Page 116 of That's Too Pucking Bad

“You need to go,” he says again, his tone flat.

The words hit like a slap. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. Go home, Remy.”

I stare at him, waiting for him to change his mind, to say something— anything— that tells me I’m wrong about this. But he just stands there, his grip on the door tightening like he can’t wait to shut it.

“Wow,” I say, my voice shaking. “Okay. Fine.”

I turn and walk back to my car, every step heavier than the last. When I slide into the driver’s seat, I sit there for a minute, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles crack.

That night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. The ache in my chest is unbearable. He doesn’t care. He didn’t try to explain or reassure me. Just... pushed me away like I didn’t matter.

And maybe I don’t.

I think back to what my mom said once, about guys like Zane.Rich kids always end up with their kind. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re different.

I’d laughed it off at the time, but now? Now it feels like she might’ve been right. Maybe I was just a game to him. A chase. And now that he’s caught me, he’s bored.

The tears come before I can stop them, hot and angry. I bury my face in my pillow, cursing myself for letting him get under my skin.

How did I let this happen? How did I fall for someone who could just toss me aside like I’m nothing?

I wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt, my mom’s words echoing in my head. Maybe she was right all along.

Zane never really cared. He just wanted the thrill of the hunt. And now that it’s over, he’s done.

I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. All I can think about is him— his touch, his voice, the way he made me feel like I mattered.

And now? Now I feel like I’ve been played. Like I’m just another girl who thought she could keep him.

Chapter 23

The towel slips from my hips as I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the bruise spreading across my side. Purple and ugly, a constant reminder of how fucking screwed I am. My ribs scream every time I move, but I deserve it. Should’ve seen the hit coming, should’ve been faster, should’ve—

“Fuck!” My fist slams into the mattress. That doesn’t help.

I stand and pace, hands in my hair, trying to shake off the anger clawing at my chest. But all I can see is her. Remy. Standing there in that trench coat, looking like every dirty dream I’ve ever had. Black lace, legs for days, that look in her eyes like she’d do anything for me to touch her.

And I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I grip the edge of the dresser, muscles straining as I hang my head. I didn’t push her away because I wanted to. God knows I didn’t.

But I’m no fucking good like this. Can’t even take a hit without breaking. Can’t skate without feeling like my chest is going to split open. What the hell am I supposed to do with her when I’m falling apart?

I glance at the mirror. My reflection stares back, all shadows and frustration. The bruise is worse now, darkening by the second. I press my fingers against it, testing, and the pain shoots through me so fast I nearly double over.

“Shit,” I gasp.

The bed’s right there, but I don’t want to sit. Don’t want to lie down. My body’s on fire, and my head’s spinning with all the things I should’ve done, should’ve said.

I shouldn’t have let her leave. That’s the first thing. Should’ve grabbed her, kissed her, stripped that fucking coat off her and—

My hand’s on my dick before I even realize what I’m doing. The memory of her, standing there, is so sharp it makes my chest tighten. I stroke slow, trying to focus.

But the pain flares again, right where my ribs are busted. My jaw clenches as I push through it, trying to block it out.

She’s in my head. The way her lips part when she’s surprised. The way her skin flushes when I touch her. The way she moaned my name last time I had her beneath me.

---