kinda wonder how I’ve gone without it all these years. I’ll never admit it out loud, but maybe Ryan was right; maybe my ex really was just bad at sex. Even though it meant nothing, I felt more connected to Ryan than I ever did with Jake.

  As I sit here staring at the positive pregnancy test, I’m hit with a flood of emotions . . . emotions I’ve refused to think about for the past seven years . . .

  Seven Years Ago

  “Hey, babe. I just got off the phone with my mom. She wants you to call her to talk about some wedding shit. I still don’t understand why you two are planning this so soon. I told you both this will be a long engagement. I want to graduate and get a job and start to establish myself.”

  Jake comes through the front door to my tiny, shared apartment and throws his coat on the counter. He immediately walks to the fridge to grab a beer and I’m too excited to notice he barely looks at me, let alone kisses me hello. He turns around and takes a swig of his beer, finally noticing I’m standing there, hands behind my back, about ready to burst.

  He looks annoyed as he shrugs at me. “What?”

  I smile even bigger as I move my arms in front of me, revealing the small plastic stick.

  Jake stares at it, looking confused. “What the fuck is that?”

  I hold it out and can’t help but giggle in delight. “We’re going to have a baby, babe!”

  I wait for him to understand and match my enthusiasm, but he just hangs his head and looks both tired and pissed.

  “Jake?”

  He lets out a big breath before yelling, “Damn it, Kelley. I can’t deal with this shit right now. Don’t you think we have enough going on without a baby ruining it?”

  I physically retract at his harsh tone. He notices and slowly comes over to me, patting my shoulders and softening his tone. “Come on, babe. You have to admit this is bad timing. Don’t you think we should wait?”

  I try to hold back tears that threaten to fall. “I didn’t plan for this, Jake. But it’s happened and it’s too late, now.”

  He pulls me closer to him and rubs his hands down my back. “It’s not too late, Kell. I know this clinic and they—“

  I snap my eyes up to his, pushing him back. “Are you seriously saying what I think you’re saying?”

  He looks at my pleadingly. “I’m sorry. I know, it’s stupid. Forget I mentioned it. I’m only thinking of us . . . of our future. Please don’t look at me like that. We’re about to graduate and start our lives. Don’t you understand?”

  His voice is quiet and sincere, and I don’t want to argue. All we seem to do lately is fight, and I’m afraid I’ll lose him. Maybe he’s right. I swallow down my previous excitement and feel numb as I nod and let him hug me. He whispers that we’ll figure it out
and I give in and let my tears fall, feeling empty and sad.

  Over the next week, Jake seemed to be more excited about the baby, but I could feel the resentment he carried toward me. I tried my best to make it work, even though I knew in my heart we had grown apart a long time ago. I tried to convince myself a baby would bring us closer, but when I woke up to find my sheets soaked in red a week later, I knew it was fate’s way of telling me our relationship was completely, painfully, and undoubtedly over.

  My memories of Jake fade as I choose instead to recall the way Ryan felt moving under and inside me . . . how his mouth tasted like cinnamon . . . how his hands left my skin feeling hot . . .

  My lady parts involuntarily contract, seeming to argue it was more than worth it. But then my brain kicks in with the rational realization that I am once again carrying the child of a man who is most definitely not Mr. Right, and I feel like I’m going to hurl. Whether it’s morning sickness or just a harsh dose of reality, either way it blows.

  This is so not a part of my life plan.

  When my period was late I thought it was just my hormones being thrown out of whack since it has been a while (OK, let’s be honest, it was the first time ever) that I felt that much pleasure, but lately I can barely keep my eyes open, I’m eating my weight in peanut M&Ms, I pee about five thousand times a day, and it feels like someone sucker-punched my boobs.

  So here I am: pregnant, alone, and hiding in the office bathroom.

  Earlier I convinced myself there was no way I was actually pregnant—I mean he used a condom for crap sake. But since I couldn’t focus on anything else, I grabbed a test during lunch thinking it would come back negative and I could get on with my life. After the first one was positive I hoped it was a mistake, but after six glasses of water and five tests later, I think it’s finally starting to sink in.

  If I’m being honest, though, deep down I knew, even from the first positive reading. There’s always a risk when we make certain choices. Especially when we know those choices aren’t necessarily 100% effective. I’m not stupid enough to wonder how this happened. Oh, I know how it happened all right . . . I just didn’t want to believe it could happen to me. I’m one of those girls now. The 2%. A statistic.