“I got your text. What’s so important? I was kind of in the middle of something. You said this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
I take a step forward, ignoring the annoyance in his tone. No. It can’t wait. Ant presses a kiss to my lips, sighing like the most put upon guy as he ushers me inside.
I know I could never have fallen in love with Ant, even if our relationship had been allowed to progress to that stage. He’s kind of a prick. But he knows who my family is and doesn’t care. That’s a rare thing in Boston for someone like me.
He drops onto the sofa, shoving aside a game controller. So, the things he was busy with were video games? Yeah, this relationship ending is no big loss, that’s for sure.
I take a seat beside him, and he slings his arm around my shoulders, propping his feet up on the coffee table and groping my breast.
I shift uncomfortably, trying to dislodge his hand subtly, and sigh.
“This has been really great, hasn’t it?” I ask his coffee table. It hasn’t, but that’s what you say when you let people down gently, right? That’s what every guy has started this conversation with when he finds out who my father is and dumps me. Not a great frame of reference, but it’s all I’ve got.
Ant freezes, sliding his arm from around my shoulder, reaching over and grasping my chin.
“What’s going on, Tiggy?” he asks, forcing me to look into his eyes. I try to jerk my chin out of his grasp, but he tightens it, his fingers digging into my jaw. Uh, ouch.
“I’m trying to break up with you gently,” I grit out. He’s really making this fucking easy. I should have done thismonthsago.
His eyebrows fly up as he frowns. “Why the fuck are you trying to break up with me at all, Tiggy? As you’ve just said, it’s been great. Why mess up a good thing?”
Because it hasn’t really been good? Because our relationship is mainly me hounding him to organize dates, him toying with his phone, us fucking, and him leaving my bed?
My eyes roam over his face. He looks like a member of a 90s boy bad. What the hell was I thinking? Maybe I should give him the truth, not a genericit’s not you, it’s me. That should make this quick.
“I’m getting married in three weeks,” I whisper.
All the blood drains from his face as his hand tightens on my chin. Shit. I try to jerk it away again, but he holds on for dear life. I’m totally going to have a bruise tomorrow. I need to pick up some decent concealer on my way home.
“Fucking hell, Tiggy. Of all the things you could have said, it had to be that, huh?”
The shutters come down over his eyes, and I’m on the outer. He shoves my face away from him as he lets my chin go. I flex my jaw, the blood rushing back into it.
“Best wishes with your marriage. You’re a fucking idiot for agreeing to it. You’ll never be happy.”
I nod stiffly. I know a dismissal when I see one. We both get to our feet, and he walks me to the door. I turn, pressing a kiss to his cheek before I leave.
“Have a good life, Ant. You deserve it.”
He doesn’t, but one of us should be the bigger person, and if I learned anything in the last eight months, it’s not going to be him. He nods, closing the front door in my face.
NowI can go home, cry and ice my jaw. Tomorrow, I need to call my landlord and break my lease. I guess I’m moving from a relationship with one asshole to a marriage with another one. I was so close to getting out of this life. But escape was never an option. Not for me.
I stop at the Pharmacy to buy some concealer on my way home. Walking along the strip mall, I also buy a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine. I’ve earned it.
A flash of red catches my eye, and I pause, turning to look in the window of a lingerie store. Chewing my lower lip, I sigh and walk inside. The scent of strawberry swirls in the air. I’m surrounded by lace and sexy lingerie.
Strolling around, I pause in front of a lacy white nightgown. That’s…bridally. Seamus Fitzpatrick has two reputations in the Boston Underworld. He’s a sadistic bastard who leads a crew of fucked up men who are really good at murder and all that awful mafia stuff. He’s also a silver-tongued Casanova.
I’ve just spent eight months dating an asshole, who hadn’t given me a single orgasm the entire time, simply because he didn’t immediately show me the door when I admitted my past. If I’m going to spend the rest of my life married to a womanizer, I’m having a fucking mind-blowing orgasm on my wedding night.
I have no idea what Seamus Fitzpatrick’s plan is for us… sexually. But if he’s as big a man whore as his reputation says he is, there’s no way he will be able to resist me inthisnightgown.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” The young retail assistant flashes me a bright smile, brushing her locs over her shoulder as she turns to look at the nightgown I’m staring at.
“Actually, yes. I want to try this one on.”
“A special occasion, girl?”