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He steps back from me, panting as he struggles for control. “What are you saying?”
“What are you saying?”
“We miss each other. We need to fuck,” he snaps.
I blink, shocked. “I don’t want to be your fuck buddy, Henley. I want to be in a relationship. I want you to love me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Here we go a-fucking-gain. Will you drop this bullshit?” he spits. “It’s never going to happen. Why would you want to ruin what we have? What we have is perfect.”
I take a step back from him. “Because I deserve better.”
He pants. His eyes are wild. “You said you missed me.”
“Because I’m in love with you,” I spit. “Because I know what we have is special. I know you feel the same. I can feel it. Do you think I can’t feel it?” My voice rises as I begin to lose control of my emotions.
“I can’t give you that, Juliet. I’m not fucking capable of it,” he fires back. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Can’t or won’t?” My eyes well with tears.
“If I could, I would.” His eyes are wild; his stance is crazy.
And there it is . . . spelled out in black and white.
“I want to be in a relationship, Henley. I want a man who is proud to call me his,” I whisper through tears. “I don’t want to be your booty call whose only currency is orgasms.”
He puts his weight onto his back foot. “Then move on.”
That’s it.
That is it. I am so over this self-centered fucking asshole.
“You know what?” I screw up my face in tears. “I’m going to. Tomorrow night I’m going on a date.”
“With him?” he snaps.
“Yes. With Joel.” I throw up my hands in surrender. Suddenly I want to hurt him the way he hurts me. “And guess what, Henley? I’m going to sleep with him, and I’m going to be the best damn fuck he ever had. Because Chloe is right: the only way to get over one man is to get under another. And I need to get the fuck over you . . . because all you do is think of yourself and hurt me.”
“Don’t you dare sleep with him,” he growls.
“You had your chance.” I shake my head in disgust. “Ha! You’ve had about a hundred chances, and you’ve blown them all.”
“Enough with the dramatics,” he spits angrily. “You belong with me.”
“Only on your terms. Guess what? I’m not some wimp who will take anything you give me.”
“You sure about that?” he sneers.
“Fuck you.” I turn and storm off.
“Don’t come crying back to me when he can’t get the job done,” he calls after me. “Nobody can make you come like I can.”
I hate that he’s right.
I storm up the alleyway, and with my ovaries screaming at me to go back and take whatever he is offering, I put my hand up for a cab.
One pulls up, and I get in and stare out the window.
Last chance.
