Page 33 of Bidding War

I can’t believe she’s going to sleep with him. It’s unthinkable for me. But clearly, I’m more involved in this than she is. After all, I didn’t dump her. She dumped me.

They pause at her building, and she invites him in. Yep. They’re fucking. I’m guessing it’s their first time, based on how they’ve been all night. Things are tentative. New. They both looked like they had butterflies in their stomachs all night. I need to stop watching them through the glass doors, but I can’t tear my eyes away.

I should be happy for her. But I’m not that evolved. I want to stop her from doing this. Instead, I stretch my fists and decide to leave. Nothing good comes from me sticking around for this. They’re going to get into her elevator, and then I’ll go.

Just then, something shifts on his face. No more butterflies. Purely lupine. I really do not like this guy. I would have thought June had better taste in men than someone who looks like that when her back is turned. But then again, how would she know? He looks like a smug son of a bitch when she’s not paying attention to him. Like every frat boy, I beat the snot out of in college. He thinks he has this in the bag, and well, he’s right. Clearly.

I am so twisted up over all of this that I don’t notice her body language at first. When he kisses her this time, she’s not into it. I squint to see, but that doesn’t help, so I pull out my phone for a zoom. He’s reaching up her shirt, and she’s not happy about it. In fact, she gives him a girlie push to make him back off.

I have never been so relieved—wait. They’re kissing again. And she seems okay with it. Dammit. This is not what I needed. He’s going up her shirt again, and this time, she pushes harder, then tells him off. Thank god—wait. He’s not leaving. Is this some kind of sex game between them? Like she plays the chaste innocent, and he plays the wolf? I’m torn. I want to go in there and stop him from bugging her, but if this is a game between them and I rush in there, I’m a stalker, and she’ll never talk to me again.

But, if it is a sex game, why does she look scared? Is that a part of it? Shit. What do I do?

18

JUNE

“Neil, you need to go. My neighbors will?—"

“They’re asleep. It’s after midnight, June. No decent person is up this late.” He smirks pointedly as he comes in for another kiss.

“I’m not kissing you ever again. I want you to leave. Now!”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get what I came for.” He chucks my chin with his finger. “If you don’t fight it, this will go much better for you.”

But I push him back. “Leave me alone!”

“It’s okay. You haven’t disappointed me, June. Don’t worry.” He smiles, and it sends ice through my veins. “I like a woman with some fight in her. It’s always better when they fight back.” He lunges forward toward me.

As soon as I move to hit him, he catches my wrist in an iron grip. I try for the other fist, and he catches that one, too, and laughs at me. Then Neil slams me back, keeping my wrists pinned against the wall. The slam makes me a little dizzy, and with my wrists pinned, I panic and try to kick him. But he’s too close, pressing himself against me. I try to propel myself off the wall and fail. He's just too heavy with muscle. He growls, “Go ahead. Squirm. I like it.”

I can feel how much he likes it. His hard cock digs against me, dry humping through our clothes. This has all been foreplay to him. It’s like the good, sweet-natured Nebraska boy thing was a mask, and behind it, a grotesque monster. There’s a darkness in his green eyes. Kind warmth has been replaced by frozen hate.

He grinds against me again, and I want to vomit. He’s disgusting. I want him arrested. I gasp, “Leave now, and I won’t call the cops. Just stop.”

He nuzzles against my cheek and whispers, “Stop? Why the fuck would I do that? You think I’m afraid cops will believe a bartending whore over a pillar of society?” Then laughs and bites my earlobe hard enough to make me wince.

I try to bring up my knee for his groin, but he’s still pressed too hard up against me, and I can’t kick him there. I’m close to crying, and I don’t know if that will make him stop or make him angry or if he’ll even notice. But I’m not sure I have a choice. I’m freaking the fuck out, and my eyes are welling up. “Please just go away.”

“Stop with the fucking whining, June.” He grapples with me for a moment until he has one hand on both my wrists, and his other hand goes to my throat. Just bracketing at first, but the longer he speaks, the tighter his grip gets. “I am so sick of you bitches, thinking you can tell me what to do! You think you can do whatever you want, don’t you? Lead a man on all night long. Tell him you’re into him, and then invite him up. But the moment I start to take what’s mine, you get cold feet. You can’t treat me like that, June. I’m gonna show you.”

I scratch out, “Neil, please?—"

“That’s more like it. You’re sexier when you beg. Let’s see how sexy I can make you.” His grip locks on my throat, and I try helplessly to move out of his grasp. Can’t breathe. Used the last of my air to beg. Regretting that now. I don’t want the last name I say to be his. I’d rather it was Anderson’s. Fuck. He snarls, “Beg to breathe, bitch.”

I can’t say a word. No air. Clarity strikes as my clock ticks down. I shouldn’t have broken up with Anderson. He’ll never know how I feel about him now. More regrets. Didn’t think my last moment would be filled by them.

“Oh, come on. You can do it. Beg me again, and I’ll let you breathe.”

Can’t even make a choking sound. Why is it called lightheaded when all I can see are black spots? The air sounds hollow somehow. Strange, that. The black spots morph into absolute blackness, and I sink into it. Sinking is the last thing I know.

Can’t see anything. Can’t feel anything. But I hear something in the distance. The distinct squeak of sneakers on a hard floor. Scuffling. Curses. Thuds. Some kind of wet sound.

This isn’t hell. Or heaven. Where the fuck am I?

My eyes flutter when I try to open them. Can’t focus at first. When my eyes start to hone in on something, it’s the slightly yellowed ceiling in my apartment lobby. As soon as my focus comes back, I choke and cough against a bruised throat.

I’m against the wall on the floor, sort of wedged up half on my back. Coughs catch me so hard it feels like I’ll burst blood vessels in my eyes or fracture my ribs. One cough hits so hard that my head rattles back. I have to roll over onto my hands and knees to keep coughing without knocking my head into the wall or the floor. Feel like a cat trying to hack up a furball. The coughs are spasmodic, but eventually, I can suck air down without another coughing fit. Movement draws my eyes to the mailboxes across the hall.

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