feelings, no point in dragging this out. Better to end this relationship now before she hurt him any more.
"But…I mean, I knew this was coming…what about us…" He shook his head, confusion contorting his brow. "So that's it? We don't talk about what this new job means for us? We end this before it's really begun?"
Tears burned the back of her eyes as she nodded. "We both knew going into this it had a limited time frame. I’m over Vegas. Time to move on."
His lips compressed in a thin, stubborn line, his glare mutinous. "But that was before…fuck, we just said we loved each other."
Ashlin couldn't take this anymore. She couldn't hash this out. She'd tried once before to convince a guy what was best for both of them. It hadn't worked back then and she couldn't bear to go through it again. It would kill her.
So she reached for the most hurtful, hateful lie she could think of to end things with Wyatt once and for all.
"A woman will say anything for her first orgasm in years." She forced a smirk, while something inside her broke. "This has been fun while it lasted, so thanks."
She made a run for the door, his angry, incredulous ‘what the fuck' doing little to eradicate her final memory of Wyatt: the desolation twisting his face into an expression akin to grief.
She'd done that to him.
And she'd never forgive herself for it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wyatt slouched on the couch in his hotel room, wearing two-day-old running shorts and surrounded by empty mini-bar bottles. He'd already called room service twice tonight to replenish supplies but they'd ignored his third call so maybe he'd been cut off. Fuck them. He'd get dressed and go out to continue drinking himself into oblivion.
But as he sat forward and his head moved, the memories crashed over him anew and he sank back with a groan.
He'd survived the last ten days by focusing on work all day and drinking all night. He'd had minimal interaction with anyone, citing off-site testing, to avoid going to Burlesque Bombshells the first few days when there'd been a chance of running into Ashlin.
Ashlin.
Fuck, she'd ripped out his heart, trampled it and tossed it away.
How the hell had he got it so wrong?
He'd put himself out there for the first time ever. Had let himself fall for her. Had fucking told her.
And she'd left without a backward glance.
He was such a chump. All she'd wanted was to get off and once he'd done that for her, she'd bolted. To the other side of the world.
He pressed his fingertips into his temples, knowing it would do little to stave off the blinder of a headache threatening to squeeze his skull. It wasn't the alcohol as much as thoughts of Ashlin and how meaningless she'd considered their relationship that caused it.
A knock sounded at the door. He ignored it for a moment, until he realized it could be Room Service taking pity on him and ready to replenish the minibar.
He padded across the room, not caring that he staggered a little. The faster he reached oblivion tonight the better. However, when he opened the door, it wasn't a hotel employee that greeted him.
Glaring at his brothers, he growled. "Who the fuck are you, the three musketeers?"
Zane grinned, Steele frowned and Kurt pushed his way into the room. "Get dressed, bozo."
"What the hell for?"
"Because I don't want to have to kick your sorry ass in those stinking shorts." Kurt shoved him toward the bathroom. "Go shower. Dress. And get back here in five minutes."
"Bully," Wyatt muttered, eyeballing Zane and Steele. "What are you all doing here?"
"Consider this an intervention," Steele said, his resolute tone brooking no argument. "We're done watching you wallow and we're not leaving here without you."
Zane nodded. "It's what brothers do. Stick together in the tough times."
Wyatt made a run for the bathroom, before the tears stinging his eyes spilled over and he made an ass of himself.
Kurt had never stood by him for anything, but he'd taken time out of his
"But…I mean, I knew this was coming…what about us…" He shook his head, confusion contorting his brow. "So that's it? We don't talk about what this new job means for us? We end this before it's really begun?"
Tears burned the back of her eyes as she nodded. "We both knew going into this it had a limited time frame. I’m over Vegas. Time to move on."
His lips compressed in a thin, stubborn line, his glare mutinous. "But that was before…fuck, we just said we loved each other."
Ashlin couldn't take this anymore. She couldn't hash this out. She'd tried once before to convince a guy what was best for both of them. It hadn't worked back then and she couldn't bear to go through it again. It would kill her.
So she reached for the most hurtful, hateful lie she could think of to end things with Wyatt once and for all.
"A woman will say anything for her first orgasm in years." She forced a smirk, while something inside her broke. "This has been fun while it lasted, so thanks."
She made a run for the door, his angry, incredulous ‘what the fuck' doing little to eradicate her final memory of Wyatt: the desolation twisting his face into an expression akin to grief.
She'd done that to him.
And she'd never forgive herself for it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wyatt slouched on the couch in his hotel room, wearing two-day-old running shorts and surrounded by empty mini-bar bottles. He'd already called room service twice tonight to replenish supplies but they'd ignored his third call so maybe he'd been cut off. Fuck them. He'd get dressed and go out to continue drinking himself into oblivion.
But as he sat forward and his head moved, the memories crashed over him anew and he sank back with a groan.
He'd survived the last ten days by focusing on work all day and drinking all night. He'd had minimal interaction with anyone, citing off-site testing, to avoid going to Burlesque Bombshells the first few days when there'd been a chance of running into Ashlin.
Ashlin.
Fuck, she'd ripped out his heart, trampled it and tossed it away.
How the hell had he got it so wrong?
He'd put himself out there for the first time ever. Had let himself fall for her. Had fucking told her.
And she'd left without a backward glance.
He was such a chump. All she'd wanted was to get off and once he'd done that for her, she'd bolted. To the other side of the world.
He pressed his fingertips into his temples, knowing it would do little to stave off the blinder of a headache threatening to squeeze his skull. It wasn't the alcohol as much as thoughts of Ashlin and how meaningless she'd considered their relationship that caused it.
A knock sounded at the door. He ignored it for a moment, until he realized it could be Room Service taking pity on him and ready to replenish the minibar.
He padded across the room, not caring that he staggered a little. The faster he reached oblivion tonight the better. However, when he opened the door, it wasn't a hotel employee that greeted him.
Glaring at his brothers, he growled. "Who the fuck are you, the three musketeers?"
Zane grinned, Steele frowned and Kurt pushed his way into the room. "Get dressed, bozo."
"What the hell for?"
"Because I don't want to have to kick your sorry ass in those stinking shorts." Kurt shoved him toward the bathroom. "Go shower. Dress. And get back here in five minutes."
"Bully," Wyatt muttered, eyeballing Zane and Steele. "What are you all doing here?"
"Consider this an intervention," Steele said, his resolute tone brooking no argument. "We're done watching you wallow and we're not leaving here without you."
Zane nodded. "It's what brothers do. Stick together in the tough times."
Wyatt made a run for the bathroom, before the tears stinging his eyes spilled over and he made an ass of himself.
Kurt had never stood by him for anything, but he'd taken time out of his
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