“Find another story.” His strong jaw clenches. “You publish it, and I swear to God, I will ruin your life in every way possible.”
“Are you threatening me?” I swallow hard.
He leans forward and plants his hands on my desk, the smell of teakwood and citrus taking over my space. “Consider it more than a threat. What happened between us in the past will seem like a fairy tale compared to what I’ll do. I will arrest every person you love. Every day, your mother and sister will get a visit from an officer. Do not fuck with me on this.”
I straighten my palms and flatten my hands on my desk, mirroring his stance. “Acting like a dick isn’t helping your case in getting what you want.”
He scoffs and shifts closer. His cool, minty breath brushes the side of my face. “I’m not one to beg, but I am one to make a point. Don’t act like you don’t know that I can destroy a person in one night, Fieldgain.”
I flinch. It’s known I despise my last name. I’ve never liked it because of the people I share it with, but my hatred for it increased after it was turned into a taunt—thanks to him.
Our lips are inches apart with neither of us dropping eye contact. This will result in one of three ways: one of us killing the other, us fucking each other, or me kicking him out of my office before either of the first two happens.
I pull away with the hope he’ll do the same and sit back in my chair. “Leave my office, or I’ll write a story about you.”
He remains in his stance and releases a hard laugh. “Oh, sweet Chloe, you’re smart enough to know you can’t touch me. Don’t act clueless to that fact and make sure you remember it. I will always have more power than you do in this town. Period.”
That’s not a lie.
But I hate him for pointing it out.
Kyle is Blue Beech’s golden boy and man-slut, and he’s basically royalty here.
He pulls away from my desk and takes a step back with tightness in his eyes. He knows this story will kill Lauren and Gage. “Don’t fucking run it, Chloe. Unless you want hell to pay.”
“The story goes out in two days,” I argue. “I need a front-page story.”
“Print one about fucking puppies for all I care.” He turns to leave but halts to throw me a cold smile. “And have a good day. It’s a special one, isn’t it?” He snaps his fingers and points one at me. “Shouldn’t you be in a wedding dress?” He snaps again and places his fist to his lips, letting out an amused laugh. “Oh shit, wrong girl.”
“Fuck you,” I bite out while gripping the arms of my chair.
“Word is, we’ve already done that.” He winks.
Oh, this motherfucker.
“I hate you!” I pick up the first thing I can—a stapler—and fling it his way.
Okay, not at him.
I can’t exactly assault a police officer.
It hits the wall, leaving a mark, and falls to the floor.
“Whoa, I should arrest you.” He grabs the handcuffs from his belt and holds them in the air. “You ever worn a pair of these?”
I flip him off.
“Is that an offer?” He swings the cuffs back and forth like a pendulum. “We can put these to enjoyable use.”
I point to the door. “Get out.”
“By the way, work on your aim.” He smiles, taps my door with his knuckles, and leaves the room without shutting the door.
I take a few minutes to make sure he’s gone before jumping up from my seat and charging into the reception area. “You’re fired, Melanie. Quit watching porn and watch who comes into my office instead.”
Melanie peeks up from her desk, faking innocence. “I wasn’t watching porn. I was waiting to hear a live show while you two screwed in there. Figured it’d be much more entertaining.”
I shoot her an annoyed glare. “Shut it.”
“The sexual tension bled through these walls and practically gave me an orgasm.”
“You can’t have sexual tension with a man you hate.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, boss lady. Hate sex is the best sex.”
I retreat to my office and grab the flask.
Screw it.
I’m Chloe Fieldgain, and I am a walking, talking cliché.
I caught my boyfriend cheating—and I stupidly forgave him.
He proposed—and I stupidly said yes.
I caught him cheating again—and I stopped being an idiot and dumped his ass.
And what do I earn for my train wreck of a five-year relationship? Hearing the gag-worthy story of him proposing in Town Square to the woman he cheated with, and the second embarrassment of knowing that they’re tying the knot today—four months after we broke off our engagement.
