Game Over | 18+ ✓

III

I swear I spent the entire evening telling myself to stay away.

As soon as her last name slipped out of her mouth, I knew then that it was over before it even started. If I were lucky, she could've been a distant cousin whom Ian might not even recognize. But of course, even the stars and moon weren't on my side. She simply had to be the biological sibling of Ian, my heck of a close friend. Worse, she was the younger sister. 

From the nearly two decades I'd known her brother, I didn't doubt he'd kick my ass to Mars if he so much as knew the image I had of his sister in my head.

Even my dick protested when I forced my legs not to give chase after she shoved me away.

Too bad, I told Norman Jr. silently. If I had a couple more to drink, I might've been impulsive enough to risk it. But I was sober enough to know anything I attempted would most certainly ruin the 17-year friendship between Ian and me, and that was not forgetting the company the both of us built up from the ground with our sweat and blood. Yeah, Oscar, too, but that dude would surely be stuck in the middle if we were to fall out.

For fuck's sake, Ian even personally warned me not to try anything funny tonight before the wedding began. What else could I possibly do other than watch Irina strut away?

I tried to convince myself it was no big deal. It was ages ago. If my memory hadn't failed me, it was also merely a weekend fling. Though the longer I observed her from afar, the more I could see she was nothing like the younger, carefree version of herself, straddling and bouncing above me anymore.

For starters, she used to have her hair all the way down to the waist. In my memory, her long, black hair was a wild mess, tousled at the top of her head from all the times I fisted my hands in them, the ends slightly wavy from the way she slept on them. Now, they were cropped at her shoulders, completely neat, with not a single strand out of place, and so silky that I could just see the light reflecting off it.

Then it was the spectacles. She used to wear a pair of black, full-framed glasses that made her resemble more like a sexy librarian. Her, naked with just her glasses was equivalent to how naked women look with just a pair of stilettos on. It was probably the very reason why I failed to recognize her the moment my eyes landed on her face. She no longer wore them.

Appearance aside, her demeanour towards me had drastically changed too. Albeit I might've gotten her name wrong; I was never good with names, but it was clearly more than that since she had stiffened from the mere sound of my voice.

Curiosity gnawed at me.

It was no secret that I was a womanizer right from the day I turned sixteen. Not that it's anything to be proud of, but I didn't have to count to know that the number of women I'd been with ranged in triple digits. Out of the hundreds of them, I knew well nearly all of them ended on the high note, I always made sure to; with the exception of one girl who I'd unknowingly gave Syphilis to back when we were in college. Even she hadn't look at me with such disdain in her eyes.

So how could Irina Bryce?

I'd never not worn a condom after I was cured. To this day, I still had no clue where I'd gotten it from, but I'd learned enough from that lesson to get myself checked almost after every different bed partner.

I was 100% certain I was clean and had dutifully worn a condom during the weekend we rolled in the hay. There was simply no way I could've given her anything for her to hate me like this.

I wasn't aware I was blatantly staring at her until Elle waved a hand in front of my face to catch my attention.

"You're hurting my feelings," she remarked with an amused smile.