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At first the breakup really bothered me, and a part of me had been sad. After all, we had history. We shared time. But as the months wore on, it became obvious we couldn’t even be in the same room together. Whenever he saw me, Garrett was constantly goading me into a fight.
“When are you leaving?” he’d ask. “Why haven’t you found a place yet?”
I’d wanted to get along with my ex — especially since we lived in the same home — but it was becoming more and more impossible. Luckily, his latest job had him working nights. Being on opposite schedules, we saw each other a lot less often these days.
As I pulled into my driveway, I froze. The lights in the kitchen were on. Living room too.
Damn.
I could still avoid him. If I came in through the side door, I could probably slip into the hallway and make it to my room. Maybe even without him knowing.
Gingerly closing my car door, I quietly entered the house. The first thing that hit me was the smell of coffee. Which was weird, because Garrett never drank coffee. Especially not—
&n
bsp; “Hi there.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin, whirling at the sound of a feminine voice. Chastity — I’d seen pictures on Garrett’s social media account — was leaning against my kitchen counter, drinking coffee from one of my favorite mugs.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
“Sweetie you know who I am,” she said coyly. “Don’t pretend.”
Sweetie? I couldn’t believe the audacity of this bitch! My jaw dropped open so wide, I could’ve swallowed a softball.
“You’re one of Garrett’s girlfriends,” I said, intentionally pluralizing. “I don’t even care which one. But what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”
“Drinking coffee,” she shrugged.
“Drinking my coffee. Out of my mug.”
She shrugged again, this time with a cocky grin. “Yeah,” she chuckled. “I guess I am.”
I was ready to clock her. She looked pale and waifish, and on the unhealthier side of skinny. She was also, in my opinion, on the uglier side of the beauty spectrum.
Garrett’s lowering his standards, I thought to myself smugly. Either that, or she’s batting out of her league.
“Where’s Garrett?”
“Here,” came a familiar voice.
My ex husband stood in the doorway, shorts, T-shirt, barefoot. Obviously not dressed for work.
“I thought you had a shift tonight,” I said.
“No. I don’t.”
My gaze shifted to Chastity again, then back to Garrett. We’d made an agreement, he and I. One in which we wouldn’t bring other people around each other. So far I’d seen some evidence of women in my house, but he’d been discreet enough that I’d let it go. I on the other hand, hadn’t brought a single guy home.
Not that I had any guys to bring home.
“Whatever,” I sighed, still angry. I was more mad about her using my coffee maker than anything else. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Instead of stepping aside so I could go make the hallway, Garrett put his arm up to block my way.
“Claud. We need to talk about stuff.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “And no, we don’t need to talk about anything.”
