Torn - Part Three (The Torn Series) (3 page)

I didn't have all that much time to ponder it. I had a shift at my other bartending gig in Queens at Coconut Cup, and it was a long train ride to get there. I had to get myself cleaned up and hit the road.

Maybe I'll call Shawn later
, I thought as I showered. I wasn't as close with the staff at Coconut Cup and didn't feel comfortable asking them for advice, but I was sure I could call any of my new friends. They wouldn't mind. Or maybe they would.
They must be getting sick of my shit
.

I suddenly felt very alone. Who else could I talk to about my problems? I'd grown apart from the few college friends I'd made thanks to spending so much time with Tyler. And Tyler himself was certainly not an option. Neither was my family - I kept my mother in the dark about my personal life as much as possible and my sister would be utterly disinterested.

Giving in to self-pity, I shuffled into the kitchen to crack open the bottle of red wine I'd bought, somehow imagining that I would cook with it some evening. A glass to calm my nerves, then I could get ready and go to work and push Mallet and his bookshelf out of my thoughts until I was actually ready to face them.

The bookshelf, the message, the drink - none of them were helping in my quest to get over him. I hadn’t made a single step in the right direction. Not one.

○●○●○●○●○

"Riley." He didn't give me the option of waiting until I was ready. He showed up at the bar right after my shift started, his usually bright green eyes dark and tired. He had a nasty bruise on his cheekbone - my first thought was
good
, but I immediately felt guilty about it.

"Mallet," I said, nodding at him before turning to a customer at the opposite end of the bar. We weren't busy and I wouldn't be able to avoid him for long. My stomach churned as I made the businessman his drink, wishing I could make one for myself, too. Not while the owner was in his office - I would have to wait until he went home.

Finally, when I couldn't stand to ignore him for any longer, I poured him a beer and slid it his way.

"The package arrived okay?" he asked.

I nodded, fighting tears again.
Damn his stupid thoughtful gift. Damn him for showing up at my job. Damn his face.

"We have to talk. Maybe when you go on break?"

"I can't until eight," I said, clenching my fists. God, it was good to hear his voice. Why did I have to be so damn weak?

"I can wait."

Again, I only nodded, unable to bury the emotions that emerged. All he had to do was stay away. I would have been fine, eventually. Now I needed to know things. If he'd won his big match against his brother. If that bruise on his face was from that fight or from another. If he'd managed to patch things up with Surly. I wanted to know everything that I'd missed.

I went through the motions of my job and watched the clock tick on. It was too slow and too fast all at once. I was overly conscious of Mallet's presence, though I tried to ignore him. He tapped around on his phone, struck up short conversations with other patrons, but mostly he just watched me with an unreadable expression. And he absently touched the bruise on his face. It couldn't have been from the fight with his brother - that would have taken place over two weeks ago, unless they'd rescheduled. I itched to ask him but I didn't want to admit that I cared.

The second bartender showed up right on time. My stomach churned as I waited for him to drop off his things in the back and let me leave my post for a quick lunch break. I didn't say anything to Mallet - I just walked past him towards the door and listened to him follow.

"Hungry?" he asked as the door swung shut behind him.

I was too anxious to be hungry. The night air was cold, though, and I didn't want to stand around outside, so I said "Sure," and pointed us towards the little pizza shop across the street. At least they had heat and some empty seats.

We ordered a couple slices and slid into a booth. I was too nervous to even meet his eyes, never mind start the conversation, so I rearranged my pepperoni while he watched. I knew I ought to thank him for the piece of furniture but everything I thought to say sounded lame in my head.
And thanking him means I've accepted it, maybe I shouldn't even keep it.

"I heard you quit the band," he said, finally.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry it came to that. I know you loved being onstage with them."

I shrugged. "I guess." I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. It was like he was trying to read my mind.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

I stared down at my deconstructed pizza. "I don't know if I can keep the bookshelf."

"You don't like it?"

"It's beautiful," I whispered. "But after everything..."

"Riley. Look at me." I obeyed as if compelled by some outside force. I met his familiar green eyes and was hit with a pang of longing for what we'd had. "We shouldn't have lied to you," he said, "And I'm sorry about that."

I shrugged again and looked away. "It's fine, Mal, I'm not mad. We never talked about being exclusive."

"Nothing happened." He reached across the table and covered my hands with his. The unexpected contact sent a shiver down to my toes. "Believe me. Nothing happened."

"Okay." I wanted to believe him. I could sort of believe him. I’d become aware of how spiteful Jen could be, I'd heard whispered comments from her friends and from Robin when we hung out after our shows. But that didn't change the lie.

"Keep the shelf," he said. "Please."

"Okay." I was starting to feel like a broken record, all nods and "okays." "Thank you. It's perfect."

He smirked. "I know." I stifled a laugh. There was the Mallet that I missed so badly. I had to get out of there before I said or did something stupid.

"I should get back to work."

"Meet with me again."

"Can't you ever ask?" I said, grimacing. "Does it always have to be an order?"

"You like how I talk." There was that smirk again, barely concealed. The man just couldn't help himself.

"I do," I said, "or at least I did." I bit into my pizza to keep from saying more.

After a long pause, he finally asked, "Will you meet with me again?"

I eyed him warily. "Not tonight."

"No. Of course. You name when."

"Tomorrow? Before my shift?"