Today is the wedding, and no amount of alcohol will help me forget.
That doesn’t stop me from trying, and where better than in a public place? That’s why I’m stupidly getting my drink on at the Down Home Pub—the only bar in Blue Beech.
I took a sip from my flask after Kyle’s departure earlier today and then put it back in case anything work-related dropped onto my desk. When five o’clock hit, I headed straight to the pub, and I’m now sitting at the bar in the corner where the brokenhearted linger.
A slight buzz is hitting me as I trace the names scratched into the wood of the bar with my finger. All day, I’ve forced myself to remember the worst of Kent—the cheating, him being not so great in bed, and his shitty sense of humor. My intoxicated mind needs to be reminded that dropping him was the best thing to happen to me.
Who wants to live the rest of their life with shitty sex and a cheating bastard of a boyfriend?
Not this girl.
“Well, well, well, if it’s not-my-favorite reporter. You here, stalking around, waiting for someone to create a scene, so you can write an article about it tomorrow?”
That motherfucking voice.
I knock back the rest of my drink, needing the liquid courage, and tilt my gaze forward to find Kyle sitting a few stools down from mine. Unlike me, he’s changed out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. A red buffalo plaid flannel covers his shoulders, and a backward ball cap hides his hair.
“If it’s not-my-favorite asshole,” I reply before swirling my tongue in my mouth to capture any lingering excess alcohol. To deal with him, I need to be as drunk as possible.
“Oh, favorite? I like that.” He winks, stands up, and comes my way even though I’m not sending an I want company vibe. “Maybe I’ll work my way up to your favorite fuck.”
I roll my eyes. “I take it back. Just asshole, delete the prefix.”
His scent and proximity drag me into a high stronger than anything behind the bar will.
“What do you want, Kyle?”
He smirks—a sign he came over to fuck with me. “Didn’t expect you to show your face in public tonight.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’re plastered,” he states.
I shoot him a glare. “And you’re an asshole. A smart one, with your very intelligent revelation, but still a definite asshole.”
He rests his elbow on the bar and leans into it while facing me. “Are asshole and fuck your favorite words in the dictionary?”
“Only when it comes to you.”
He places his palm over his chest. “Aw, I’m flattered I have a special place in your brain.”
“Fuck off.”
“And there you go, thinking about me again.”
“What do you want?” I repeat. “You want to rub my shitty life in my face?” I pause. “Wait, why are you here? Isn’t everyone and their damn dressed-up dog attending the stupid wedding of the cheaters?”
His eyes meet mine with humor. “Shouldn’t you be there, objecting?”
“I hate you,” I grumble.
“Good.” He sets his beer down and situates himself into the seat next to mine as if my insult were an invite.
“Now, what are you doing?” Why am I constantly asking him this?
“I’m gi
ving you the pleasure of my company to help clear your head,” he says as if it were as obvious as my Social Security number.
I hold my empty glass up. “I’ve already found the solution. Go annoy another poor soul.” I’m not surprised when he makes himself comfortable.
“You know what would do an even better job?” he asks.
I hold my cup up. “Shattering this glass and then slicing your genitals off with a broken piece?”
“Damn, you’re brutal.” His attention swings from me to the bartender, Maliki. He yells out an order of fries and water.
Maliki nods in response and then calls out the order to the kitchen. Maliki owns the Down Home Pub and insisted all drinks were on him tonight when I plopped down earlier.
Kyle stays quiet while sipping his beer, and I play with my glass, uncertain if I should order another vodka I can barely stomach.
What’s his play here?
He doesn’t speak again until Maliki slides the fries and water down the bar, and they land in front of me. I glance over at Kyle in question, and he snags a fry before holding one out to me.
“Eat up, drunkie,” he demands. “And drink the water if you don’t want a hangover tomorrow and risk oversleeping. It’d be an unpleasant start to my day if I couldn’t annoy your ass while enjoying my coffee.”
