“But not anymore. I don’t think of you anymore unless it’s realizing how big of a fucking bitch you are. How worthless you made me feel. All you are is toxic drama, and I’m over it. More than that, I’m over you.”
Nostrils flare as her hands shake at her sides. “Toxic drama?”
“I’m done, Chanel. I’ve been done.”
“She’ll never fit in with your world. Your family won’t see her the way they see me.”
“That’s only a good thing because it turns out Mama and Lainey fucking hate you.”
Her hand flies to her chest like I stabbed her with an imaginary knife, and her mouth drops open. “No, they don’t. They love me. I’m family.”
“No, you’re not. In fact, most of the people in town hate you. Nancy at the Seven Crows wanted to have a talk with you while holding a whiskey bottle like a weapon.”
“She just jokes around…”
How could I be so blind? And stupid. There was nothing special about Chanel. She was just really good at stringing mealong to make me feel like what we had was amazing. Enough breadcrumbs to keep me satisfied enough but never hungry to the point of looking at everything. Seeing the whole picture.
“Zep, please. I can be what you want. You want to get married? Let’s go. The courthouse opens on Monday. We can get married and take a long honeymoon. Just you, me, and a resort on the ocean.”
“I don’t really like the ocean,” I say. “In fact, you don’t actually know anything about me, do you?”
“Who knows you better than me?”
“Misty. Misty and her daughter.”
Leveling me with a glare, she shakes her head. “Bullshit.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Green,” Misty says from the stairs.
My heart races, and I try to find the words to explain. To keep Misty from running away.
Nothing comes out of my mouth as I look between the two women. My past and present loves. Two women who couldn’t be more opposite. And only one I care about losing right now.
Fuck.
Chapter Forty-Two
Misty
Seeing Chanel in the entryway of Zep’s house made me angrier than I’ve ever been in my life, but then I heard what he told her. She just won’t accept no for an answer.
“Who’s right, Zep?” Chanel asks, a confident smirk on her face.
One I want to smack away.
“Misty,” Zep says. “Baby, I—”
“What’s his favorite food?” I ask.
If she wants to play this game, I’ll win all day. She might have twelve years of history with him, but I’ve actually spent the time getting to know this man.
“Pizza.” She rolls her eyes and looks at her nails as though she’s bored already.
“Nice try. Pasta. Only with red sauce, though. He doesn’t like Alfredo. And oddly, meatloaf. But only without ketchup baked on it.”
