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“I told you. I just want us to be friends.”
“There’s no chance in hell we’ll ever be friends, Rosa. What makes you think I’d ever want that?” I ask, rage rising within me. “Just leave me the hell alone. Go away. Now.”
“Fine,” she replies tersely, half turning as if she’s about to rise.
I’m halfway through a relieved sigh when, suddenly, she whirls back around to face me, grabbing me and planting a kiss on me, pressing her lips hard against mine.
I push her off as suddenly as she kissed me. “What the fuck, Rosa?”
Her smirk only fuels my anger. What has she got to be so damn happy about?
She glances toward the hotel entrance as she rises from the couch—just for a split second, but I know her tells. She’s up to no good.
I follow Rosa’s gaze, my heartrate rising with anxiety.
Fuck.
I can’t see her face, but it’s Nina.
I recognize the clothes she’s wearing—I watched her pick them out this morning, standing in front of her open wardrobe in her underwear, fresh from the shower and looking sexy as fuck.
I don’t know if I’ll get to see her like that again tomorrow morning.
Because Nina was standing just outside the big, glass panels.
She saw us. She saw Rosa kiss me.
She’s walking away now, her shoulders hunched and her hands at her face, like she’s wiping away tears from her eyes.
I turn to face Rosa, shooting her a glare. “You knew she was there didn’t you?”
“Who?” she asks, craning her neck to look out the glass panels. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brock.”
“You fucking crazy, selfish—”
Right at that moment, Mark Casey and two of his associates walk through the door.
Just what I need. A crazy stalker messing up my shit, making Nina cry, right before my big meeting.
Nina
My heart stops for a moment when I see him there, lips pressed against Rosa’s.
I can’t look at this, I think to myself, turning away in disgust.
My heart is breaking, and my world is crumbling down around me. I struggle to drag air into my lungs. It’s as if the air has thinned.
I need to get out of there, as far away as I can, as fast as I can.
I’m vaguely aware of Peter’s voice nearby, crowing victoriously.
“I told you!” he’s saying. “You never listen to me, but I was right! I was right all along, and now you see! He’s a cheating, scumbag asshole!”
I hurry away from the hotel entrance, blinking through my tears, struggling to find a way out of here. Peter follows me, still talking a mile a minute. I think I might puke.
A cab pulls up, and someone gets out. Before they have a chance to close the door behind them, I clamber in and yank it closed behind me, locking it.
Peter rushes to the window, pressing his palms against it, calling my name.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks.
“I don’t care,” I sob. “Just away from here. Drive that way, and I’ll tell you in a minute. Please, just go, now!”
He nods and pulls away.
Peter’s still trying to follow, screaming my name, knocking on the window, but he soon fades into the background as the taxi picks up speed.
“Is everything okay?” the driver asks, concern in his voice. “Was that guy trying to hurt you?”
Not trying. He has hurt me, so many times.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Can you just drive in circles, but stay away from that hotel? I need to make a call, and then I’ll tell you where to go.”
Thankfully, the driver shuts up and does as I’ve asked him.
I sit for a few minutes in total shock. My brain is still struggling to process what I saw.
I’m a coward. I should have stayed there, should have confronted that cheating asshole. How could I have trusted him? How could I have been so stupid?
I should be slapping Brock in the face right about now, but I just can’t stop crying for long enough to pull it together.
He’s been talking about rings, about marriage, about us, together, forever. And all the while, he was still in love with her. With Rosa.
Even thinking her name to myself makes my lip curl in contempt.
I should have listened to Dean.
I feel so stupid for just dismissing all of his concerns and warnings out of hand. All that time he spent telling me about what Brock is like—why didn’t I even entertain the possibility that it might’ve been true?
Dean has been Brock’s friend since they were kids—he knows Brock better than anyone. But no, I couldn’t see past my own infatuation, and now I’m paying the price for that arrogance.
I just don’t learn.
All those years I spent with Peter, rationalizing his behavior, until I finally saw the light . . . but I’ve obviously learned nothing from it. I latched onto the first guy who came along, who sweet-talked me, who showed an interest, and I’ve gotten my heart broken all over again.
