Page 2 of Good Pucking Luck

“Move. Get out of the way,” Malcolm says tersely, pushing around me and walking away.

The arena gets echoey around me. My vision blurs, heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.

“Maybe you should get up,” one of the people in front of me says, but I can’t think. Can’t move. How did I get that so spectacularly wrong? I thought this would make him happy, would make us both happy. He’s always telling me how much he loves me, how different I am, how special. How he wants to spend his life with me.

I’m not sure how I screwed this up, but I’m determined to fix it.

I push to my feet, the eyes of everyone zeroed in on me, the guy who just got left with a ring in his hand while proposing to his boyfriend.

Is Malcolm still my boyfriend? I want that to be the case.

I run the direction he went, but it’s packed with people—seems like the whole arena took a bathroom or food break during the intermission.

I call his name, push through the crowd but don’t see him, so I run out of the building, to the lot where Malcolm parked…and his car is gone. He left me here, which okay, yeah, that’s a little annoying. He could’ve at least waited for me out here so we could talk.

The first and second times I call, it rings and rings. The third, it goes straight to voicemail.

“Mal…it’s me…of course it’s me. You know that. Who else would be calling from my phone? Anyway, sorry. I…can we talk?I know I messed up, even if I’m not sure how. I just…I don’t know. Call me.”

I sit on the curb and wait for a ride share to pick me up.

Malcolm doesn’t call all night.

When I wake up the next morning, I fumble my phone, hoping I missed a message from him last night, but I didn’t. From my parents, yes. Somehow, I must have forgotten to turn my ringer back on after the game. There are numerous missed calls and texts from my mom.

Mom: Honey, I’m so sorry. Call me.

So sorry? How the hell does she know?

Mom: Have you seen? I’m assuming you haven’t seen?

Dad: Your mother doesn’t want me to send you this, but it’s not like you won’t find out eventually.

I click the link in the text from my dad, and my heart drops. The video of my proposal has gone viral. It’s all over the internet. There are memes and GIFs and… My gut clenches, nausea sweeping through me as a headline grabs my attention:TWO MORE LOS ANGELES MEN CLAIM MAN IN VIRAL VIDEO IS THEIR BOYFRIEND

I don’t have another boyfriend. What the fuck?

I shove up and sit on the edge of my bed.

Current and ex-boyfriends keep coming forward.

Malcolm cheated on me with my best friend.

Malcolm used me to get ahead.

Malcolm made me think I was special, but really, I was just part of his sick game to inflate his ego.

On and on and on. Stories from men who met him online and had relationships or friendships with him. At least two other guys from LA, and he’s left a trail of others in cities he’s lived in. Many of them gave him money.

Just like me…

I used to pay for everything.

Malcolm is a con artist.

Malcolm used me.

Malcolm cheated on me.

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