“Sav, it’s been six months since you ended things with Bradley. It’s okay to move on. You need to put yourself out there.” She thinks I’m sad about my breakup, but I’m not. I didn’t tell her half of the crap Bradley put me through.
There’s an unexpected knock on my door.
“Wait. Were you lying? Are you actually expecting someone?” My sister looks hopeful at the prospect of my having someone over.
“Definitely not.” I sigh.
Charlotte smiles sadly at me, and I hate the pitying look on her face. Before she can drill into me about making friends, the knocks start again. My annoying and unwelcome visitor saves me from having this conversation.
“I’d better see who’s at my door.”
“Fine. But be safe. And text me if you’re okay after?”
I roll my eyes at my sister’s “if”. “I doubt a serial killer is going to announce their presence by knocking on my door.”
“You never know. Same time tomorrow?” she asks.
“You know it. Love you.” I’ve enjoyed our recent late-night video calls. While she nurses, we chat about our days and what’s been going on in our lives. But mostly, we talk about Thomas.
Did I mention how adorable my nephew is?
“Love you too.”
“And I love you more, baby boy.” I laugh at Thomas’s garbled reply.
With one more goodbye, I close my laptop. The knocking turns to pounding, and the hair on my arms stands on end. It’s after ten at night.
Who on earth is banging on my apartment door so late?
Lead weights roll around in my stomach as I creep towards my door and look through the peephole. My stomach bottoms out at the sight of the one person I do not want to see. Ever.
“What do you want, Bradley?” I ask through the door.
“I want to talk. Open the door, Savannah.” Bradley has his arms crossed over his chest as he stares blankly at my door.
“No. There is nothing to talk about.” I watch him drunkenly wobble as he steps closer to the door.
“Please. Open the door and talk to me. I miss you, sweetheart,” he says, trying to sound sweet.
I roll my eyes. What he misses is the connection to my family and their friends.
“Not tonight.”Or ever. But I keep my mouth shut. The last thing I want is for him to make a scene and annoy my neighbors.
“Please. I love you. We can work this out. Please, just give me another chance,” he pleads.
I’m not falling for his manipulations. It’s all “I love you” and “you’re amazing” until it turns sour. Then he’s calling me a frigid bitch and pathetic.
I wouldn’t be frigid if he knew how to please me. We had absolutely no chemistry in the bedroom. Not once did he bother to give me an orgasm. Seriously, the man couldn’t find my clit if I drew it on a map and marked it with a giant X for him. He’s a doctor, for crying out loud. How did he pass human anatomy?
“We were so good together. Don’t you remember?”
I roll my eyes at him, thankful he can’t see me.
We weren’t good together.
Aside from our being doctors, we have nothing in common. I have more things in common with a bowl of white rice.
Bradley Crane is a man of zero substance. Sure, he’s good-looking with his square jaw, blond hair, and blue eyes. But he brings nothing else to the table. All he cares about is making connections that benefit him, what car he drives, and if he’s following his macros properly. He is selfish and rude, and honestly, he gives me the ick. The biggest ick.
