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I stand at the entrance to Kieran’s bedroom with Garen, the plumber, breathing heavily over my shoulder.
Kieran and his blonde-haired assistant, Ulla, are going at it missionary style. The way her head is pounding into the headboard is concerning. I didn’t think Kieran had it in him to cause a cockcussion.
It’s a term I heard way back in high school after I told my bestie about my first time. She tapped me on the forehead and said I was cockcussed because the guy jackhammered me into his wooden headboard. My head took a beating the day my virginity was lost. The rest of me got a warm buzz, but nothing else.
That same selfish guy gave me a headache a week later when I told him I wanted to blow him. He slid his dick between my lips and thrust his way to an orgasm as my head, once again, pounded out a beat on his headboard.
It was my second cockcussion and my last time with him.
I glance over my shoulder at Garen. All he gives me is a smirk and a half-shrug. Clearing my throat, I tap my hand against the doorjamb. “Kieran!”
The sound of the headboard banging against the wall drowns me out.
Ulla’s whimpers aren’t helping. Neither is the grunts coming from my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend.
I drop my gaze to the floor because I don’t want this mental image to imprint itself on my memory forever.
I pound my fist against the doorjamb. “Kieran! What the hell?”
Nothing.
The headboard keeps hitting the wall. Kieran continues his relentless thrusting, and Ulla screams something in what I think is Swedish, but that’s directed at her boss, not me.
“Dude!” Garen yells. “Your girl is right here, man! Knock it off!”
Finally, Ulla and Kieran turn to look at us. They break apart immediately with her scurrying across the bed to grab a blanket to cover her body with.
The look of horror on her face is obvious. Frustration is all I see in Kieran’s expression.
Is he pissed that he didn’t get off?
I toss the keys he gave me on the bed, narrowly missing his now deflating penis. “I’m out of here.”
Fortunately, I never left a thing at this place. I turn and maneuver my way around Garen, who is still planted firmly in the spot he’s been standing in since we wandered down the hallway together after hearing the sound of the persistent thumping coming from the bedroom.
“Bianca, wait!” Kieran calls out. “Just a minute.”
I take slow steps toward the apartment door. I know this conversation is inevitable, so I want to have it now. When I walk out of here, this chapter of my life needs to be over.
I turn as I hear his footsteps on the floor behind me.
He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a frown. His blond hair is a mess, and red lipstick stains his cheeks in smudged kiss marks.
“Let me explain, B.”
I’ve told him repeatedly not to call me that, but he’s never listened.
“Bianca,” I correct him. “You know I hate when you call me anything but my name.”
His gaze trails over my face. “I’m sorry.”
I can tell that he is. I see it in his eyes and the way he’s resisting the urge to reach out to me.
“It meant nothing,” he says the standard line that people toss out when they want you to sweep their infidelity under the rug. “It was a one time thing.”
I sense that he’s lying, but it doesn’t matter. He cheated. Whether it happened once or a hundred times is inconsequential.
“We’ve never said I love you to each other,” I point out softly. “Did you ever love me?”
“Did you ever love me?” he tosses my question back at me as he crosses his arms over his chest.
He’s gone from guilt mode to defense mode in the blink of an eye.
I answer honestly because I won’t walk out of here regretting anything I’ve done or said to him. “No.”
He steps back. “You didn’t?”
I shake my head. “I cared about you. We had fun.”
Nodding, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It was fun.”
I grab hold of the strap of the purse slung over my shoulder. “I thought you were a better man than this. If you checked out of our relationship, I deserved to know that. I shouldn’t have found out like this.”
His gaze darts over his shoulder. “It’s a one time thing. I had a critical conference that went to hell. Ulla offered to console me. We ended up here. None of this was planned.”
Excuses won’t change a thing.
If I were more invested in this, I would be on the floor in a puddle of my tears, cradling my broken heart.
“I’m going to go.” I gesture toward his door.
“I’ll call you in a few days, B.”
“Don’t.”
He nods. “Understood.”
We leave it at that. I thank fate as I step out of his apartment and shut the door behind me.
