Things We Left Behind (Knockemout, #3)

by Lucy Score

“Chardonnay is the most important meal of the day.”

There would be no new stories now, I realized. My sweet, brilliant, kindhearted, uncoordinated dad was gone. And all we were left with were memories that would never come close to filling the hole his absence left behind.

I could deal with that innate, biological warning that danger was near. After all, there was nothing safe about the man. What I couldn’t handle was how the tingling turned immediately into a warm, happy, reflexive There you are, as if I’d been holding my breath for him to appear. I

Even as I conspired to get closer, I was still pushing her away. The dynamic was taxing on a good day. On a day like today, it was fucking exhausting.

“I find it fascinating how she’s lodged herself so securely under your skin when you’re an expert at surgically removing annoyances from your life.”

“Yeah. Keep telling your burrito that,” Nash said, picking up his phone. He winced. “Great. Lina just texted. The girls are making margaritas.” Knox put down his bourbon. “Fuck.”

“We brought hugs and tequila,” Naomi called.

“I like being alone,” I argued. Being alone meant not having to pretend to be okay. Being alone meant not having to be messy and emotional in front of any witnesses.

“I don’t want to make any assumptions. Is Mr. Right definitely a Mr.?” Stef asked me. “As much as I would have zero qualms making out with Alicia Keys after she serenades me with a ballad, I can’t live without the dick.”

Nash tugged the still laughing Lina to her feet. “You smell like tequila and bad decisions,” he said. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a noisy kiss on the mouth. “And you smell like we should have sex.”

“I want you not to matter at all,”

My biological instincts were scrambled. Instead of fight or flight, my body seemed to have added a third option: fuck.

We were breathing the same air as our bodies caught fire.

sometimes the feelings we resist the most are the ones that have the most to teach us.

“There’s a difference between quelling impulses that everyone has and refusing to acknowledge any feeling at all.”

“Sooner or later, my friend, you’ll learn that embracing the messiness of life is where you find its greatest treasures.”

I stopped circling my arm and peered around the side of my house, beyond the dingy beige siding, past the patches of weeds to the fence that divided good from bad in my life. And there she was in the window beyond the cherry tree. The good.

“There are some things we never get over. Some things we hide from the light,”

The rest of the diners were riveted. I was debating texting Lina and Naomi when the woman at the table next to me leaned over. “Girl, I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I’m a nurse and if you don’t go home with Tall, Dark, and Tight Crotch, I’m gonna check you for head trauma.”

“What are friends for if not making fun of us when we’re at our worst?” he philosophized.

Meticulous, I noted. The man couldn’t tolerate things out of place. He probably folded his socks before sex.

He moved quickly, like a beast lunging for its prey. I found him standing between my knees, caging me in with his hands on the counter. “You’re wired to want a man who’s going to live up to every one of those heroes you read about. The ones who fight for their woman, who drag her off into dark corners because they can’t stand not touching her a moment longer. The ones who would do anything for her. That’s what you want.”

On the way to the police station, I found myself wondering why some people dedicated their lives to fixing things while others set out only to break them. Not that it mattered anymore. I was one of the broken.

Every step that brought me closer made me angrier, more frustrated. I didn’t want to want her, but I didn’t want anyone else wanting her either.

He looked at me like he wanted to destroy me. And I loved it. There was no hiding behind a cold, calculating mask now.

The man may have had a poker face, but there was no such thing as a poker dick.

“Don’t come.” The order was delivered through gritted teeth. “Bite me.” “Don’t tempt me, Pixie. I want to be inside you the first time you come. I want to feel you fall apart.”

He glared down at me. “You’re so beautiful and so goddamn irritating at the same time.” “I get that a lot. Condoms are in my clutch,” I announced.

God, I wanted her. I craved her hands on me, her pleading whimpers of “please” and “more” in my ear. I needed to be inside her again.

I was going to ruin her for all future partners. That was my new goal in life.

