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“Whoa, I should arrest you.” He grabs the handcuffs from his belt and holds them in the air. “You ever worn a pair of these?”
I flip him off.
“Is that an offer?” He swings the cuffs back and forth like a pendulum. “We can put these to enjoyable use.”
I point to the door. “Get out.”
“By the way, work on your aim.” He smiles, taps my door with his knuckles, and leaves the room without shutting the door.
I take a few minutes to make sure he’s gone before jumping up from my seat and charging into the reception area. “You’re fired, Melanie. Quit watching porn and watch who comes into my office instead.”
Melanie peeks up from her desk, faking innocence. “I wasn’t watching porn. I was waiting to hear a live show while you two screwed in there. Figured it’d be much more entertaining.”
I shoot her an annoyed glare. “Shut it.”
“The sexual tension bled through these walls and practically gave me an orgasm.”
“You can’t havesexual tensionwith a man you hate.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, boss lady. Hate sex is the best sex.”
I retreat to my office and grab the flask.
Screw it.
* * *
I’m Chloe Fieldgain,and I am a walking, talking cliché.
I caught my boyfriend cheating—and I stupidly forgave him.
He proposed—and I stupidly said yes.
I caught him cheating again—and I stopped being an idiot and dumped his ass.
And what do I earn for my train wreck of a five-year relationship? Hearing the gag-worthy story of him proposing in Town Square to the woman he cheated with, and the second embarrassment of knowing that they’re tying the knot today—four months after we broke off our engagement.
Today is the wedding, and no amount of alcohol will help me forget.
That doesn’t stop me from trying, and where better than in a public place? That’s why I’m stupidly getting my drink on at the Down Home Pub—the only bar in Blue Beech.
I took a sip from my flask after Kyle’s departure earlier today and then put it back in case anything work-related dropped onto my desk. When five o’clock hit, I headed straight to the pub, and I’m now sitting at the bar in the corner where the brokenhearted linger.
A slight buzz is hitting me as I trace the names scratched into the wood of the bar with my finger. All day, I’ve forced myself to remember the worst of Kent—the cheating, him being not so great in bed, and his shitty sense of humor. My intoxicated mind needs to be reminded that dropping him was the best thing to happen to me.
Who wants to live the rest of their life with shitty sex and a cheating bastard of a boyfriend?
Not this girl.
“Well, well, well, if it’s not-my-favorite reporter. You here, stalking around, waiting for someone to create a scene, so you can write an article about it tomorrow?”
That motherfucking voice.
I knock back the rest of my drink, needing the liquid courage, and tilt my gaze forward to find Kyle sitting a few stools down from mine. Unlike me, he’s changed out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. A red buffalo plaid flannel covers his shoulders, and a backward ball cap hides his hair.
“If it’s not-my-favorite asshole,” I reply before swirling my tongue in my mouth to capture any lingering excess alcohol. To deal with him, I need to be as drunk as possible.
“Oh,favorite? I like that.” He winks, stands up, and comes my way even though I’m not sending anI want companyvibe. “Maybe I’ll work my way up to your favorite fuck.”
