Page 109 of Betting on the Bad Boy
“Chastity Austen? That book everyone’s talking about?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s all this is for you? Research for your book?” Dante stood and walked to the sink, turning his back to me.
I moved to stand behind him, desperately wanting to reach out, run my palm down the smooth skin of his back and press up against him. “That’s how it started. But then I fell for you…hard. I didn’t want to, but I did.”
“And now my sex life is going to be public? New Year’s Eve at the bar? The elevator? You wrote about everything we did together? In private?”
The anger in his tone crushed my heart. “I never meant for anyone to see it with your name on it.”
“But you were still going to publish all that shit? Doesn’t matter whose name you put on it, that was between us.” He turned and pushed past me to the living room. “I think you should go.”
I followed him toward the door. “Dante, I?—”
“Fucking unbelievable. I fell for you. I fell so fucking hard. Should have known better.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Damn. You got me good, Faith. You’re right. I don’t know you at all.”
I shrugged into my coat. He wouldn’t look at me. I tried to touch him, put my hand to his chest one last time, but he turned away. So much had been left unsaid. How could I make him understand? As I’d gotten to know him, I’d grown to appreciate how few people he let in. By the time my heart had caught up with my need for inspiration, the pages had started to appear. Now it was too late.
Before I’d fully stepped out onto the stoop, he slammed the door behind me. My fingers tightened around the front of my coat, and I somehow made it behind the wheel of the car before the wave of tears crashed over me and spilled down my cheeks.
I took a final look at the front of the house. The curtain fell back in place and the lights went out. As I turned onto the highway, the first pinks and oranges of dawn bled across the sky.
CHAPTER 53
Dante
I slippedthrough the next few weeks in a daze. By day, I stumbled through my time at the office. By night, I worked at the bar. There was nothing in between. The article in the paper hadn’t been that bad. But then a website published several of the steamy scenes—the thirteenth floor, the pool table—unedited and in full detail.
For the first couple of weeks, I’d been approached by a variety of girls. Faith was good at what she did, and I had to admit, she made me sound damn good on paper. In the beginning, I let them down easily. A smile, a shrug of the shoulders. As their advances became more brazen, my attitude sharpened.
I’d lost track of how many times I’d been propositioned as I walked across campus. I even caught a girl stuffing her underwear into my mailbox. Those chicks wanted me to do to them everything Faith wrote about in her books. The guys wanted my advice. I was so sick of this shit. I’d been spending as much time as I could down at Meemaw’s. By the end of the month, I’d have everything sorted and ready for the estate sale.
There was just one problem. I missed Faith. She’d called, left messages, sent texts, she even made me a batch of Meemaw’s lemon crinkle cookies. I’d eaten every last one and damn if they didn’t taste just like the old woman’s. Meemaw would have been proud—turns out Faithcouldbake. I’d done everything I could possibly think of to get her out of my head. I drank. Then I stopped drinking and started running. I was in the best shape of my life thanks to daily workouts at the gym.
I couldn’t stand it anymore and couldn’t wait to put as much distance between us as possible. In a few weeks, I’d be packing everything I owned into my car and driving halfway across the country to my new job in Baltimore. I just needed to survive a bit longer, and I’d be out of there. Somehow, the thought of moving farther away from her made me feel worse, not better.
I yanked an earbud from my ear. I’d hoped no one would bother me if it looked like I was listening to music, but Murph wasn’t necessarily known for paying attention to even the most obvious social cues.
“Hey, Murph, what’s up?”
“Do you need a spot, bro?” Murph asked.
“Sure.” I laid back on the bench and waited for Murph to get into position.
“Saw you got a bad break, man.”
“Yeah. Didn’t see that one coming.” I took in a big breath and extended my arms, raising the bar over my chest.
“I tried to warn you about that bitch.”
I cut my eyes to Murph’s face and grunted as I lowered the weight and pushed the bar up, completing one rep. “Watch it.”
Murph smiled a lopsided grin. “Still got it bad for her, huh? Dude, you’re pussy-whipped.”
