Page 86 of Intoxicated
Chapter 28
CHER
You know when things seem to be too good to be true? When the guy you’re seeing magically forgives all of your terrible personality quirks with unfounded grace? Or when you think that maybe,maybeyou’ve found your magical match and things might actually be changing in your life?
That’s when you bail, girl.
It’s one thing for a guy to get too clingy too quickly. Or to declare his undying love for you after only a few weeks. There are some seriously desperate men out there, so it’s never surprising when it happens. (Assuming you’re hot. I have it on good authority that makes a difference. Bonus points if you’ve tailored your grift to match their ideal type.)
It’s quite another thing for that man toinsult the hell out of you.
Thought we had a good thing going, Drew. Thought you knew our relationship was founded on sex, even if I allowed you to call me your girlfriend. Not just any sex, either. Angry, fucked-up sex. You may have been one of the first men I’ve ever been with who didn’t make me feel like a total freak for what I like, but that doesn’t give you the right to say what you did.
It’s been almost a week, and I’m still pissed the hell off.
Naturally, Drew tried to contact me. I blocked him. I made a point of being away from my apartment from morning until night, even if it meant camping out at new-to-me cafés so I could avoid seeing his mug. He had come to my door once before already. I wouldn’t put it past him to try it again. Whether he has or not, I have no idea. I’ve found no notes or heard whispers from the neighbors, If he’s sneaking around my door, he’s not hanging around.
Good.
I’m not a crier. I definitely don’t cry over men. The only way I could cry over a guy leaving my life was if my dad died tomorrow. That’s it. If I got that dreaded phone call, I’d cry. For a few minutes.
Drew won’t make me cry.
Not his absence, anyway. There may be an ache deep within me, but it’s not a hollowed heart. It’s my stupid pussy missing his dick. If Drew Benton could do one positive thing, it was fuck like a damned jackhammer. Doubt I’ll ever find a guy like that again. Hot, great dick,andknew how to screw a girl? That’s the holy trinity, friends. The money only makes it so much better. Most hot dudes with nice dicks are absolute snores in bed. Great lovers with nice dicks tend to be way below my level in the looks department. Don’t get me started on hot and good in bed. At some point, the little winky drives me out the door again.
Yes. That’s the only heartbreak here. My pussy is doing most of the crying, but my logic will win out.
Even if I cry.
I spared ten minutes the night my anger subdued. A few tears fell down my face. This was after my nose wrinkled and something burned behind my eyes. I had been at my desk, attempting to use my laptop, when the tears began to flow. What happened? No, I don’t give a fuck about Drew Benton. He can take his gorgeous body and shove himself up his own ass. I can pay for my own five-star dinners. Camaros are so damned overrated, the only reason I was caught in one was because I like free rides. I’ll treat myself to a brand-new vibrator that gets the job done as well as he ever did. Maybe I’ll hop on Tinder and get myself a mediocre rebound to totally prove I don’t give a fuck.
I think we both know what made me cry for the first time since rewatchingPay it Forward.
“You get off on feeling like a slut. That’s why you can’t stand being in a ‘real’ relationship. That’s the honest reason you want to be alone. So you can fuck anyone you want and keep that dream alive.”
Thinking about it makes me want to knock the pencil holder off my desk.
How dare he? Howdare he?Who the fuck is he to tell me who I am or what I’m about? I get off on feeling like a slut? He’s being way too literal about the sex we had. I bet he thinks women who like the missionary position and getting tender pecks to the lips are pious princesses. If I’m Mary Magdalene over here, then they must be the Virgin Mothers! That’s how it works, right, Drew? You either like getting your ass smacked and your throat choked or your little rosebud flicked with the tip of a tongue. There can never be anything in between. There are never emotions behind it. People are sooooo one-note, am I right?
Fuck him. Fuck him in his Camaro. Fuck him so hard his whole family going back four generations can feel that shit jam into his ass.
Maybe I don’t know why I’m crying. We can agree that I’m upset about what he said to me. You’d think I’d be over it after stewing in it for a couple of days, though. Yet for some blasted reason, his insinuation has hit me right in the diaphragm. He left me speechless. There I had been, reveling from some of the best orgasms of my fucking life, and suddenly he tells me I’m a bitch and a half because I like to feel like a slut?
Go to hell, Drew.
