Page 6 of Use Me
After my second cup of coffee, my phone buzzed with a text from Corey:
Corey: I was called in to cover for someone this morning. I’ll come over around eight to get my things.
I didn’t text him back.
Instead, I changed into workout clothes, went down to the gym in my building, and ran for thirty minutes straight trying to run my anger out.
At 7:48 that evening, I was showered, dressed in my nicest pair of jeans that Corey always said my ass looked great in, and a black sweater that hung off my shoulder. I wanted him to think I was okay when, in reality, I wasn’t sure if I ever would be. I loved Corey …
Or at least I thought I had.
Could I fall out of love that quickly? It was easier to think so given how angry I was, but at the same time, my heart still hurt.
At 7:55, I went in search of wine. I thought that maybe Corey had drunk the rest at some point, but sitting on my counter was half a bottle. I took out a glass and poured myself a full glass of the burgundy liquid.
At 7:58, I finished the glass and poured myself the remaining wine, this time sipping it as I browsed the internet, staying current with the world news.
At 8:09, there was a knock at my door. Corey still had a key, and I expected him to come in on his own like he always had. I needed to remember to get it from him.
I walked to the door, the wine making me dizzy for a split second, and opened the door to see his handsome face. I mean, his douche of a face. I needed to keep telling myself that he was an asshole. God, I loved his face though. I loved the way his short beard would tickle me between my legs. How I would tug on his blonde hair, moaning as I came. And how his hazel eyes would sparkle in the morning light when he smiled his dimpled smile every Saturday morning.
No! You stop that right now, Ashtyn!I scolded myself inwardly.
“Hi,” he greeted as though nothing had happened the night before.
“Hi?” I narrowed my eyes. “You think I’m happy to see you?”
“I texted you.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Let me get my things, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Give me my key first.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled his keys out. After he took one off the ring, he handed it to me. I tested it in the lock to make sure it was the correct key, and then I reached down and picked up the box I had packed for him. I shoved it into his chest. “Here you go. Goodbye.”
I started to shut the door, but he stopped me. “One last fuck for the road?”
A snort escaped my chest. “Yeah, I’ll give you one last fuck.” I swung my leg back and then forward, hitting him square in the balls. “Fuck you!”
His eyes widened before he dropped the box of his belongings. Some of the contents fell out, so I shoved them out of the way and finally slammed the door. I don’t know how long he groaned outside my door, but at 8:34 I left to go to the liquor store for more wine.
The air seeped into the denim of my jeans. I definitely needed more wine. Enough to numb the pain and the cold. It was late October and at least in the low fifties. And as luck would have it, it was raining. I had no idea the sky had mimicked my crying heart as if it too were heartbroken. It was only fitting that I had left my umbrella in my condo. I was too upset and hurt to care, so I started to walk down the city street in search of the closest liquor store. I walked along the buildings trying to stay under the eaves and out of the rain until I came upon a bar that was a few blocks away from my condo. Since the bar was closer than the liquor store, I changed my mind and decided to go there instead.
What I didn’t know was that decision was going to change my life.
Istared as Bridgette moaned, her hips rocking and her dark brown hair cascading down her back. She had a nice back. Hell, she had a nice ass.
I was going to miss that ass.
She moaned again, her back arching as some dude’s dick thrust up into her. It wasn’t my cock, and I wasn’t the one making her moan. Nope, some guy was inmybed, fuckingmygirlfriend as I stood in the doorway ofmybedroom. Whenever I’d seen this scenario play out on TV or in movies, there was a thought in my head that told me I’d go nuclear and murder the dude if it ever happened to me. However, as I stared at the live porn in front of me, I wasn’t mad or angry. I was—amused.
Should I clap when they finish?
Should I whistle?
Should I pay them for the show?
