Unable to look at him for another second, I spun, shoving down the hot tears that threatened to spill. I refused, absolutelyrefusedto cry in front of him. He didn’t deserve them.
“Maddy, wait,” he protested. I heard the rustling of sheets and assumed he stood up. Footsteps padded toward the open door.
I whirled back around, my honey-colored hair flying through the air, and Micah paused, buck-ass naked. He hadn’t even had the decency to put some damn clothes on. His fingers forked through his hair.
Fiery anger licked through my veins, making my skin flush, some of it embarrassment. “You know I hate it when you call me Maddy.” I held out a hand when he went to move closer. “And if you come anywhere near me, I’ll cut your dick off. Are we clear?”
I didn’t bother waiting for a response, didn’t care to hear one, if I was being honest. My heart hammered in my ears as I stormed off into the hall, leaving Micah in the doorway. A group of guys hanging out in the hallway snickered, and I flipped them off as I walked by. “Get fucked,” I mumbled, recognizing one of them as Warren Foster.
“Looks like someone already did,” the smartass replied to his friends.
I halted, turning back around and getting in the douchebag’s face. My knee came up, and a moment later, the only things coming out of his mouth were groans of pain and the hissing of a foul name. “If you want to keep being a man, get out of my way. Otherwise, I’ll make good on my threat and cut yours off instead.”
His other friends gladly stepped aside, and I bolted past.
“Crazy bitch,” I heard them mumble, but honestly, I didn’t give a shit what they thought about me. Warren and his buddies were a bunch of posers.
The image of Micah Bradford kissing and fondling some random chick on the bed burned in my mind with each step I took down the stairs.Bastard. Why had I thought for a second he might be different, that he’d changed? That I had been different… someone special?
God, I’d been so stupid.
He’d made me look like a fool. No one made Mads Clarke into a fool. I didn’t give a shit who they were, how much money they had, or the amount of influence they wielded.
Never fucking again.
Micah Bradford could crawl on his knees, beg in front of the entire world, and I still wouldn’t give him a second of my time.
I was canceling him.
From my phone.
From my social media.
From my life.
I wanted to live in a world where he didn’t exist, because from this day forward, Micah didn’t exist.
Not to me.
I grabbed a cup out of someone’s hands as I hurried through the house, needing to escape the crowd. The girl protested, but I kept walking, not giving a shit about anyone or anything. Pressure clamped down on my chest, the beer-infused air stale and suffocating as I drew in short breaths. Slamming back the contents, I shoved open the front door and stepped out on the porch, dragging in the cool autumn air greedily. It did little to ease the pain digging its nails into my chest. I tossed the empty cup to the ground, immediately looking for another to replace it.
“Having a bad night?” asked a deep, husky voice.
I whirled, spotting a guy sitting on the banister of the porch, back pressed against a column, his face partially shrouded in shadows. From what I could see of him, he looked older, possibly in college. His hair was black, blending too much with the shadows that I couldn’t tell if it was long or short, straight or curly. Not that it really mattered what he looked like. All I cared about was how full his cup was and how quickly I could snatch it and down the liquor.
I let out a short, bitter laugh, wandering closer to him, my eyes darting to the cup in his hand. The other brought something to his lips—a cigarette. “Bad doesn’t begin to describe my night,” I muttered.
The cherry end of his cigarette flared as he inhaled a long drag, eyes raking over me leisurely, his lips hooking in a lopsided smirk.
Maybe I should hook up with him for revenge, or to get Micah out of my system. Something. Anything to dull this stabbing pain, this feeling of being used and betrayed. He seemed interested enough and was easy on the eyes. It was hard to be on the same hot scale as Micah, but—
No! I am not going to do that, compare every guy to him.
And I wouldn’t use someone the way Micah used me just to numb my mind. Alcohol was better suited for my needs.
“You look like you could use this.” He took the cigarette from his lips and held it out for me.
I eyed the slim white smoke. “Fuck it. Why not?” I’d rather die of cancer than ever let Micah Bradford touch me again.