Page 179 of Bona Fide

It’s a challenge.

Her trying to keep me.

Her not aware or ignoring the things I’ve said in the past about how I’m never going to build us into a relationship. That I didn’t want one. My heart that she’s tried seeking a few times, doesn’t beat for anyone but Reagan Shelton, whether I’d like it to or not.

“What happened last night was a mistake. I’m...not upset about it anymore. If I called you by an ex-boyfriend’s name, you’d probably do the same.”

I heave a brow. “No, I wouldn’t because I’m not your man. If you called me John or Bill, I’d slap your ass and fuck you harder to remind you what my real name is. But it wouldn’t drive me into what you were last night. I hurt you, Indie. I nick away your self-esteem and—” She drops her fork against her glass plate, getting me to shut up.

“Since when do you care that I have feelings in any way, shape, or form?”

“Since I fucked Reagan last night in her hotel room.” Indie’s eyes slowly widen as she gapes at me, digesting my words into her brain.

“You flew her here?”

“No.” I shake my head. “She...was here.”

“You expect me to believe that?” She glowers at me as though I’m the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen in her life. In her eyes and the perspective of many, I no doubtly am. I’m wired differently, my morals never have been the best, and nine out of ten times, I don’t give a shit. However, I didn’t know Indie and I would come to head with the core of everything that made me content. The only person that could make me whole.

“No,” I reply. “I don’t expect you to. But I need to let you go, things are—”

“Don’t feed me a line of bullshit,” she seethes quietly, bringing her napkin up to wipe at the corner of her painted pink lips. “I thought you were done with her.”

“We are done.” The words feel empty and rancid, but for both of us, I need it to be true. I’ve already made Reagan collateral damage and strung her mother along with her to almost be murdered in a house fire. I’m never going to let that happen again.

“Doesn’t sound like it. I can’t believe you screwed me then went right to her afterward. You really know how to make a woman feel special, Wade.”

I raise my chin, ready to lock Wade Lockwood into place to make sure that the last thing Indie would ever want to do, is see, hear, or look at me again.

“I never said I wasn’t an asshole,” I disclose. “And, frankly, I remember one of the first things I told you was not to get attached. That I wasn’t going to commit to anything else but what we were doing in that moment—fucking.”

Her face pinkens, warding off her hurt expression by detaching her frown from me. The bustle of the dining room and soft whimpers of laughter surround us. The food in front of me is going to go to waste because I’m not as famished as I was ten minutes ago. I honestly didn’t think doing this to Indie would affect me, but I owe her more than she’ll ever know. She kept me on life support when my whole world died around me.

And now it’s time to cut the cord.

“You really are a piece of shit.” Indie pulls her eyes back to mine, glimmering with tears, and I want to tell her to please not waste her time on me. I don’t deserve it.

“I won’t disagree with you on that bit,” I tell her.

“Don’t be so damn accountable,” she shoots back. “I wasted almost a year with you, trying to figure out how to fix—”

“You can’t fix me,” I snap, my elbows banging on the table. Our silverware clatters but not loud enough to make a scene, just my point. “I didn’t bring you into my life to be a miracle worker and make me whole again. I did it so I could fuck a memory to death. Didn’t work.”

Indie abruptly stands from her chair, looking uneasy on whether to go or stay. A traitorous tear falls, and I deserve to be punched in the nuts because I put them there.

“Leave, Indie,” I croon. “I don’t want to see you cry.”

“But you should,” she vouches. “You should see what you do to people for your own gain. How many lives you affect by your selfish ways of thinking. I knew you’d never love me, but I thought I could be someone you could deeply care for.”

“I’m not capable of it.”

Unless it’s her.

“It seemed...like it was working. You appeared as though you actually saw me. That you were excited—”

“That’s enough,” I break in. “You’re fooling yourself if you thought anything but what I told you. We’re done. Get over me.”

“Are we...do you mean we’ll never talk again?” Her frame starts to tremble, and I force my eyes to stay open, on her, to allow her to see the mask I put on when I really want shit to happen. It blacks out everything that is really happening behind the scenes.

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