Page 41 of Yours Truly

We were making such good progress.

I really thought we were moving forward.

This regression of his, lashing out, being an asshole and shutting down? It’s got jealousy written all over it. Trace may not be aware but I’m smart and receptive.

Jealousy means he wants me to give him my focus, and not give it to Jeremy.

He likes me.

He may even want me.

It’s not hard to believe. We’re a perfect fit. We share passions and interests, but we vary in complementary ways, too. At different places in our lives, we offer different perspectives to one another and when he’s ready to stop being a tantrum-y baby man whore, he can benefit from all the wonderful ways we’d be together.

Because we would be good together, I have zero doubt.

I know what I saw online. I know he’s fucked as many women as he possibly could.

I’m more worried about him testing negative for sexually transmitted diseases than if I stack up to the other women he’s been with. I don’t do that to myself—I don’t play that mental game.

I know who I am on the inside, and how I treat people. I know I am worthy of a good man, so I don’t compare myself to anyone but prior versions of me. I strive to be better than the me I was yesterday and the me I was a week ago, but I don’t get in the comparison ring with other women.

Swiping through the last of the disinfectant spray on the chair, I toss the cleaning rag in the trash. After tying it off and adding it to the can out back, I wash my hands in the restroom, grab my purse and head out.

Or try to head out. I skid to a halt in the hall at what I see.

Four women in the shop, two conversing with Jeremy, one on her phone in the reception chair (which makes my skin crawl) and the other? In front of Trace, her fingers hooked on the belt loops of his jeans, her face tipped up, lips in a pout.

She’s…

“Please?” she begs.

Yep. She’s begging Trace.

As if he’s suddenly aware of my presence, he turns, his dark eyes poking me. “Have a nice time with Jeremy,” he says, just low enough that I know Jeremy didn’t hear. I could barely hear over the way this hooker is breathing all over him.

I can’t muster a passive-aggressive smile despite the fact that I really fucking want to. Instead, I slink past them, not letting go of his gaze until I’m past.

I hook my arm through Jeremy’s, the contact doing nothing to my veins, nothing to my spine. No electricity, no spark, but that’s fine. I didn’t agree to a meal with him because I thought it was a date. I agreed because I genuinely want to catch up with him. He’s nice. We used to be friends not too many years ago and we lost touch.

Truthfully, I’ve been obsessed with Trace’s work and my evolving art, and I shut off the world around me, except my sisters. I lost touch with so many, which is a feat in a small town.

Still, the lack of spark only reminds me how fiery Trace makes me feel. Though I don’t want to, my eyes slide over to him and a crushing boulder of disappointment sinks my stomach.

His thumb is on her chin and he’s slowly commanding her to lower to her knees. “Get on your knees and suck my dick,” he rasps, causing my eyes to nearly pop from my head. Did he really just tell her to get down and suck his dick?

But her hands… they’re on his belt, and her knees… they’re on the ground. Obediently she works his pants, causing a wave of nausea to crash into the back of my nose and soar up my throat. I swallow it down as his eyes come to mine for just a split second.

A painful second.

“Let’s go,” I murmur to Jeremy, turning to push out of the shop and into Bluebell’s perfect evening.

Except, it’s wasted on me. The mid-seventies weather, the sherbet sunset, the soft crowing of birds going home, leaves dancing together in the day’s final wind— it’s perfect.

And completely wasted because all I can feel is jealousy, anger and… hurt.

His dick is probably in her mouth right now.

“C’mon,” I say, jerking Jeremy across the street, almost dragging him by the arm. I just want to get in Goode’s and have the barrier of the street and another set of doors between us.

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