“What?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Have you fucked anyone?”

“I’ve fucked you.”

“Anyone else?”

Clay stared into her eyes as he realized…no, he hadn’t been with anyone else. He’d had the opportunity. Gigi had thrown herself at him. The girl at the bar had offered herself up. There’d been several other occasions where he could have easily taken someone home with him, but he hadn’t.

“Well?” she asked.

“No. Just you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I see. So, we live in the same house. We go to all the same functions. You call me your girlfriend. We haven’t played any games since the attack, and you’re only fucking me. Please explain to me how we’re not already in the relationship that you so desperately claim not to want to be in?”

Well, when she put it that way.

He took a step back, balking at the thought. “Just because I haven’t slept with anyone doesn’t mean I never want to sleep with anyone else ever again.”

Andrea swallowed at his words, but otherwise, she gave no sign that what he’d said had hurt her. “So, you want me to be yours, but you don’t really want me?”

“What? Of course I want you.”

“Right. Because, of course,” she spat, rolling her eyes, “you want me. You want to run other guys off. You’re jealous at the thought of me being with someone else. But you won’t admit that we’re really dating and really together. You want the opportunity to fuck someone else even if you never do. You want to keep our relationship stagnant for selfish reasons. You want your cake and to eat it, too.”

“I’m not jealous—”

“I’m not cake, Clay!” she snapped. “If you really don’t want this, then go and fuck someone else tonight!”

He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “You want me to fuck someone else?”

“If that’s what you really want, then go ahead. Go find someone here. Just break all the stupid rules. Show me how much I mean to you.”

Clay shook his head. She had gone insane. But isn’t she telling the truth? He wanted to continue screwing around and doing whatever he wanted. He wanted to keep things just the way they were because it worked for him. And, now, she was getting pissy because he’d told her the truth.

“Fine!” he shouted, anger bubbling up to the surface.

“Fine!”

“Enjoy your evening.”

“I hope she’s worth it,” Andrea barked.

Clay shook his head at her bold statement and slammed her back with one of his own, “Oh, she will be.”

Andrea recoiled at the words, and without a look backward, he turned with his drink in hand and went in search of the hottest fucking girl in the room.

Chapter 12

YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF

Clay woke up the next morning to a wall of pain. He cradled his head in his hands as he rolled over in bed and tried to escape the light filtering in through the window. He flung the covers up to shelter his body, but it did no good. He couldn’t go back to sleep. Not with this massive hangover.

What the hell did I drink last night to warrant this?

He couldn’t remember.

He opened his bleary eyes and glanced around the room. It was empty, save for him. The bed was mussed, but it didn’t look like anyone else had been in it. At least, he didn’t think he’d had anyone else here.

Everything was a little fuzzy around the edges. The last thing he remembered was yelling at Andrea and making a fucking fool of himself at the inaugural ball. Apparently, he’d then drunk enough to black out. Whatever other shit had gone down last night, someone else would have to fill him in. He was too hungover to figure it out.

He stepped out of bed.

Naked.

Buck naked.

His tuxedo was a string of clothes leading out of the bedroom of his second-story townhouse and down the stairs, as if he had taken each piece off while making his way to the bedroom. But, normally, when that happened, he’d see a dress, followed by a red lace bra and finally the matching thong. A pair of high heels would be strewed across the floor. None of that was here this morning.

Just him, completely nude. All alone.

What a night!

Clay rolled his eyes and headed to the bathroom to dig out some Tylenol. He chased it down with a glass of water and then hopped into a long, luxurious shower to chase away the aftereffects of what felt like an entire bottle of whiskey pounding against his skull.

An hour later, he’d changed into a pair of dark wash jeans and a Carolina blue polo. He was starving but wanted to head over to the house. He probably needed to talk to Andrea about that shitty conversation they’d had. That wasn’t how he’d wanted to have that talk. It was definitely not supposed to go down like that. He’d just pop over to the house, and they could go out to brunch.

He’d kill to be back in Chapel Hill right now and get some real Southern-style brunch. Maybe they could go back home for a weekend here soon. It’d be good to check on his house down there and just get out of the city for a while.

He pulled out his phone, surprised that he didn’t have any other messages or calls from the night before, and then shot Andrea a text.

Hey, can we talk? I’m stopping by the house. Brunch?

Clay revved his Porsche and took off for the suburbs without an answer. He hoped she was there or else it would be a futile drive, but she usually got out of the city when it was this busy.

He double-checked his phone when he was driving through their neighborhood. “Huh. Still no response.”

He was surprised. She typically responded quickly. Maybe she was still asleep. She could be a late sleeper, especially after a long night.

Ignoring the feeling of unease that crept over him, he parked in the two-car garage. Andrea’s Mercedes was missing, but it hadn’t been there last night either. She’d left it at her apartment in town when they took the limo. The limo had probably brought her back here anyway.

He opened the door of the garage into the immaculate kitchen. Andrea had had it custom-designed. Not that either of them cooked. She would bake every now and again, but they’d both been too busy lately to play house.

“Andrea!” he called.

He stepped over the threshold and into the foyer. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes roamed the walls. The foyer, the living room, the hallway down to the dining room and den.