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“Go and do what you’ve been doing with the others.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagining having sex with me is as close as you’re ever going to get. You big, stupid jerk.”
I hang up, wrap myself in a towel, and then I storm out of the bathroom.
The man is a first-class idiot.
* * *
I watch my phone dance across my side table while I lie in bed.
It’s late on Thursday night now, and Spencer has been calling me non-stop since our disastrous call on Tuesday.
I don’t want to answer. I mean, what is there to say?
While I’ve been pining over here for him, he’s been out screwing around, imagining my face when he was w
ith someone else.
I’m shocked and appalled, but if I’m being totally honest, a little relieved that he had to imagine me to climax. That’s God punishing him for being such an asshole.
And why does he have to be so damn honest all the time?
It’s infuriating.
Beth thinks I should speak to him, and that in his eyes, I have double standards because he thinks I slept with someone else, too. She thinks I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe I am.
But maybe I’m just not cut out for casual dating, and this was just the gentle reminder I needed. He had me naked in the bath touching myself, for Christ’s sake. Talk about being putty in his hands.
The phone stops vibrating, and I stare at the ceiling, a sad, dejected feeling sweeping through me. I feel like I’m back to square one with him—below square one, because now I know he’s having sex with other women.
Maybe I should have answered his call and had it out with him. Perhaps it would make me feel better?
I exhale heavily and pick up my phone to start scrolling through Instagram when the phone starts to vibrate in my hand again.
I stare at it for a moment.
Screw it. “Hi,” I answer.
“Are you fucking serious?” he snaps.
I stay silent, unsure what to say.
“Okay, firstly… don’t you dare hang up on me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Secondly, yes, I am well aware that telling you I imagined you during sex was probably the stupidest thing to ever come out of my mouth.”
“Who was she?”
He hesitates.
“I want to know who she was.”
“Her name is Sheridan, and she’s an old friend. She lives in America.”