He nodded. "I'll come down to your neighborhood."

"Okay."

CHAPTER 3

When I stumbled home late that night - or technically, early the next morning - I spent an hour filling the shelf despite being exhausted. My room went from looking like a hobo was squatting in it to something that might be nice to live in. Eventually.

I really needed to get my shit together.

I woke the next afternoon groggy and still tired. Ever since I'd begun working nights full-time, I never felt like I got enough sleep. I could practically feel the dark circles under my eyes.

All the booze didn't help matters, but what was a bartender to do?

Mallet messaged me two hours before I needed to be at Picklebackers, saying, "I'm in the area, where would you like to meet?" If we were on better terms I would have wanted to bring him to the bar to show him off.
Maybe later?
Was I really considering trying to patch things up? I'd have to be crazy, right?

There was another message, too. This one from Tyler. It read simply, “We belong together and you know it. We need to talk.” I ignored it, as I’d been ignoring most of his messages lately. He wasn’t sending them too often, but he was walking a fine line between “sad and lonely” and “creepy and desperate.” I was afraid that a meeting was going to have to happen if I ever planned on getting him off my back completely.

I was in the middle of replying to Mallet with the address of another neighborhood pub when someone rang my buzzer. My heart leapt into my chest. Was it him?

Looking out the front window confirmed it. There he was at the front door, running a hand through his tousled brown hair and looking a little distraught. I hit the intercom and said, "I'll be right down."

"Let me up," he said quickly, "Just for a minute."

I sighed to myself. He probably wanted to see the shelf, and I'd be a real jerk if I refused, so I hit the button to unlock the downstairs entrance and waited at our front door for him to come up the stairs.

I knew I was sunk as soon as our eyes met. I was drawn to him against my own will and my own good sense. He looked so downtrodden and so weary, I instinctively wanted to soothe it all away.

The same struggle was clear on his face. His hands rose to touch me but stopped short as his face twisted as if in pain. "Riley."

The sound of my name from his voice was enough to crack my resolve. Cursing to myself, I fell into his arms. He was ready - he grasped me tight and buried his face in my hair. “Riley,” he said again before brushing my neck with his lips. He walked me backwards through the doorway and kicked the apartment door closed. “I missed you,” he breathed, turning us and pressing me back against the wall.

“I missed you too,” I admitted before my brain could catch up.

“And you still want me.” He gave me no chance to reply, though I wasn't sure what response to give. Not until his lips crashed onto mine - then the only answer I could come up with was, “yes, yes.” His arms so strong and tight around me, his mouth so hot and insistent upon mine - this was where I belonged. Or at least, that’s what my lust-fogged head told me.

"Come inside," I whispered against his ear. I gripped the collar of his shirt tight. "See the shelf. The room looks better." His lips grazed my neck.

"I don’t give a shit about the room." He walked us towards it anyway, softly kissing away my doubts and protests until he closed us inside.

I felt feverish as we tore at each other's clothes. God, even the familiar smell of him gripped me - so warm and masculine. When he pulled me against him, bare skin against hot, bare skin, it was erotic and somehow comforting at the same time. My head sank against his shoulder as I thought,
what the hell am I doing?
I couldn’t seem to push him away, couldn’t seem to let him go.
Break-up sex and make-up sex are both things people do, but which one is this?

I didn’t care; it felt too good to be enveloped by his arms. In that moment it felt
right.
What was one little lie, anyway? This was the man who cared enough to send me a piece of furniture, who knew how to make me feel things I’d never felt before. This was the man who though I was more than some silly, naive little girl from the suburbs, who didn’t roll his eyes at me when I was anxious about nothing in particular, who didn’t downplay it when I was upset about being groped. He’d forgiven me for the shit I’d put him through with Tyler - couldn’t I try to do the same?

Mallet seemed similarly lost in thought, crushing me tight against him and simply holding me there, breathing hard but making no move to rush despite his hardness nudging my belly.

His hands warmed my back as they roamed. "Fuck," he muttered, "You feel so fucking good."

I kissed his neck, tasting his skin. It inflamed my desire, and my hand snaked between us as I left a wet trail leading up to his mouth. “Mallet,” I whispered, “I’ve missed you, too.” My fingertips brushed the head of his erection, so hot and hard that it made me gasp. I couldn’t remember ever needing anything so badly in my life.

He was silent. With barely a grunt, he wheeled me around and trapped my hands above my head, pressing me into the wall. I squirmed, rubbing my ass against him.
Yes, please. Let’s do this.

His free hand curved around my waist and he pulled my bottom half out, lowering my trapped arms as he positioned me, back arched and ass up. The position was hot, and vulgar, and I tingled all over imagining him looking at me. My breath came out in pants. Heat blossomed through my core as his hand roamed my cheeks and his fingers dug in.

Then his fingers moved lower and traced my cleft, delving deeper as I moaned at his touch. The hand around my wrists gripped tighter as I tugged against it. He was hilariously stronger than me, of course - I may as well have tried to push down the wall. There was something hot and wild about being so trapped by him, and I groaned his name.

He answered with a hot breath slowly exhaled against my neck as he slid two fingers inside. I cursed as I rocked back against him, drawing him even deeper. Soft, mewling sounds escaped me as he stroked me over and over, expertly rubbing all my most sensitive places, building my pleasure higher and higher. I groaned in frustration when he abruptly withdrew.