Page 4 of Tempted By the Bosshole

After a hug from Jen and a meow from her cat, Dude, I’m out the door and in my car.

The truth is, I don’t love this time of year. A decade ago, Dad left Mom and me just before the holidays. Five years later, when I was barely eighteen, Mom died. I spent that Christmas alone sobbing in the funeral home. Those were the darkest days of my life. I went to college because she wanted me to. Dad and I still have a strained relationship, but he helped financially—until last year when he basically disappeared. I’ve looked everywhere for him, even broke into his last known address. Nothing.

Who gets ghosted by their own father?

After I start the car, I glance in the rearview mirror. This dress would look more elegant—and less boobalicious—if I had something to distract from my cleavage. The clock tells me I have ten spare minutes to run home and grab my mother’s pendant. Yes, it’s a fourteen-carat-gold security blanket, but it would make me feel better.

A few minutes later, I dash through snow flurries from the parking lot to the front door of our apartment overlooking the water. Despite the fact Jen would frown at me throwing a coat over her slutastic dress, since I’m here I’ll grab one of those, too.

When I open the door, light from inside floods the elegant stoop. Instead of an empty pizza box and a loud video game, I’m greeted by a sexy R-and-B tune drifting from the back of our apartment.

I tiptoe down the hall, toward the bedroom with a frown. The song ends. In the silence before another begins, I hear the shower running.

He finally decided to get clean after two days of BO…

My first clue that something’s wrong is the bra strewn across the threshold of our bedroom. Since all my lingerie is practical, I know the red-lace underwire number isn’t mine. Neither is the accompanying thong next to our bed.

Eric is cheating on me. The realization hits me like an anvil.

I go cold all over. The bottom falls out of my stomach.

God, is this really happening?

Our mussed bed and the discarded condom wrapper on my nightstand tell me it is.

Holy cow. Holy. Cow.

He is cheating on me. That bastard!

“Oh, fuck, yeah, babe…” Eric moans.

Babe. That’s what he calls me, too.

Why does that make the betrayal somehow worse?

“That’s it. Use that tongue to get my cock nice and clean so I can get it all dirty in your pussy again.”

“You’re sure we’ll have time?” a woman asks.

“Yeah. Izzy will be at this boring-as-fuck party until at least ten.”

She laughs. “Do you think she has any idea?”

“Nah. I’ve got her fooled. I even photoshopped myself into a pic all the guys took last weekend in Orlando. She’s too gullible to figure it out.”

No, I’m too trusting. I knew something was off.

God, I feel as if Eric slapped me. I’m humiliated. Embarrassed. Furious.

And I’m done.

I stomp over to the shower curtain and yank it wide, stepping back to avoid the spray, and take in the sight of my boyfriend standing with his back to the water and our neighbor on her knees with his softening dick in her mouth. “No need for her to rush out. I won’t be coming home tonight. Or ever. It’s over, Eric.”

He pushes back from the brunette with mascara running down her face and darts out of the shower after me.

I step over the skank’s underwear and sprint down the hall, only to find Eric chasing me as he wraps a towel around his naked ass. “C’mon, babe. Wait. We should… Fuck, I don’t know. Talk about this.”

“Talk?” I toss over my shoulder without slowing down. “What is there to say? You’d rather sleep with Marcella?—”

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