Page 66 of Curveball

“No.”

“Why? Just let me go. You don’t love me. We want different things. We’re no good for each other. I want my happily ever after. You’re incapable. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

He looks pained but says nothing.

I hold my hand up for a cab and one stops. As I’m getting in, I say, “It’s time. I’m getting an attorney. I can’t do this fucked up dance with you anymore.”

I shut the door. Just as I’m about to give the cab driver my address, the other door opens, and Quincy gets in. He immediately gives the cab driver his address.

“Quincy, I’m not going home with you.”

“We need to talk.”

“Quincy, we’re friends. We started as friends. I want to stay that way, but you’re making it increasingly difficult. Your sister is the most important person in the world to me. I don’t want problems. I just need to move on from you. It’s time. You need to accept it.”

“Please. Let’s talk.”

I throw my head back on the seat. Why am I so weak for this man? I hate feeling weak. I’ve spent my whole fucking lifetrying to be strong. I had no father. I had a mother who was a child herself. There were more times than not that I had to be the adult in my house.

This man is my fucking kryptonite.

A few minutes later, we arrive at his luxury building in the most upscale neighborhood in Philly.

We quietly make our way up to his condo. As soon as he opens the front door, I bark out, “Five minutes. You have five minutes, and then I’m leaving you. For good. I mean it.”

We walk in and I get about a half a step past the door before he shuts it and has me caged in. His body is pressed to mine.

My anger resurfaces.

I look into his eyes, which are mere inches from my own. “How dare you screw up my date. The first man I’ve had any interest in for a long time.”

“I can’t stomach the thought of another man touching you.”

I need to hit him where it hurts. “You do realize that I’ve fucked other men, right?”

His jaw tics.

“They’ve touched me, kissed me, tasted me, been inside me.Deepinside me. I don’t belong to you. I never will.”

He rubs his thumb over my lower lip. “We both know that’s not true. If I snapped my fingers, you’d get on your knees for me right here and now and suck my cock with a big fucking smile on your face.”

Without thinking, I rear my hand back and slap him in the face. Hard.

The shock of it has him frozen for all of two seconds before his hand is on my throat. It’s not intended to hurt me. Just the opposite. He applies the pressure he knows getsme off. Shit.

His forehead meets mine. We’re breathing heavily, not from physical exertion, from emotional.

I whisper, “Let me go.” I don’t mean his hand on my throat, and he knows it.

He whispers back, “I can’t.”

I can smell his breath. It’s so…so Quincy, and I need it like I need oxygen.

“Please, Shortcake, one last time. If you’re really leaving me, let me have you one more time.”

“And then you promise you’ll let me go?”

He gives me a small nod.

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