Leave it to my ex to discover the filthiest book in the shop. He slides it off the shelf, the cover innocuous enough. Dark. Gothic. Just a simple skull and some dark flowers. A solid white title reads:Shout for Us. Jason turns the book over. Scans the back blurb, a scowl drawing his threaded brows together. God, I’ve always hated that expression. A fight always followed. He opens the book to a random page. That frown morphs into shock mixed with a layer of disgust.
“Really, Charly?” He slams the book closed and tosses it on a nearby table that rests next to a red wing-backed chair. “This is the garbage you sell? You bought a porn shop with my money?”
Taken aback, I literally take a fucking step back. “First, it wasmymoney. Mine. I earned it by having to put up with your bullshit for ten years. Six of which you were screwing another woman. So, yeah, you don’t have the right to take a moral fucking stance with me, you dirty cheater. Second, no one has a problem when a certain author writes about kids having sex in the same book where a demon disguises itself as a clown to eat children. But when women write sex-positive books? Oh, my gawd. Garbage! Porn! We must protect the children!” I roll my eyes and let out a snorting laugh. “Please. Get real. And while you’re at it, get the hell out.”
Jason, true to form, notches his cleft chin. “This is why our marriage was such an epic failure.”
I blink innocently at him, having never minded our height differences until now. “And here I thought it was because three’s a crowd.”
“No, Charlotte, it’s because I could never love a foul-mouthed bitch like you.”
Even a year ago, those words would have destroyed me. Today, however… I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. “Whew! Thank God for small miracles. I’d hate to be the sort of bitch a piece of shit like you could love. That would make me a superficial, home-wrecking sexbot.”
“Lisa is a good woman.”
I’m almost proud of Jason for defending his fiancée, but I beg to differ. “You and I have vastly different definitions forgood.” I surround the word in air quotes.
“How would you know? You never took the time to get to know her.”
“Oh!” I pull a cringe face and slap a hand over my heart. “My bad. Was I supposed to? Damn. I must have missed the lesson on proper etiquette regarding a husband’s infidelity when your mother taught me how to be a perfect Wembley wife.” I gesture with my finger as I ask, “Did it come before or after she called me a whore and demanded I get a paternity test when we told her I was pregnant?”
Jason’s sneer is absurdly haughty for a man who lives off his family’s wealth and privilege without earning it himself. “I didn’t come here to argue.”
“Cool, same,” I snap. “I don’t want to argue, either.”
“Then don’t be argumentative.”
“Then don’t be spiteful.”
“I wasn’t,” he grinds out between gritted teeth.
Snorting, I roll my eyes. “Bullshit. You’re a grown-ass man, Jason. One who got handed the position of COO of his daddy’s company. You have always controlled every word that oozes out of the hole in your face. So again, if you don’t want to see theworst side of me, don’t bring the worst side of you. Deal?” I hold out my hand for him to shake.
He stares at my peace offering as if my hand is smeared with feces.
I drop my arm.
“Once an asshole, always an asshole,” I mutter.
“Have a nice life, Charly.”
“Trust me, pal, I am,” I say with a big, bright grin as Jason spins on the heels of his polished black shoes—shoes that undoubtedly cost more than every article of clothing in my entire closet combined. His steps don’t falter as he marches his arrogant self toward the door. Not even when I shout, “Keep those checks coming, Moneybags.”
The nickname was a joke when we were teenagers.
He called me Rags.
Obviously, it was a play on our wealth inequality. Back then, I innocently thought it was hilarious. As an adult, I understand why I should have never found it funny.
Jason had the power in our relationship—until I divorced him. Now, thanks to the beauty of alimony, he has to pay me a king’s ransom as punishment for him having been a shitty husband. Oh, yeah, you bet your sweet ass I made sure he feels the sting every time he writes those checks. Hell, I hired the best lawyer his money could buy. Grabbed Donald J. Ralston before Jason could, and that shark went in for the kill.
When the little brass bell above the door chimes, signaling Jason’s departure from The Scorched Page, I breathe a sigh of relief. That entitled jerkoff uses too much space he doesn’t deserve. With a slap of my palms against my thighs and a little shrug, Ihead to the coffee station, grateful for the quiet and calm in the wake of his departure.
Do I care he’s marrying Lisa? No. Like Thanos, their marriage was inevitable. I don’t even care that she’s pregnant. What I do care about is that I want him to leave me the hell alone. Stop talking about me. Stop lying about me. Leave me to live my life and let our past die.
After making myself a much-needed cup of coffee, I pick up the discarded copy ofShout for Usby Holly Boyle.
Great book by a brilliant author.
