Donovan
I’m not going to call. The ball is in her court here. If she wants to keep seeing that assface, that’s fine with me. Nothing I can do about it.
I sucked back my third vodka tonic since I’d walked in the door not even an hour ago, grabbed the spray bottle off the kitchen counter, and proceeded to angry-water my plants as I ranted.
“It’s bullshit. There’s no f*****g way she feels the same with Dickson.”
Spray. Spray.
“I just need to get laid. That’s all this s**t is.”
Spray. Spray.
“I’m not calling her. Screw that. You know what? Screw her.”
Spray. Spray.
But then I remembered what she’d looked like in that bathroom—red cheeks, lips swollen, hair that looked like it had just been fisted—because it had, by me. f*****g gorgeous.
And then what she’d looked like as she walked o
