AllFreeNovel
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And you know what I’ve learned over these past few years?
It’s that self-preservation looks different for everyone. Part of me even believes that’s why he’ll never stop chasing me. Because my decision to end things with him defies his ability to have untouched power and legacy and prestige. Because someone in his position doesn’t get left. They get trophy wives. And mistresses. And escorts. They get whatever praise and approval and accolades they want.
They get everything they want.
Anything they want.
Whenever they want.
They definitely don’t get dumped.
And they damn sure don’t get dumped in a crowded four-star restaurant for other people to witness.
Observe.
Judge.
All of which was a ploy to make it out of the initial situation alive.
I didn’t even go back to my apartment that night.
No.
I hid for three days at an acquaintance’s apartment – jotting down her streaming passwords and pilfering anxiety medication – hoping and praying and lighting candles that everything was finally over. That he got the message.
And he had.
He just didn’t like it hence the hundreds of roses crammed inside my apartment alongside beheaded stuffed bunnies that spelled out “You Are Still Mine”.
God, there was so much stuffing everywhere.
And thorns.
And my blood from the attempting to clean it up.
His obsessive need to have “the one that got away” – literally – has created my compulsive need to fucking run.
Even if it is out of an adorable corner grocery store, away from someone who makes me feel safe and secure and seen in ways I didn’t think were possible anymore.
Not sure I ever really thought they were possible to begin with.
“Want help?” Kipp enthusiastically asks from beside me, near the sink area.
“You mean you want me to want help,” I sassily tease, eyes pulling themselves away from the ingredients I’ve just finished lining up.
“You want me to want to help,” he smoothly flirts and leans in a bit closer.
“You mean you want me to want you to help.”
“How about I want this stupid fucking conversation to stop?” Nolan grunts from the couch in the nearby living room.
It’s impossible not to shoot my attention over my shoulder in his direction. “Want an ice-cold beer instead?”
His salt and pepper scruff covered face threatens to reveal a smirk. “You bringin’ it to me, Rabbit?”
“Should I bring you your supper too? Be barefoot and pregnant while I’m at it?”
The corners of his lips slowly creep upward until the grin I hate myself for wanting to sit on is plastered on his face. “I wouldn’t mind you being one of those things.”
