Two Can Play (Celeste and Dominic) novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82

Nothing from Celeste.

Not a single text. Not even a missed call notification.

I checked the message threads, the call logs. Nothing.

Did bringing my mother and sister home really upset her that much? They were family. That was the point. You didn’t abandon family. But Celeste had never been this angry. Never ignored me like this. In all the years I’d known her, she’d never let a fight go past midnight.

I didn’t like this. I didn’t like the silence, the distance, the way it made my chest feel hollow.

I missed her.

I missed the way she used to laugh at my stupid jokes. The way she’d fall asleep on my chest during movies she’d insisted on watching. The way she’d kiss my shoulder in the morning before I was even

awake.

The whiskey burned going down and I ordered another.

A shadow fell over my table.

I looked up.

Red hair, the kind of red that looked dyed but natural at the same time, falling in waves past her shoulders. Big blue eyes, heavy lashes, lips that were made for wrapping around a cock. A pink pair of shorts so short they barely covered the curve of her ass, and a white strapless tank top that did nothing to hide the size of her breasts. They were huge. Voluptuous. The kind of tits that made you forget your

own name.

She smiled. “You look lonely.”

“Get lost,” I told her.

“You sure?” She leaned forward, giving me a view of her cleavage. “I can fix that.”

“I said get lost.”

She didn’t move. Just stood there, smiling, waiting.

I pushed her. Not hard. Just enough to make her step back. My hand landed on her stomach and she stumbled half a step.

Her smile flickered. She turned and walked away.

I went back to my whiskey. Sat there drinking and thinking about Celeste. About the way she’d looked at me across the dinner table the night we got engaged. About the way she said my name when she was happy. About the way she smelled, that mix of jasmine and something sweet she’d worn the day we met.

1/3

I was being an idiot.

+15 Bonus

I was out here drinking alone while my wife was at home, probably crying, probably wondering why her husband had walked out instead of fixing things.

I looked at my watch. Eleven.

I could still go home. We could still fix this.

I downed the rest of my drink and stood up. I’d call her first. Soften the ground. Then when I walked through that door, she’d be ready to talk.

I stepped outside. The club was too loud for a phone call so I stood on the sidewalk, the bass still thumping through the walls behind me.

I called Celeste.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail.

I called again.

It rang four times. Then the call ended. Deliberately. She’d rejected the call.

I stared at my phone.

I called again. Rejected.

Again. Rejected.

Again. Rejected.

Was it the network? Was she asleep? Did she not hear her phone?

I sent a text.

‘Why are you not answering my calls?’

Thirty seconds later, my phone buzzed.

‘Stop disturbing my sleep.’

I stared at those four words until they burned into my retinas.

Stop disturbing my sleep.

She was telling me to stop disturbing her sleep. Like I was a stranger. Like I was some nuisance she had

to deal with.

The anger came back. Hot and fast and blinding.

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