“What? What are you saying?”
“Maybe you’re scared of putting yourself out there. You got your heart broken a long time ago, and you don’t want it to happen again.”
“You’re reading way too much into this. I’m fine. I’ll date someone when I’m actually interested.”
“Do you think you’ll ever be as interested in someone as you were in—“
I cut her off. “Don’t even say her name.”
Chapter three
Fucked
Jo
“Jo!” The surprised look on my boyfriend’s face is now seared into my brain.
Why does he have such a shocked look on his face?
Well, that would be because he’s balls-deep in a woman that is not me.
Not his girlfriend.
Or I guess she could be his girlfriend too, but I didn’t get the memo.
“Oh my God!” He cries as the woman continues to bounce up and down on his disco stick.
The chick must think he’s just getting really into it because she says, “Yeah, you like that?”
I guess she didn’t hear the part where he said another woman’s name. Or maybe her name is Jo too. Who the fuck knows.
Not wanting to see another second of this, I cry, “What the fuck, Mario?”
That gets her to turn around, shriek, and jump off him so quickly you’d think she’d been shot.
“Who the hell are you?” She squeals.
“I’m his girlfriend,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Well, I guess it’s ex-girlfriend, but we haven’t gotten to that yet.”
Her face falls as she stands up and frantically begins grabbing her things. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I glare at her. “Now, you do.”
Quickly, she jerks her dress over her head and carries her flipflops. She stops before walking out the door.
“Look, I really didn’t know,” she says.
“Honey, I’m trying to be nice here. I really am. I’m giving you an out even though I think you’re full of shit. There’s a picture on the nightstand of us kissing. I’m sure you caught a glimpse of it while you were riding him like a bull at the rodeo, so I’m going to tell you nicely once more that I’d like you to get the fuck out of this apartment before I lose my shit.”
With that, she turns and walks out. To be fair, even if she did see the photo, I’m sure Mario probably had some story all lined up about how his girlfriend tragically passed away and how he needed someone to help him mend his broken heart.
He can usually talk himself out of anything, but I think this time, he’s fucked.
His literal fuck has metaphorically fucked him.
Once it’s just the two of us, he stands up and pulls on his boxers. “Jo, listen to me,” he begins, but I’m already heading for the closet to grab a suitcase. “Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