I narrow my eyes at him but bite off the end of a fry. He’s right, but I won’t admit that to him. When I finish the fry, he pours ketchup on the side of the basket and slides it closer to me. My stomach growls. I had no appetite earlier and worked through lunch and dinner.
He snags a few fries, and we eat in silence until his arrogant voice breaks through.
“Aw, we’re sharing a meal, Fieldgain,” he teases. “Consider this our first date. Do I get laid?”
I wince at his comment. It sickens me more than the alcohol and breakup heartbreak combined. He had to bring up our history, knowing today is already hell for me.
I throw down the fry in my hand, sick and tired of his games. “Did you forget that happened years ago?”
The playfulness on his face falls into regret. “Chloe.”
I brush my hands together, removing the salt on my fingertips, and push the basket of fries toward him. “Save it. I don’t want to think about it tonight. I have enough disturbing memories to drink away. I don’t need another on my list.”
He leans back and snags another fry. “Fine by me. I’d prefer not to talk about it either unless you give me the chance to explain myself.”
“Hard pass.”
He grabs the water and hands it to me. “How about we make a toast?”
I take it from him with a frown. At least he’s changing the subject.
“No.”
He grabs my wrist, pulls my hand up, and clinks my water against his beer. “What if we toast to douchebags?”
“To you then.”
He shrugs. “I was thinking more of your ex, but I’ll take your verbal abuse because I’m a nice guy.” He sets his glass down to settle his elbow on the bar again and puts his attention on me. “Why are you upset though? Word is, you cheated on Kent before he fucked around with Lacy.”
“Cheated?” I scoff. I’m tired of Kent using it as an excuse for his unfaithfulness. “I hardly believe it’s cheating when it’s with yourself.”
His head cocks to the side as he blinks in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
I want to stop talking, but the alcohol forces me to defend myself. “I cheated on Kent with myself.”
His lips curve into a wicked smile. “Explain, please.”
Oh shit, Chloe. Abort confession. A-fucking-bort confession.
The confession pouring from my mouth seconds later informs me that I’m no longer sober enough to make responsible decisions. “He caught me, uh … pleasuring myself … you know … doing his job.” The words come out in slow stutters.
His mouth drops open at the same time he knocks over his drink with his elbow. I’ve never seen him so flustered before. I smile, knowing I caught him off guard.
He stares at me with interest. “Are you telling me, he got pissed at you for playing with your pussy?” He grins. “Damn, I thought I was possessive.”
“Don’t say it like that,” I grumble, wishing I could cut and run from this conversation. Unfortunately, I’m certain I can’t even get off my stool without falling on my face.
He grabs a napkin and cleans up his mess. “So, he’s labeling you a cheater for getting yourself off?”
I avert eye contact. “Yes.”
Half his body slides off his seat when he moves in closer. “Can you please provide details of what happened, so I can determine if he’s correct?”
I press him into his own space. “I gave you the details.”
“You didn’t give me shit for details. Was it with your hand? A sex toy?” He tilts his head back and groans. “Fuck, this makes my night.”
I hold my hand up as a flush of embarrassment hits my cheeks. “Oh my God, I’m not doing this with you.”
He runs his tongue over his lips. “Come on,” he begs. “Give my imagination something pleasurable to think about when I’m home with my hand around my dick.”
Oh my God.
I shut my eyes and pull at the collar of my top, suddenly burning up.
Is he saying he’ll jack off to whatever I confess?
“I’m not giving you any details. I don’t want to conduct a casual conversation with you, let alone one about my sex life.” I shove his shoulder. “And don’t talk about having your hand on your dick around me.”
He eyeballs the bar. “Why? It’s not out of the ordinary to play with your pussy. Ask anyone in here.”
“Quit calling it playing with my pussy!” I hiss. “And I’d rather not poll that right now … or ever.”
