Page 136 of Bona Fide

Ladies and gentlemen, meet karma—me.

A white skirt with stupid palm trees scattered on it hides Reagan’s legs from every man in this bar, but I’m aware of their tone and how hard they squeeze when she’s about to come. A matching shirt hugs her upper half, giving a small glimpse of her back and beneath her belly button. The perfect position to place your hands and slowly peel off her clothing no matter which direction you want to start with.

Stalking from behind her, I park my ass in the stool beside her, stirring a martini with her black straw. The moment she notices me, she lets out a scoff.

“Seriously?”

I wave down one of the female bartenders to let her know I’m ready when she is. “Seriously, you thought you were going to run away like a chicken shit and I wouldn’t find you, Miss Shelton? It’s only been a year, did you smoke half your brain cells out of your head?”

I feel her glare along the side of my face as she practically stabs the bottom of her glass with the end of her straw.

“I didn’t run,” she retorts. “Speaking of...” She pulls something from her purse and drops it on the bartop.

A box of Marlboro lights.

I roll my eyes.

“I still have a few that remember you,” she vouches, pulling one from the cardboard container. “I better fix that.”

“You couldn’t drink, smoke, or fuck me away.” I peer over to look at her face for the first time since sitting down. “Because here I am. And my name was the first thing that left your lips on the beach. The shit it did to my ego, Miss Shelton—” I make a clicking sound with my tongue. “—fucking epic.”

A muscle in her jaw tightens before she places her fag in between her plush lips and lights it.

“Can you even smoke in here?” I press, yanking my focus from her. “Or do you not give a shit about affecting people’s health for your own selfish needs?”

“You’re missing the point,” she states, halting for a brief second to take a long drag. “I’m hoping to get kicked out of the hotel for this shit.”

“A little dramatic but you’re a hella good actress. Might get someone’s attention that wasn’t asking for it.”

“Your subtle hints at what I did are lame,” Reagan vouches. “And I’m bored.”

The bartender comes over to take my whiskey order and promptly takes off before I’m able to shoot back something to the little vixen next to me.

What’s the point? This woman has a comment for every fucking thing. We have bad blood now, and we both share a common agreement—we can’t stand each other right now.

However, here I sit, next to the woman I’ve professed my love to, and she pretends that my being here doesn’t bother her.

It does.

The cigarette between her fingers is slightly shaking. Her breathing is unsteady, and she’s finding anything else to look at rather than me.

I think I still have a strong effect on her.

“This wasn’t a social call,” I allude, breaking the silence between us again. “It was a courtesy.”

She tsks, flicking her ashes onto her black napkin. “For what?”

“For, if you ever send me another video of you fucking someone else, I’m going to make good on this threat, right here, and fuck your whole life up.”

Her neck snaps to me, showing off furrowed brows. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t start acting ignorant now, Miss Shelton,” I return, giving her my attention again. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“I didn’t send you—”

“And lying about it does nothing to take it back either. You didn’t think you’d ever see me again so you grew a pair of balls and decided to bother me. Don’t do it again.”

Reagan turns in her stool to face me, rests her right elbow on the end of the bar, and leans a little into my space. “Trust me when I say, Governor, that I didn’t send you anything. And your idle—what did you call it—threat. Yeah...trust me when I say you don’t want to rattle my cage. You have more to lose than me.”

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