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“I think you should leave.”
Dale glares. He does not move.
“You know why I had to have all those affairs?” I feel his spit land on my cheek.
Pain shoots through me. Had he just admitted to multiple affairs? How stupid and naïve I had been. I had thought the peroxide bimbo had been the only one.
“I don’t care.” And I really don’t. He cheated on me. Would knowing why really make any it better? I don’t think so. “I had all those other women because you’re frigid. You don’t know how to have great sex.”
Now tears do well up and I clench my fists. Arrogant prick.
“I pity the next man you date.”
It takes all my effort not to scream at Dale’s face what a loser he is, and throw the closest thing within my reach, the only one of any real value in my apartment, my great grandmother’s porcelain vase.
“Well, for your information I think you were the problem. You don’t know how to satisfy a woman. I pity the women who have sex with you.” I pause. “You probably pay them so they have no choice but to oblige and suffer through your grunting and pathetic attempt at getting a woman to have an orgasm.”
Without another word I walk to the front door, scissors still in hand.
“I think you better go and never come back,” I tell Dale, and then open the door for him to leave.
When I open it I cannot believe my eyes. I know the man standing there about to knock. I wasn’t expecting him.
Pushing Blake out of the way Dale storms past me. His parting words of ‘you won’t last long’ stay with me.
Chapter 11
Blake
What the…?
Am I hearing right? Is there an asshole inside Katherine’s apartment right now? It sure seems so.
I can’t say I was expecting that. I drove all the way here to show her the sketch I did of her, and now there’s some random jackass to deal with it.
Ah, fuck it.
Raising my fist, I’m about to rap my knuckles against her door when it suddenly swings open. My eyes meet Katherine’s right away, and I can’t help but enjoy the surprise on her face. She wasn’t expecting to see me here.
“You won’t last long,” the guy standing next to her mutters, stepping out the door and pushing me out of the way. I take one step back to let him through, but something in his tone of voice strikes a chord inside me.
Before he can leave, I reach for him and grab him by the scruff of his shirt.
“Play nice, asshole,” I tell him, turning on my heels to meet his gaze.
Judging by the way his eyes widen as I grab him, I’d say he wasn’t expecting me to do that. No, he wasn’t. This is the kind of guy who’s used to having everything he wants at a drop of a hat.
“I know you,” he says, looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face. “Blake,” he continues, my name leaving his mouth like a curse.
“Well, I know you too,” I find myself saying, suddenly recognizing his smug face. This guy is the owner of some bullshit gallery where I once held an exposition. I remember the arrogant prick and the way he looked at my paintings.
“So you’re the one fucking her, aren’t you?” he asks me, his eyes never leaving mine.
I react without thinking. I close the distance between us, grab him by the collar of his shirt, and push him back against the wall.
“Listen here, you fuckin’ asshole,” I growl, trying to resist the urge to introduce him to my fist. “I don’t give two shits about you, got that? But you’ll respecther,” I continue, slightly nodding toward Katherine.
She’s standing by the doorway, looking at us both with an expression that tells me she has no idea on what to say or do.
