The Billionaire’s Lust (His Submissive, Part Seven) by Ava Claire Page B

kissing another guy.”
    My eyes darkened. “I did not kiss Cade. He kissed me !”
    “And I’m sure he put a gun to your head.” She dropped her timbre, whipping out her best Arnold Schwarzenegger. “And said, ‘Come with me and fulfill your barely masked attraction’.”
    I pressed my lips into a line, biting my tongue. Clearly she was drunk and that’s why she thought this was one big joke. Sure, there really wasn’t anything ideal about this situation--like how Jacob hadn’t technically asked me and had doubts about our relationship—but we belonged together.
    The waiter brought the pitcher over and I was surprised Meg didn’t leap from the table and kiss him. She refilled her glass then filled mine to the brim. I brought the straw to my mouth and sipped, hoping the chill of it would cool my anger. Nope. Still pissed.
    “You can give me silent treatment all you want,” she sighed, “But I know the truth.”
    I dredged my eyes to hers. “Is that right?”
    “Yup,” she answered, not mincing the words she didn’t slur. “I get that you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you have no feelings for Captain America, but you’re lying to yourself.”
    “I see. I guess Dr. Scott is in? Here to help me address my deepest, darkest desires?”
    “They really aren’t that deep.” she shrugged. “You snuck off to have coffee with him, then you two kissed. I’d say that’s pretty out in the open, surface stuff. And before you go into who kissed who--” she added when I opened my mouth, “--what does it matter? You can’t marry someone when you’re running from yourself. How can you make a commitment to Jacob or expect him to make a commitment to you when there are all these unanswered questions?”
    “I have answers,” I spat. “Ask me if I have feelings for Cade. Ask me who I want a future with.”
    “Can you be around Cade and not think about the kiss?”
    Her question stunned me because it was the same one that I’d been asking myself when he came to my office. There was a reason I couldn’t look at him. That I didn’t want him near. That I didn’t want him to touch me.
    But I wouldn’t admit that. Not to my bff who was trying to play amateur psychiatrist. Not to myself.
    “Yes I can.” I said, unblinking. “I can be around him and not think about that stolen kiss.”
    She dunked her chip in salsa, stirring it around slowly. “You answered my question when you didn’t reply as soon as I asked. If you have to think about it, then you’ve got some stuff to figure out.”
    “I’ve already figured everything out,” I said tersely. “I choose Jacob. End of story.”
    “I hear you--”
    “No, I don’t think you do. I’m not sure if it’s because your comprehension is mush from your current vacay in Margaritaville or because you don’t want me to be happy, but I’m not going to sit here and explain myself to someone who can’t even hold onto a single guy.”
    I covered my mouth, hoping, praying that she was too busy crunching on chips or the music snuffed out what I’d said.
    But the red in her face, the hurt set of her lips and the tears gathering in her eyes proved I’d hit my mark.
    “Oh god Megan, I didn’t mean--”
    “Please,” she sliced in, ice around every syllable. “You’ve already insulted me once. Don’t sit here and lie to my face.”
    “I didn’t mean--”
    “You meant exactly what you said.” She brought her purse to the table, ruffling through the contents. Probably searching for something to bludgeon me with. I couldn’t believe I went there. What the hell was wrong with me?
    “You’ve been holding onto that little morsel, haven’t you?” She snatched her wallet from her purse. “Ever since Brad.”
    Brad Haniford was a bouncer at a bar we used to frequent near campus. It had been lust at first sight for the two of them that became something more—but not enough to curb Brad’s one nightstands.
    They’d argue, they hated each other;