His touch was greedy and demanding. This was what he had wanted for so long. He had every intention of taking it all until they both had nothing left to give.

Her hands were grasping at his shirt, desperate to have it off. He obliged her. He pulled back just enough to rip it over his head and throw it across the room. He gave her a full view of the six-pack abs and bulging biceps he had developed in her absence. He might have been an alcoholic, but he’d made up for it with his time at the gym. He’d spent enough time in there between work and boozing to blow her mind when she got a good look at him. She raked her fingers down his stomach. He just smirked.

Then, he lifted the slit of her dress, letting the material bunch up around her waist. To his delight, he found that she was wearing his favorite undergarment—nothing at all.

He was yanking his shorts off just as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Andrea stilled beneath him. Her eyes went wide. “What was that?”

“Fuck.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He was such an idiot. How the fuck did I forgot about Gigi? How did I forget that I’d let her crash upstairs?

“Clay…” Andrea said. She was pulling her dress back down and staring up at him, as if he’d betrayed her beyond measure. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Please tell me you’re joking, and that’s not what I think it is.”

“Andrea, no…it’s not.”

“Clay?” Gigi’s voice rang from the top of the stairs. She stumbled down a few and then came into sight, wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers. Her hair was a hot mess from taking all the pins out of it. It had looked like that when she’d come out of the bathroom earlier.

But he knew.

He fucking knew.

It looked like sex hair.

Shit.

Fucking. Fuck.

“I heard the door slam. Is everything okay?” Gigi slurred.

Andrea jumped up off the couch and glared at him. “You are the scum of the earth. You know that?”

“Andrea, come on,” he pleaded, racing after her.

She yanked the door open, started down the stairs, and ran out to her car.

He just went ahead and followed her. “This is not what it looks like. I can explain!”

“Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it.”

“We are not together. We didn’t sleep together. I was taking the couch. I swear to God.”

Andrea screamed, actually screamed, at the top of her lungs before glaring at him from the driver’s side of her car. “I don’t want to hear it! I can’t listen to it any longer. You had another girl in your bed while you were trying to have sex with me!” She shook her head. Her eyes were glassy. “I truly am a masochist. I must be. Why else would I ever want to love someone who constantly hurts me like this?”

She threw the question at him, leaving him standing there, stunned, as she drove away. Gigi stepped outside a few minutes later, but Clay just stood there and watched his last chance disappear into the distance.

Chapter 18

HOME SWEET HOME

The weeks up to Brady’s wedding passed by in a blur. Andrea refused to take Clay’s phone calls and never returned any of the long voice mails he’d left. She probably deleted them before listening to them, which was for the better since they were pretty embarrassing, all things considered. His text messages were never opened, and he’d officially been blocked from her Facebook account. She had clearly decided that the night of the gala was a mistake. He was a mistake. And she was moving on.

Things were just as weird with Gigi for the next week. No matter how many times she’d apologized for walking downstairs that night, he couldn’t convince her that he didn’t actually blame her for anything. She’d done nothing wrong in his eyes.

He’d been so wrapped up in the moment that he’d just forgotten she was upstairs. That was on him. It wasn’t like Andrea wouldn’t have found out anyway. He would have asked her to stay, if they’d gotten that far. Having Gigi stay the night, what had happened with Andrea afterward…it was all on him.

But, for at least a week afterward, Gigi walked on eggshells around him. It was ridiculous, coming from the girl who gave him more shit than anyone else he’d known. She acted as if he were going to dissolve their friendship on the spot. Whatever had happened in her past to make her edge around him like that was a story he couldn’t get out of her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“If I ask you to go to Brady’s wedding with me, will you stop acting like a lunatic? This isn’t your fault. Stop punishing yourself. I’m punishing myself enough for the both of us,” Clay told Gigi.

“Will Andrea be there?” She chewed on her bottom lip and looked like she wanted to start pacing.

Clay shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I fucked up too bad. She’ll never talk to me again.”

“It totally matters. She might be pissed at you, but she’s going to hate me.”

Fair point.

She probably would hate Gigi on principle.

“I’m sure she’ll be there. She’s friends with Liz, and my family has always treated her like family.”

“Bad idea.”

“Otherwise, I don’t have a date.”

“That’s probably good for you.”

“Just as a friend, so I don’t look like a loser, showing up alone?” he prodded.

“You could never look like a loser.”

Clay glared at her. “You’re going with me.”

“I can’t find a dress,” she said, trying to dig in.

“Then, I’ll get you one. Christ, just go with me.”

“All right, all right,” she groaned. “I’m so going to regret this. I’ll be there for moral support, but if she is there, I’m finding someone else to dance with.”

“Deal.”

With all the manic rush of last-minute preparations underway, it was the weekend before the big event, and the moment Clay had been waiting for finally arrived—Brady’s bachelor party. Clay had volunteered Las Vegas as the best possible location for this event, but Brady had vetoed that suggestion. He’d claimed he wanted something low-key. No casinos. No strippers. No strip clubs. Basically, he wanted to take all the fun out of it.