Black Sheep by Tabatha Vargo Page B

and a twelve pack down, a knock sounded on my door. It wasn’t often that I got visitors, especially in the middle of the night, but usually, it was one of the guys stopping by to hang out. I stood from the couch, the room spinning and letting me know I’d drank too much too fast, and I went to the door. Skipping the peephole completely, I threw the door open to find Nicole standing there staring back at me.
    “We need to talk,” she said, before stepping around me and coming into my apartment.
    I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet smell of her perfume as she passed.
    I was drinking.
    No.
    I was drunk.
    My control was already close to snapping after seeing her with another guy, so adding in alcohol and jealousy wasn’t going to help. Her being in my territory wasn’t going to end well or it was going to end great. Either way, I was going to be in hell.

EIGHT
    Nicole
     
     
     
     
    ONCE WE WERE home, and I settled my things in my room, I made myself a sandwich while the rest of the family crashed. Standing at the kitchen counter, I ate and stewed over the way Tyson had acted toward me. About an hour after Tyson left without saying goodbye, the real anger set in.
    Who the hell did he think he was anyway?
    He had no right to be mad at me. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was eighteen years old, and I’d dated maybe three times in my entire life. I deserved a friend—even if Russell thought we were more at the moment, which I would have to take care of after the holidays.
    The main point was Tyson had chosen our situation. I’d thrown myself at him more times than I wanted to admit, and every time, he pushed me away. I wasn’t about to let him make me feel guilty for moving past him.
    Screw him.
    Making sure not to wake the entire family, I took Dad’s car and drove over to Tyson’s apartment. It was the middle of the night, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. Anger was fueling me, and that made me do irrational things. I drove by several times, and seeing the lights still on in his place, I finally got the nerve to park.
    The leather of the steering wheel squeaked under my abusive grip. My nerves were getting the best of me, and I was starting to sweat even though it was cool outside. I hadn’t even turned on the heat in Dad’s car.
    I had no idea what I was going to say once I was face to face with him, but I needed him to know he was the one in the wrong … not me. I needed him to know he was no longer in control of my dating life or anything else in my life. I had to let him go. I had to move on, and that’s kind of what I was doing with Russell.
    Kind of.
    He looked like shit when he opened the door, his wide shoulders taking up the doorway and a beer dangling from his fingers. I’d never seen Tyson drink before, not even at the few high school parties I’d gone to, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it very much. I especially didn’t like the way he looked at me once he opened the door. Like I was nothing—like I wasn’t good enough to be in his presence.
    I pushed past him, sure that he would shut the door in my face if I didn’t, and my shoulder slammed into his. It was cold outside, but when my body crashed into his for that brief second, his warmth made my frigid fingers tingle.
    He turned, watching me as I stepped across his living room and took a seat on his couch. Then he clenched his eyes shut and sighed, his fingers turning white as he gripped the door and closed it.
    “We have nothing to talk about,” he said.
    The chuckle that sprang from my lips was full of sarcasm. All the times we skirted the issue—for seven years, we’d worked up to that moment—and he wanted to act as if the heavy weight settled between us didn’t exist. He was a pretender, and I was sick to death of pretending with him.
    “I disagree.” I stood and stripped my heavy coat from my shoulders. “You’re pissed off with me, and you don’t have the right to be. You’re the one who chose for things