Page 61 of Addicted Lies

“I don’t think he’d be the type to piss me off so much.”

“Or give you any type of stimulation,” I mutter.

Her eyes narrow. “No, I think he’ll find other ways to spoil me. With nice gifts, dates, and text messages. He’ll shower me with attention like a normal fucking man who can express himself.”

“I bet he has a tiny dick,” I grumble.

“At least he’s not wasting my time and doesn’t treat me like a damn hit,” she snaps.

That one hits home, and I immediately retreat into myself because she’s right. I don’t even know why I came here in the first place. Granted, no one else but me was going to finish that tattoo, but we’re running around in circles. I’m repeating the same fucking pattern just because I want toseeher.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” she says as she slides her jeans the rest of the way on. She looks over her shoulder at me. “How much do I owe you?”

“I’ll have a taste as payment.” I nod to her pussy.

She scoffs, affronted, and I can’t help but smile at the fire that rages in her gaze. That pencil dick will never see this side of Billie, and part of me feels triumphant about that, even if I can only keep it as a memory.

“Money, Ford. How much?”

“I don’t want money. The choice is yours if you want to make the payment I requested.”

“You are such a dickhead, you know that?” She rummages in her purse and then pulls out a lollipop. She places it on the bed without so much as looking back at me. “Thanks for the ink. Taste this instead.”

I silently watch as she slips on her shoes, opens the door, and then strides out with an air of superiority. I grab the lollipop and pop it in my mouth, unable to stop myself. I always thought that her honey cakes were my favorite dessert. But I’ve come to realize that my favorite dessert just walked out the door to go get ready for a date with a man who isn’t me.

I want her and only her. I want our arrangement to be like it was. But I’m beginning to question if that’s all I want from her. I know I want more and can’t so easily walk away. And that makes me an asshole.

Life has kicked me in the ass more times than I can count. There’s no way in hell it’s going to be nice to me now. Then again, why has it ever had reason to?

I want the best for Billie, but I know it’s not me. I refuse to weigh her down.

I uncurl my hand and dangle her bracelet from my fingers, staring at it, mesmerized. I couldn’t help myself. If I can’t have her, I need something of hers instead.

CHAPTER 29

Billie

I’m lucky the walk home is long enough for me to get my emotions under control. I was so close to breaking Ford’s nose. The balls of that asshole. The mixed signals. The hot and cold. The everything. He’s fucking infuriating.

Half way home, I realize I dropped the bracelet my mother bought me for my graduation, which pisses me off even more. Today’s already shit.

I get to my apartment, flop onto the couch on my stomach, then try to numb my brain by watching TV. All I can think about is Ford, though. Every time he pops into my head, I swear and think up creative ways to get back at him.

I regularly check the time, reminding myself to prepare for my date tonight. I contemplated canceling, but then that would mean that Ford wins, and I’m not going to let another man dictate who I date. Especially Ford. He doesn’t get to have that kind of power over me anymore. I already have enough men in my life who think they can tell me what to do. I don’t bother changing my clothes, but I do swap out my sneakers for a pair of heels, then fix my hair before I walk out the door.

Matthew messaged me what restaurant to meet him at, and luckily, it’s not too far from where I live. When I arrive, I find him standing outside, speaking on his phone. He’s dressed similarly to how he was last weekend when I met him. Except today his suit is a nice blue that matches his eyes. When he notices me, he hangs up.

“Perfect timing.” He offers me his elbow and then guides us into the restaurant. He tells the hostess his name, and we’re led to a private area at the back. He pulls out my chair like a gentleman, and I thank him as I sit.

When he takes a seat, he orders a bottle of their finest wine. Despite not being a big wine drinker, I don’t bother to mention it as the waitress walks away.

“Did you get up too much today?” he asks, adjusting his tie. He’s attractive, but it feels like there’s something missing, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the man with the haunting, almost black eyes that I would prefer to be sitting across from me.

Fuck. Stop it.I chastise myself.

“I did, actually. I got a tattoo,” I say proudly. He scrunches up his nose before smoothing his expression. “You don’t like tattoos?”

He nervously chuckles as if he hadn’t meant to show his distaste. “Not particularly. I was raised with the belief that you don’t damage perfect skin.”

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