Page 18 of Daring You

“God, Mike, just leave!”

I’m screeching at this point, but I can’t stand the idea that he wants to tell me the details, like where he screwed other women, how he had them, if they were wet in the shower or dry on the floor. I don’t want to know any of it. My imagination is enough.

Mike’s frozen in place, his arms dangling limply, and for a moment of pure agony, he truly appears vulnerable, shocked and upset. “Astor, you can’t kick me out. Where will I go?”

“To your parents in the Upper West. To your friends. To one of the many girls you’ve screwed. I don’t give a damn.”

“No.” He paces towards me, arms out and landing on mine, squeezing. “We’re not over. We can’t be.”

Mike’s almost a head taller than me, but I make sure I’m gazing at him levelly. “We are. I’m not doing this anymore, Mike. I’m not playing the pretend game while you get away with whatever you want.”

“I didn’t—it was a mistake, Astor! Give me another chance. Please. I’ll stop with this, with all of it. It’s only you that I love. You’re the one—”

“Oh, please,” I sneer.

I twist out of his hold, but he grapples to contain me again. And when he spins me to face him, it’s like I’m gazing at a different man.

Mike’s features twist, lines and creases forming into a grotesque version of the suave, good-looking guy in a suit that women—and men—would look twice at on the streets. His veneer has vanished, and in its place is nothing but despicable malice.

“You, of all people, don’t get to act all high and mighty,” he snaps. “You’re just as bad as I am. We’ve been using each other, so don’t stand here acting like a victim.”

Victim.

That word, coupled with the sneer to his lips and the naked fury in his stare, has me buckling, but only for a second—one I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Let me go, Mike.” And I hope I sound stronger than I feel.

“No.”

“Let. Go.”

I try to tug out of his hold, but he keeps me firm. “Not until you tell me we can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to repair. We’re finished. We’ve been done a long time, it’s just taken me a while to notice.”

“I won’t allow it.”

The statement gives me enough strength to laugh. “I’m not your stable horse, Mike. I can make my own decisions. And I’m choosing to kick you out. Go. Now.”

He opens his mouth to argue at the same time his fingers dig into the muscles in my arms. I fight off a wince. I’m about to yell at him again, to threaten to call the police—or worse, my brother, who comes with a lot of jacked-up friends—when he abruptly lets go.

I stumble before I catch myself, my upper arms throbbing.

“Look at you,” he spits, gesturing up and down my body. “So buttoned-up, so classy, so fucking librarian chic. It’s no wonder I can’t fuck you on the regular.”

It hurts. Oh, the jibes hurt, just like he means them to. “Leave, Mike, before you really say something you’ll regret.”

“I regret you,” he says, but he’s moving, stalking away, and I’m breathing easier because of it. “I regret wasting all this time on a cold, dried-up, skinny bitch.”

“True colors, Mike,” I say to his back. “You’re showing them.”

He spins, storms over to me, and I have mere seconds to wonder at my decision and why I feel the need to bait him when he was doing what I wanted—leaving. Except now, he’s coming back, all because I can’t keep my damn mouth shut.

“You know what’s fucked up?” he says, when he’s close enough to point a finger in my face. I stiffen. “It’s not the cheating that makes you want to end this. It’s that I’m going to make partner before you.”

I thin my lips into a tight line, but don’t break his stare.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re pissed I orchestrated a meeting where I could get the offer instead of you, and this is your revenge. Kicking me when I’m on top.”

I fist my hands.

“Well, you don’t win, princess. I’m still better than you. I’m still going to make more money than you. I’m going to be the bossof you. And yeah, I’m still gonna fuck a helluva lot more than you, and make sure you know exactly when I do it.”

The last part contains spit, and it lands on my cheeks. But I don’t flinch. I don’t cow in terror. I remain stone-faced until he turns on his heel, swipes his suitcase from the kitchen floor, and barrels out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard, he rattles the frame.

When I catch my breath, when the held-back tears stream down my face, I rip the engagement ring off my finger and fling it at the closed door with a silent scream.

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