Page 33 of Stone
Don’t get me wrong, it started off good. He met me outside the restaurant, pulled out my chair for me, helped me order what was best, and we chatted like we do at the hospital. He even made me laugh, which helped me relax, even if I didn’t see us going any further. Just the thought of him kissing me made me want to vomit.
But like I said, everything was good, until it wasn’t.
He went to pay, but had apparently forgotten his wallet, I didn’t see it as anything and said I’d pay and that was fine. I’m independent but then he went to the men’s room and after five minutes he hadn’t returned and I began to worry until I heard a few men that were walking past talking about a man screwing the waitress from behind.
Guess one cheating boyfriend made me suspicious, so I went to check, and lo and behold, Mark had the waitress's ginger hair in a fist. His head was flung back as he moaned without a care while thrusting inside her ass, and instead of making a scene, I walked back to my seat and waited for him to finish.
The idiot actually acted like I was some dumb girl that had no idea what he had been doing when he returned freshly screwed with lipstick on his neck. God, he even tried to kiss me near my car, which I thankfully managed to dodge, and then this morning, he was screwing another nurse in the supply closet with the door open as I walked past.
I managed to dodge him all day until he saw me walking out after my shift and decided to follow instead of getting the hint.
His pager goes off, and I internally sigh.
Saved by the beep.
“Crap, an emergency, I’ll call you, Rose,” he says quickly as he rushes back into the hospital, while I sneer, “Don’t count on me answering, dick.”
If only I didn’t work with him, then everything would be alright. I would tell him where to go, but he’s higher than meon the totem pole, and can make the remainder of my time here hell.
Three weeks, I only have three weeks to go.
Shaking my head, I continue my trek to my hired car, not knowing how I’m going to navigate this kind of situation. Before Cage, I didn’t date. I didn’t look at men and think I wanted to try something with them. The only reason I agreed to go on a date with Mark was that I wanted to move on.
I’m a dumbass….
I didn’t move on, I got whiplash, and Cage is still on my mind as usual.
Why did he have to do this?
Why did he have to be married?
I groan as I reach the top floor of the apartment building the hospital put me in. Fifty-five minutes later after being stuck in New York traffic before I unlock the light gray door and walk inside. I tense before I even shut the door and I don’t even need to look up in the open kitchen and living area to know I’m not alone.
My whole body tingles, my heart races, and my body warms.
Cage.
I can feel my breathing pick up before I slowly lift my head and yep, my ex-boyfriend is sat forward on the cream couch. His elbows on his knees, his fingers linked, dangling as he looks at me intently. Not how Mark looked at me, like I was a conquest, but with longing and love, a look he has no right to hold.
He’s married, his wedding ring is still fucking on, along with his cut that he hid from me.
“Hello, red,” he says lowly, snapping me out of my shocked thoughts, and we lock eyes.
He looks tired, but by the helmet on my glass coffee table, I’m guessing he rode over twenty hours to come here. Why, I don’tknow. Maybe he doesn’t want me to tell his wife about our affair, because that is what it was, an affair.
I can feel my emotions building, and the urge to cry my eyes out is consuming me, but I hold it back as I look Cage in the eye and demand, “Leave, now.”
He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t smile. He stands and slowly walks over to me, instead of leaving like I asked, he shuts the door, then slowly moves behind me. He doesn’t touch me, most likely valuing his life, but I do feel his body warmth.
“I think you and I need to talk, red,” he murmurs, and I tense at the nickname.
“Actually, I think you should go back to your wife,” I snarl back before moving away from him, refusing to allow myself even a second to enjoy having him close.
He isn’t mine, he belongs to someone else.
“Rose, it isn’t what it seems,” he tries, and I spin around, point at him and snap, “Lies, everything is all lies, our whole relationship was lies.”
He flinches at my anger, and I demand, “Are you married?”
