There’s a decent chance I’ve stepped over some invisible line. Maybe vaulted over it, and there’s a minefield waiting on the other side.
But the last thing—the very last I want—is for some jerkoff to see me with him and think we’re dating.
All because he gave me a hug.
Because I let myself cry all over him.
The sad part is, I stilllikedthe hug. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a little comfort when they’re coming apart?
If he’s got enough heart to rescue a dog, he has enough to give me a hug.
Or so I thought.
But that was before he offered me a deal with the devil. Before the pictures dropped.
Just thinking about them makes my anger boil over.
How many times have I gone to Benny’s before? And theonetime I go out with Brady, against my better judgment, it’s a setup.
I think back to the crowds and busy tables there. So many people who could’ve taken advantage of the buzz and snapped a few photos.
I haven’t decided yet if he planned this whole thing. I can’t dismiss the idea, knowing he only wanted to take me out in the first place to ask me to be his prop.
How far would he go to get his way?
How many affluent fuckboys like Brady Pruitt never learned how to comprehendno?
And if he did, he’s not getting his way. I don’t forgive and I don’t forget.
I’ve already been through far worse than anything he can do to me.
Even so, I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s following me with a camera right now. Thanks to the social media flap, I’m now “Sad Girl,” the latest love interest for a man this city obsesses over.
Whatever. It won’t help him convince me to be his pawn.
Somehow, despite every bitter voice in the back of my mind telling me I should just head home and forget Brady exists, as the sun drops behind the horizon, I find myself waiting where he told me.
Logical? Hell no.
I’m leading with my one vulnerability.
Despite the drama, I still want to think the best of him. At least, I want to give him a chance to apologize and fix this like a man.
The rich clown owes me that much.
Even Dr. Ezzie asked about it earlier, which was doubly humiliating.
She had to confirm if the woman in the picture even was me, after Trish showed her everything, of course. They recognized Brady from our stint with Charlie.
I’m stewing more by the minute when I finally spot Mr. Jackwagon himself, a few minutes late, striding up the path.
Like me, he’s dressed down today. He doesn’t stand out as one of the most eligible playboys in the city, I guess.
Sure, he still looks like he could’ve stepped out of a photo shoot, but I figure that’s a common style for him. It comes with the territory when you’re naturally gorgeous enough to bend the world to your will.
And is he walking like he’s a man with a little humility in his veins?
Nah.
