Page 19 of Accidental Husband
That's just win-win.
It was fun. More fun than I'd had in a while. The novelty of growlingyou don't get to take my cock unless you're a good girldid shit to me.
But that thrill is gone. It disappeared sometime between the demand I sent her last night and that picture.
Nothing of note happened in the last day.
Nothing but Jules's news.
But that has nothing to do with this.
Jules: You can say I'm stuck in high school because I keep reading books about sixteen-year-olds. But who's the one hung up on what he hated in high school?
And there it is. That spark that's missing with Lee Ann.
It's not that I want to fuck Jules. It's her banter. Her smile. Her laugh.
Her laugh is better than anyone's groan.
I send my fuck buddy anI've had fun, but I'm moving on. Take caretext (yeah, I could sugar coat it, but it's crueler giving her hope), then turn my attention to Jules.
We read the book together. One chapter. A flurry of texts. Rinse and repeat.
The more I read, the more I get why she loves this shit. It's sweet. Honest.
Even though they've been through a lot, these kids are innocent.
When they finally kiss, the clouds part, the birds sing, the Earth moves. They feel it in their bones, their hearts, their souls.
I wish I could believe in that kind of love, but I've seen the real thing. It destroys people, bit by bit, until they're shells of themselves.
Until they disappear completely.
* * *
The next day,I finalize arrangements. Then I pour myself into the day's clients—a couple getting a heart and lock, a guy finishing his ocean-themed sleeve, a woman who wantsCarpe Diemon her wrist.
With her hot pink hair and her The Cure t-shirt, she's a Goth version of Jules (who is way too lazy to commit to any sort of style). Tattooing her wrist brings me back to the day I adorned my best friend's skin.
I try to push the memory away, but it lingers. It's too loaded. It dissolves all my defenses. Disables my judgment.
All day—through work, the gym, a long shower, dinner, a night of texting Jules—I buzz with fury.
Only two things make me angry. Assholes who hurt my mom and assholes who hurt Jules.
Even when I'm the asshole.
When she's the asshole.
When some sort of abstract misery is the asshole.
This…
We don't talk about it. Not anymore. But every so often, it hits me. I wonder if she's still okay. If she's honoring her promise. If she's lying to me again.
I can't stand liars.
She knows that.
