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Before the Games
Iwas such a fucking idiot.
Did I really think I could go toe to toe with anArchitectand nothing would go wrong?
Takeout boxes littered the kitchen as I crouched to feed Bingsoo, the fat white Persian meowing balefully for his dinner.
I knew Hiram had something to do with the accident, but I had no fucking proof. Which meant that I was fucked.
But at the very least, there was one thing I could do. Ditch his shrimp-dicked loser of a son. Because fuckthat.
I checked the time on my phone and scratched Bingsoo behind the ears.
“Be home soon, bingy-bear,” I called, grabbing my keys on my way out the door.
The drive to the bar where I was meeting up with Dylan wasn’t far, but it was enough for me to calm my nerves. It’s not like I could stop what I’d done at this point anyway—the emails were sent, the graphics were designed, and the final images were already sent to the printers.
God, I loved revenge. Almost more than I was going to love putting my fist right into Dylan’s rat-ass face.
I pulled into a parking spot, noticing that Dylan’s silver Lexus wasn’t parked anywhere yet.
Fine.
At least I wasn’t going to have to make a big public scene. I could just wait for him out here.
The press would do the rest for me anyway.
I grabbed a printed photo from the passenger side and crumpled it up, shoving it into my pocket as I climbed out of the car to wait for my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.
He didn’t disappoint, tires screaming into the parking lot about five minutes later. He flashed me a wink as he parked his car, a backward baseball cap perched over his long, dark hair. He’d been growing it out the last few months. In a way, it sorta made him look like Kohl.
If Kohl was a ham-fisted shithead, that is.
“Baby,” Dylan said, getting out of his car and coming to meet me. “You look—”
“Let’s get one thing straight, dipshit,” I snapped, putting my hand into his face and shoving him away from me. “First of all, I’m not yourbaby.”
“Vic, what the fuck—”
“Second,” I said, my voice raising as I cut him off. “I know it was you who sent my nudes to the press, you fucking—”
“Vic, baby, who the hell put that in your pretty little head? Did that loser Kohl—”
“Third,” I was shouting now. “Every hair on Kohl’s goddamn cunt is twice the man you’ll ever fucking be, so keep their name out of your fucking mouth.”
Dylan’s face went from pleading to angry in a second, his hand reaching to grab me, but I moved out of the way. “Listen, you little bitch. You were a fun piece of ass for a minute, but I’m not going to let you—”
“Let me?” I laughed, a manic note entering my voice. “Dylan, you haven’t been in control of this situation since we started. And you sure as fuck aren’t now.” I pulled the paper from my pocket and threw it at him, getting into the car and rolling down my window as I turned over the engine.
Dylan caught it, opening it up. His jaw dropped, voice taking on a deathly serious note I’d never heard before. “What the fuck is this, Vic?”
I grinned at him. “A goodbye present. I thought fair was fair, since you sold my nudes to the press, I used yours to make a littleadvertisement.”
“I don’t have—you fuckingcunt—”
“Might not,baby,” I said, reaching into the passenger’s side and throwing a fist full of printed flyers out the window. “But nobody reads the fine print anyway.”
The advertisement was simple but extremely effective. Dylan was undoubtedly busting his load after a pathetic two minutes of unskilled thrusting with a splash of text decrying the rise in syphilis and begging the public to use a rubber. As promised, the fine print did state that the image was just a model, but really… no one was going to read that.