“Are you good?” It came out as an angry growl. “So good. So fucking good,” she whimpered. It was all I needed to hear. “You shouldn’t have left me,” I said, sliding out, clenching my teeth at the delicate drag of her muscles. Her body had fought my entrance, and now it was fighting to keep me inside.

“God, I hate that you’re so good at this,” she moaned. “Shut up and take my cock like a good girl,” I ordered.

She was clung to me like I was her salvation. Her entire body vibrated from the orgasm.

“Open,” I ordered, teasing her with the tips of two fingers. “Lucian,” she begged. “Baby, open for me. Let me taste you.”

“Hold on.” I limped into my closet and found the sweatshirt I was looking for. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him. He caught it and his frown turned into a scowl. “Whose is this?” he asked, holding up the extra-extra-large Penn State hoodie. “Mine now,” I said. “Whose was it?” “An old boyfriend. We dated for a couple of months after I graduated college and was working in Hagerstown. He was a social studies teacher.” “Blake.” He said the name like it was an insult. I raised an eyebrow. “You know, Unfucked Sloane would be giving you shit for knowing my ex-boyfriend’s name from fifteen years ago. But Well-Fucked Sloane is too tired and hungry to start a fight.”

This was not helping me. If I was going to get over the man, I needed to focus on his dark, stubborn side, not his hidden, microscopic heart of gold.

“Tell me you want me again,” he ordered as his fingers tugged at my nipple. “What if I’m over it?” I breathed. His grin was sinful. “I can feel how wet you are for me through my pants. You’re not over it.” “Are you?” I asked. “If I thought for a second I could get away with it, I’d have you bent over the bar with this tiny excuse for a skirt flipped up around your waist and my cock inside you.”

“If you’re a good girl and wait the four fucking minutes it takes to get home, I’ll strip you naked and worship every inch of your beautiful body with my cock, mouth, and hands.”

He shook his head. “You’re going to miss those orgasms when you meet Mr. Right. There are some things only Mr. Wrong can deliver.”

We’d spent too much time doing this. Fighting then finding our way back to each other only to blow up again. We were like magnets drawn together in one moment before we were reversed, repelling each other the next. But this time, it needed to be permanent. This time, I needed to blow it up forever.

Assface: Just because we’re not sneaking around having sex anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care. Assface: I found your underwear behind the nightstand. Do you want it back?

I was staying busy. But not busy enough to forget that the assface existed.

I’d fallen into his trap twice now. If I fell a third time, I deserved to get mauled by the steel teeth of Lucian’s perverse whims. He cared about me. He hated me. He wanted me. He wanted nothing to do with me. That was a roller coaster I didn’t need to get on again. I wanted stability, not volatility. A relationship, not a fuck buddy. A future, not a past.

I was no longer the one who drove him crazy, or maybe, as I’d fantasized in my darkest, drunkest moments over the years, the one who got away. Now, I was just one of the legions of women he’d left behind.

“You and Lucian have history. Unfortunately for you as a woman with strong feelings about everything, that means you can’t just have sex with him.”

“The infuriating part is you know this. Yet you keep making the same choices. Well, I’ve got news for you, Lucian. No one feels worthy. Everyone feels like an imposter. It doesn’t matter what family you come from, your net worth, or how many powerful friends owe you favors. None of that is going to make you feel like you deserve to be here.”

I wasn’t a good guy worried about being a bad guy. I was a self-aware villain. There was a distinct difference.

I automatically flipped my phone over and checked for new messages. There were none from her. Not that I would expect it. I’d had to burn that bridge to keep us both safe. But now that I’d had her, now that I knew how my name sounded from that mouth when she came, this surgical excision of me from her life was driving me insane.

“I worry that you prioritize winning over happiness, and I don’t know if you’ll be satisfied with winning at the expense of everything else.”

But I’d done the right damn thing. So why the fuck did I feel so damn knotted up inside?