Page 43 of The Puck Player

I don’t bother pointing out that I’m pretty sure that’s not how it fucking works, he should know, he’s the pastor, but as he reaches for me again, I whip my head to the side so his mouth catches my cheek instead of my lips.

“No, we’re not doing this,” I tell him, pushing his hands off, and he sighs in frustration as he pulls away a little. “We can’t, not like this, not here,” I add, gesturing to our surroundings, and though I try to keep my voice level and firm, it rises on the last two words, and his eyes narrow instantly.

“Not here?” he repeats in question, only now taking a moment to study the room a little harder, and I know the moment he spies Alexander’s jersey on top of the laundry basket, as he scoffs. “This is his room, isn’t it?” he forces out in a furious tone, and when I don’t respond, he shouts, “Isn’t it?” I startle under his yell, nodding quickly, as tears burn the back of my eyes. “This is about him isn’t it, you fucking want him!” he yells, crowding back into my space, and I press myself back into the door.

“No, it’s not like that, I just…” I trail off because I can’t bring myself to lie anymore. Not to him or myself.

“What, you’ve been the virgin fucking Mary all your life, and the second you meet a guy with a fat wallet, suddenly your pussy is wet and ready to be spread?” he snaps in anger, and as his words slam into me, I am stunned into silence. I have never heard him talk like this. “And what? You think the whore of fucking Fairfield gives a fuck about you?” he adds with a humorless laugh. “He’d fuck you and discard you in less than a minute, and if you think he wouldn’t, then you’re more pathetic than he is,” he sneers, and my hand flies up of it’s own accord, slapping him hard across the face, forcing his head to the side.

“Fuck you, Ben,” I snarl, pushing him away and ripping open the door, but he snatches my elbow up in a bruising touch.

“You’re fucking mine, Bree, come hell or high water, so go and throw your little fucking tantrum about your crush and then get your ass back here, we’re leaving.” He uses his grip on my elbow to shove me away from him, and without even thinking I rush down the hall to the bathroom, locking myself inside.

And for the first time in months, I pray.

Please God, give me fucking strength.

Istumble upstairs to my bedroom, desperate to escape from the orgy that just started in the hot tub, needing some silence to clear my head, when I spy Aubree rushing to the bathroom without even noticing me. The straps of her dress are pulled down her arm, a peek of pink lace sticking out, and tears streaming down her face.This motherfucker. My eyes snap to my bedroom, my very open bedroom, and I storm toward it without pause. Ben is inside, sneering at the box of expensive watches on my shelf as I enter, no doubt cursing me to that god of his, but it’s the devil he should be worried about. A devil which right now burns with fury inside of me, and it’s all directed at him.

“Can I help you, pastor?” I snap in question, pushing the door all the way open until it slams against the wall, and hestartles slightly, before straightening his shoulders and turning to me.

“Yeah, you can stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, she doesn’t want you,” he snaps, taking a measured step toward me, and I don’t hide my smirk.Just try and hit me prick. I fucking dare you.

“Is that right?” I ask, ensuring I push the amusement I’m feeling into my tone, as I prowl toward my desk, bringing us closer together.

The sniveling little dick side steps, so he can put space between us without making it look like he is backing away from me.

Pathetic little fuck.

“She was fucking fine until she came here and you got in her head,” he continues, still slowly backing away from me until he’s closer to the door, and I move to lean on my desk, sensing this rant may take a while. “But it stops now, I won’t fucking have it. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for her? How much fucking work I’ve put in? And now I’m finally getting somewhere, so I won’t have you coming along and wrecking everything. She’s fucking mine, she belongs to me.”

His words have me flexing my fists in response, as he talks about her as if she doesn’t have her own fucking free will, and I would give anything to slam his head into the fucking wall, just to get him to stop talking. She belongs to him? Like she’s a piece of fucking property. Even if she were, he wouldn’t be able to fucking afford the taxes for the damn building, let alone be worthy of owning her.

I’m not stupid, I know his type, I’ve seen it a hundred times before. The so-called good guy, the ones who think because they bide their time and wear a girl down, that it means they deserve something. Well it’s fucking bullshit. Women don’t owe men shit. Not after one conversation in a bar, and not after threefucking years in a relationship, and it’s time this spineless little fuck learned that lesson.

“And what would it take to let her go?” I ask, pushing off my desk, noting the way his eyes narrow in confusion, but also intrigue.

“Nothing would make me let her go,” he snaps a little too quickly, but his words don’t match up with his body language.

“Come on, you're a smart man, pastor, and I’m a rich one. A very rich one, and everybody has a price.” I pair my words with the grabbing of my checkbook from my desk drawer, as Ben stares at me silently, patiently, and with nothing but keen interest. “Ah, I see I have your attention now,” I muse with a smirk. “I’m sure something as well known as my net worth isn’t lost on you,” I add, flicking open my checkbook and pulling out a pen, as movement catches in my periphery, but I keep my focus on him. “Come on, Ben, name your price, what’s she worth to you?”

We remain in a silent stare off, him no doubt wondering how serious I’m being, and me waiting for the pathetic little twat to give me a pitiful number.

“So I name a price, any price, and you will pay me to leave her alone so she is free for you to take?” he asks in confirmation, and my jaw ticks from grinding so hard.

“Any price for you to leave her the fuck alone,” I confirm, slowly losing my patience, and the stupid wanker smirks, as if he thinks he’s won something.

“You’re going to pay me so you can have her,” he scoffs, like he thinks I’m as desperate as he is, and I grind my jaw in anger. Let me have her?Fuck.I’m about to use this pen and slam it down his throat, never mind write him a fucking check.

“No you sick fuck, I want to know how much it’s going to take for you to give her up and leave her alone, she deserves better,” I force out, willing myself to remain calm.

“And what? That’s you?” he laughs mockingly, and I mildly wonder how much it would cost to make him disappear. Surely Duchess knows someone.

“It sure as hell isn’t you, now give me a number, no strings attached. Name it, and it’s yours.”

“A hundred thousand,” he snaps far too quickly, not even bothering to truly think about the fucking offer. I mean clearly, because that’s fucking pocket change for me, and if he had half a fucking brain he would know that.

“One hundred thousand dollars, and you will break up with her and never call her again?” I confirm, needing him to understand what I’m asking.

---