2. Drowning in hurt

As I stepped into one of the bars in the resort, cool music and neon lights hit me.

Ignoring the stares, I made a beeline for the bar stand.

"Whiskey, Martini, vodka… give me something strong… and keep them coming," I told the bartender as I settled on the high stool attached to the bar counter.

My mind was in a daze.

I was feeling so dumb, used, and utterly empty.

What should I do?

I can't go back to my family; even Jeffery knows that.

He knows he can treat me badly, and no one from my family would give a f*ck.

When I met him, he was nowhere close to achieving his dreams.

I had to sell my valuables, pick up extra shifts at my then place of work, and skip buying myself new stuff because every single dollar went towards his training and scouting for opportunities for him.

When the big shots finally started noticing him, I was the one who wrote those numerous letters and made those never-ending calls that got him a slot.

Within weeks, Jeffery had his chance, and within months, his career exploded.

I remained the background force pushing his career forward, dedicating all of me to his success.

Yet, this same man cheated on me, and when I found out, he blamed and mocked me.

God, I've been so stupid.

The realization that I was nothing to him but a means to an end got me so mad.

“If not me, no man will ever want someone like you.” His words from earlier replayed in my head, making me want to puke.

Grabbing an already-filled glass from the bartender, I downed the alcohol in a gulp.

“Rough day?” he asked, pushing another drink my way.

“You have no idea.” I emptied the second glass and took countless more glasses before finally letting my eyes wander around the bar.

The silhouette of someone occupying the stool beside me caught my attention.

At the sight of the black DeBronx Motorsports T-shirt, I sighed and turned back to my drink because the last thing I needed tonight was to entertain anyone from one of the rival teams.

DeBronx Motorsports and Westbridge Racing had been fierce rivals for years, and with Jeffery driving for Westbridge, the rivalry was something I was all too familiar with.

He took it seriously too.

When I lifted my head again, I nearly choked on my drink because seated beside me was the multiple Grand Prix winner and three-time world champion, Graham Scazard, the most popular Formula One driver in recent times.

He's referred to as the King of Formula One, the Charm Prince, and Style King.

Jeffery hated him and always referred to him as overhyped. He always found a way to blame him for sabotage each time he lost a Grand Prix.

Graham was holding a glass; his eyes were fixed squarely on me.

I narrowed my eyes. "What?! Never seen a girl drinking before?"

"I have," he replied, taking a leisurely sip from his glass before setting it down. "But I haven't seen one looking so damn pissed like you do. Tell me, what's biting your ass?"

"None of your business." I snorted and turned away.

"Well, it is my business if you're going to spend the entire evening drowning yourself in alcohol." He replied, twirling the contents of his glass, still staring. "Gotta look out for a lady in distress. It's a gentleman thing. Though I have to wonder what kind of idiot would let a beautiful woman like you sit alone at a bar, drinking herself into oblivion."

"Newsflash! My boyfriend-ex! Boyfriend!" Because that was exactly what Jeffery would be pretty soon. "-do not care."

I picked up my glass and emptied it. Then I tapped it on the counter, calling the Bartender's attention for another refill.

My head is woozy, and I’m finally getting that feeling…

But it's neither grief nor sadness. It's... numbness.

As the bartender prepared my drink, I glanced sideways to find Scazard still staring.

This time, however, I was unable to look away immediately.

I suddenly felt inexplicably drawn to him in a way that I can’t explain.

It took the bartender tapping my arm to break the unexplainable pull.

God, what was that?

A cocky smile tugged at his lips before he finally looked away.

I took the opportunity to treat myself to a long stare of his side view as he swallowed his drink, the muscles in his throat contracting smoothly.

To my utmost surprise, he suddenly leaned toward me, “Like what you see?”

This close, Graham Scazard looked downright overpowering, and there was something about the tone of his voice that sent cold shivers down my spine.

I looked into his eyes, and goosebumps broke across my skin.

I’m stunned.

If I didn’t think of the possibility that I was dead-ass drunk, I would have sworn that his eyes were glowing green, which is freaking impossible.

Those eyes assessed me as he waited for my reaction.

Deciding to take a risk, I answered his question with a “Yes,” managing to inject a confidence into my voice that I hadn't known I possessed, “But you must hear that all the time.”

He slowly shook his head. “Not from a woman like you.”

I nodded.

By a woman like me, he must mean someone fat and unattractive.

Except the look of unapologetic interest and maybe lust on his face as his gaze travelled from my head to my toes and back again suggested otherwise.

“You’re not like all the other girls in here,” he said, his voice slightly rougher.

“That’s because I’m clearly the only not-so-pretty girl here.”

He instantly frowned. “You're very hot and the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he told me, but it felt like all his voice did was brush against my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m Graham,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Know that already,” I muttered under my breath. “Catalina,” I replied, slipping my hand into his.

He took it, and once his fingers touched mine, a feeling of deep electrical pulsing surged through me, my fingertips tingling and a strange, hot sensation pooling between my thighs.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“So, Catalina," he said, his voice dipping into a maddeningly smooth tone. "Are you planning to spend the whole night drinking alone, or are you open to someone making your evening more interesting?”

I tucked my hair behind my ear, letting out a shallow breath; the thought of hooking up with someone as hot as Scazard to prove a point was already taking root in my subconscious even as the tiny voice of common sense in my head kept telling me not to do it.

But the needy part of me was pointing out the fact that I've not had anyone see me this way in a very long time, and I have every right to revel in it.

My eyes slowly swept over his body.

It was hard to believe that this extremely fine man was hanging around me when the bar was full of ridiculously gorgeous women.

For five years, I'd learned to measure my worth by how much of myself I could sacrifice without asking for anything in return.

Jeffery had made me feel like I was lucky he stayed, and I hate that my actions encouraged him.

Now, all I want to do is prove to myself that my world doesn't, indeed, revolve around him.

So, the reply fell off my lips before I could stop it. “Yes, if you’re offering.”

I paused for a moment before rushing through the words, “My boyfriend is cheating on me. He said it's my fault. In his words, "I look like a giant pumpkin, and no man would want to be with someone like me." So, right now, I’m looking to get beautifully laid. Just for tonight.” I added shamelessly.

Graham went still for a moment. Then he muttered a string of curse words that I couldn't make out the meaning of.

His fingers tightened against his glass. I noticed veins popping out on his temples with his eyes glowing a darker shade of green.

"Your boyfriend is a fool," he said in an unexpectedly cold voice.

I wanted to ask him about his eyes, but for some reason, I just couldn't stop staring at them as they seemed to be calling to me, and that’s weird.

I dismissed it as my alcohol-induced mind making things up.

Graham slid off his stool and stepped in between my legs, his gaze so damn interesting.

This close, I was completely awestruck by how good-looking the man was.

He leaned in, the warm breath from him ruffling the hair at my temple as tantalizing heat radiated from his body.

Then he tucked my hair behind my ear and whispered, “I’m offering, Catalina.”

As he said the words, his fingers trailed over to my back folds, and he caressed them so gently with so much reverence that I f*cking squ!rted.

Jesus Christ!

I tried to squeeze my thighs together, and ended up trapping him instead.

“I’m offering to get your body all tight, hot, and wet. Then watch as you slowly come apart,” he told me.

In the six years I’ve spent with Jeffery, not once have I ever slowly come apart with him.

I stared at Graham. His eyes were blatantly sensual now and subtly glowing as they held my gaze with a bold challenge.

My mouth was dry, and I was aching.

I slid my hands over his chest, along his ribs and into the back pockets of his jeans to press my heavy self against him.

His gaze darkened, and he put his mouth to my ear. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered.