The acrid taste of the cheap whiskey burned his throat as he tossed his head back, letting the alcohol slide down, leaving a sloppy trail of fire in its wake. Grady hissed sharply before pounding his chest. The pain was divine.
He needed this.
Lifting the bottle to his lips, he drank deeply yet again. It was a fairly large handle but he was determined to finish every last drop. He was going to drink so much and so fast the dark thoughts whirling through his head would slow down and turn to sludge, congealing in his cranium while forcing him to think about what was currently torturing him.
She was late.
His eyes scanned the room before landing on the digital clock perched precariously atop a makeshift tower of file folders and way overdue library books. It was two a.m. and she was FUCKING LATE.
Another large swig of the alcohol temporarily soothed the anger bubbling under his skin, threatening to break free. Grady tried to calm himself down. He tried not to be the angry and jealous boyfriend. They were moving forward. They were supposed to be in a circle of trust.
Well fuck the circle; Edie was a lying bitch. She was out giving HIS pussy away and he was just supposed to sit there and practice deep breathing or some shit like that. How was that supposed to help him fix his broken life?
He wasn't drunk at all; in fact, he'd only had two swigs from the bottle. It was only forty-five minutes ago he was fast asleep when his hand reached out for her. His blue eyes opened in confusion as he glanced at the clock on his nightstand.
She was supposed to be home hours ago. Instead of her lithe frame wrapped sensuously around him, Grady was left with cold sheets and an empty heart.
Grady dragged himself from the bed and padded down the hallway, in the vain hope she was just sleeping on the couch. It was her new habit, bunking on the sofa. The sight of her lying serenely on that damn thing, her back to him...it was a visual manifestation of what his head already knew: she was pulling away.
But she was not there. The sofa was as empty as their recent conversations. There was a time when he would tell her everything. Now he was living with a stranger.
He didn't want to think. He wanted to drown out the voice in his head that taunted him, whispered black thoughts, coaxed dark images in his head of Edie fucking someone else. It's happened before, the voice hissed nastily. She's done it before. The model; he should have known. The fucker who thought he was God's gift to women everywhere.
Fucking pansy with his light skin, light eyes and that goddamn pretty-boy smile. The fucker was forever touching Edie, even in front of Grady. He was an absolute fool; he should have seen the signs.
Well he wasn't going to play the cuckold any more tonight.
Tipping the whiskey bottle, Grady drank deeply before setting it down on the coffee table. He was finished with the bottle. He was going to wait, as long as he had to, for her to bring her ass back to this apartment. She wasn't going to play with him any longer.
It felt like hours before he heard the keys opening the various locks. The door slowly creaked open, as if she were trying to keep quiet. How generous of her to not wake him up after fucking around on him.
He was so lucky to have such a considerate girlfriend.
Grady watched as she tiptoed into the house, slipping out of her stilettos. He knew she was going to leave them in the hall; she always did. He was forever tripping over her goddamn shoes because of her habit of kicking them off whenever she stepped inside the apartment.
He knew she'd head for the bathroom first. Gotta wash of the scent of pretty boy so your dipshit of a boyfriend won't suspect a fucking thing, he thought bitterly. Without thinking, his hand reached out and turned on the lamp perched on the end table next to the couch.
The illumination stopped her in her tracks and she turned. "Grady?" she called out.
A short moan nearly escaped, but he pressed his lips tightly together. She had the voice, and he knew right away what she'd been up to. He could hear the syllables of shameless sex ringing heavily through the room.
Grady tensed as her footsteps drew closer and when she stepped into the living room, his eyes locked on her.
"What are you still doing up?" She really had the goddamn nerve to ask him that.
"Trying to diffuse a bomb," he muttered, the bitterness in his voice so heavy he flinched at the sound. "Where have you been?"
"Shooting ran longer than intended. I had to stay late." Her golden skin shimmered in the warm light from the lamp. He could practically feel the glow from the post-sex euphoria radiating from her pores.
"Yeah," was all he said. His reddened eyes stared back at her, refusing to look away. Her gaze was sharp, searching his with such intensity it almost made him uneasy. Anger bubbled deep inside, hot and hostile. Who was she to look at him so accusingly? HE wasn't the one who'd just crept into the house like a goddamn thief.
Grady's fingers itched to curve around the bottle of whiskey but he knew it was a bad idea. His head was already throbbing, partly from the alcohol and mostly due to frustration. It would only exacerbate an already intense situation.
"Why are you still awake? Don't you have an early meeting tomorrow?"
"No. That was today. If you'd been paying attention you would have realized that." He knew he was being an über-dick, but he didn't care. If she was going to traipse around and flaunt her infidelity in his face, then he had to do something.
Edie sighed. "Whatever, Grady. It's late and I don't feel like getting into it. I'm going to take a shower."
"What's the rush? Come here; sit down and talk to me." He patted the empty space next to him.
"Grady, I don't have time for this. I'm tired and I just want to take a hot shower and go to bed..."
"And I said sit down," he countered. It was a struggle to keep the snarl from his voice.
"Unless of course you don't want to talk to me."
She rolled her eyes, which added fuel to his barely contained anger. "Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?" She still hovered in the doorway.
His laugh was gruff and sardonic. "I can't remember the last time we said more than ten words to one another. This is the most I've heard from you in weeks."
"What do you want from me?" Her tone was snippy.
She was getting defensive. Good, he thought. He wanted the argument; he craved that fire, that heat of flaring emotion. Grady missed those feelings. They had so much intensity, so much passion for one another. What the hell happened? When did the spark fizzle out?
Grady no longer saw the light in her eyes when she glanced up at him. No, that light was gone, snuffed out and replaced by a glazed look of darkness. Somewhere along the way she stopped loving him. "I guess I just want to know when you stopped giving a damn about me."
"Fuck," she swore softly. "Not tonight, Grady. I seriously cannot deal with this shit tonight."