He chuckles. “You masturbate. Good for you. I do it on the regular right next door. I’ve made it clear how much I love those skirts of yours.”
I’ll smack myself for this tomorrow. “We were, uh … you know …”
Thankfully, he catches my drift in seconds. “Fucking?”
“Yes, fucking. It was in the morning, before work. He got off. I didn’t. When he left, I grabbed the vibrator he knew nothing about from my bedside drawer.”
He grins, eating this up. “Wait, so this happened frequently?” He appears baffled, disgusted, and entertained, all at the same time.
“Quit interrupting, or I’ll stop,” I warn.
He holds his hands up. “My bad, my bad. Do continue the Chloe Masturbation Saga.”
“So, I started to, uh … take matters into my own hands.”
“You played with your pussy,” he corrects.
I push him again and shyly glance away. “Yes. I didn’t hear the front door open. I was almost there, and next thing I knew, he came barging into the bedroom. He’d forgotten his wallet.”
“And, also, to give you an orgasm.”
“He got pissed, accused me of emasculating him, and called it cheating, arguing he should be the one giving me orgasms. He’d already been sleeping with Lacy, but he uses that as an excuse to make me the bad guy. Kent knows I won’t defend myself and tell people he caught me masturbating, not cheating.”
I cover my mouth with my hand and want to curl away in embarrassment when I realize what I confessed and who I confessed it to. Kyle is the last person I should’ve told. I wait for the snide comments from him, but they never come.
He licks his lips and stares at me in fascination. “If you were mine, I would’ve sat down and enjoyed the show. That’s after I had given you the best orgasm of your life. Then, you’d go to work, missing my cock and rubbing your thighs together, anticipating me doing it again. During your lunch break, I’d visit you in your office, spread you out on top of your desk, and eat your pussy. Later, when we were in bed, I’d fuck you all over again.”
Jesus. This man and his words.
Those words in that voice.
Heat shoots up my spine whil
e I fumble for a response. My heart races as I imagine him doing all those things.
Maybe a one-night stand will help rid me of my thoughts of Kent the Cheater.
No. Nope.
This is Kyle Lane.
I clear my throat when our eyes meet, hoping it will kill my dirty imagination. “So …” I stutter out. “That’s how I cheated.”
“It’s not cheating, but at least it helped you dodge a bullet with that one. Dude is an asshole. He was the backup to the backup quarterback in high school. The fuck were you thinking, being with him?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “He was the only guy who’d talk to me, thanks to you.”
Guilt creeps up his face again. “Returning to the subject at hand … your hand on … or in your pussy.”
I cover my entire face with my hands this time.
He removes them one by one.
“Can we not talk about this … or act like we never did talk about it?”
“There is no chance in hell I’ll forget this conversation.” He winks. “I’m starting to like you more, dear neighbor.”
I’m drunk off my ass with the man I hate sitting at my side.
Last time we hung out, it crushed me.
Kyle chuckles, drags my drink away from me, and sets it out of my reach. “Cut-off time for Chloe.”
I scowl at him and gesture to the bar. “Look at that, ladies and gents. The life of the party has graduated to the party pooper. Is the music too loud for you? Should I ask Maliki to turn it down a notch, so you can get your full eight hours of sleep?”
“I love wasted, smart-ass Chloe.” He smirks.
I’m clueless as to how long we’ve been sitting here with each other. Kyle’s company has outshone every thought of Kent. Being around him is entertaining and much better than drinking myself into a stupor alone. I’m an emotional drunk. The first time I got wasted, I blubbered about losing a pet goldfish before puking and passing out.
Hanging out with Kyle—if that’s what you can call it—has been interesting. We argued when I attempted to order a drink stronger than the vodka in front of me. Five minutes later, I realized I had no choice. When I yelled my order to Maliki, Kyle shook his head, and Maliki turned around like a traitorous little shit.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 23