Jack’s groggy voice answers. "Samantha, what the fuck?"
"Really, Jack? I walk in on you and Ellen, and you're asking mewhat the fuck? You were with her, in our condo, in the bed we share. You were so busy that you didn't even notice I was there."
"Samantha, listen, it's all a mistake. I love you."
"Get out."
"Excuse me?" he asks.
"Get the hell out of the condo. I need to get ready for work, and I don't want to see you."
"No, we need to talk. Where did you spend the night? I've been worried."
Asshole.
He wasn't worried about me when he was busy screwing that slut.
My neck stiffens as I hold back the tears. The sadness and hurt I felt earlier are now replaced by anger, and I'm embracing it. "It's none of your business where I was. You forfeited the right to be worried. Get out of the condo. Don't make me call the police. If I do, I'll have you dragged out of there. Do you want your clients to see that on the morning news?"
"Samantha, you're blowing this out of proportion. I don't give a shit about her. I love you. We're getting married."
"That's where you're wrong. I left the ring for a reason. Take it with you. You have fifteen minutes. Whatever is left of your shit will be available on eBay in a day or two." I disconnect the call. As I do, I realize that my hands are shaking. It's not grief. The trembling is exhilarating, similar to the rush of adrenaline after running a race.
I don't really plan to put his shit on eBay. Hell no, that would take too much work. The dumpster will be sufficient.
Twenty minutes later, after getting a giant coffee in the drive-thru, I open the door to my condo. An overwhelming scent of flowers fills my lungs. Bringing my hand to my nose, I stand in disgust at the room filled with roses. All different colors. Red. Yellow. White. Lavender.
They're everywhere.
How did he do this, get so many flowers this early in the morning?
And then the answer hits me. Jack saw the ring. He thought I’d be home last night.
“Well, guess what, asshole, I didn’t come home.”
My nose tickles and my eyes water.
"He’s pathetic," I say to the empty condo before sneezing.
I shake my head as I move from room to room. If he were there, I'd throw one of the bouquets in his disgusting face.
He's not.
However, there is a note on the bed.
Samantha,
My love. I'm very sorry...
I don't continue to read or even bother to crumple the paper.
Jack isn't worth the energy. Instead, I drop the piece of paper in a wastebasket, strip out of my clothes, and get ready for a shower. As I do, I recall Marshal helping me out of my panties last night.
His hands, long fingers, and monster cock...
The memories wobble my knees.
I reach for the bedside stand to steady myself, but as I do, I brush my arm against another bouquet. "Ouch." Damn thorns. "Shit," I mutter.