Page 104 of All Twerk, No Play

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I snapped, annoyed that he was throwing her under the bus. “I can check public records.”

His lips flattened, his shoulders sagged, and I clocked the exact moment he realized he was fucked. “What do you want from me?”

I paused to appreciate the milestone: For the first time in the 21 years since we started dating, he asked what I wanted instead of just taking what he thought he deserved.

The answer felt clear: More than his apology or my townhouse …

I wanted him out of my life.

“I’ll let you stay if I never have to fucking talk to you again.”

“Really? That’s all?” he said, brows lifted in surprise. I know my reputation preceded me—I’d cultivated my cold ruthlessness for moments like this—but his surprise still hurt.

“Eviction is a legal headache, and I don’t care about you enough to bother,” I said coolly, mentally drafting terms and conditions that would keep me safe. “The house stays in my name. I’ll send a rental agreement, fair market value, to be signed within 15 days. Plus five years of back rent as a security deposit.”

He nodded sheepishly as I slid my Dior sunglasses over my eyes. And with my head held high, I walked out of that awful house forever.

"She," Green Day

Cruz

“Youshouldhaveseenhis face,” she said as I merged her car onto the parkway, marking our unofficial departure from the Hamptons.

“Honestly, baby, I never want to see that smarmy asshole again. I’ll befriend Alex if it means you’re done with Spencer.”

“God, that feels good,” she said as her shoulders relaxed. “I’m done with Spencer.”

Pretty sure most people wouldn’t consider ‘my ex is still living in my childhood home that his new wife destroyed’ as being ‘done with,’ but if she could walk away without looking back, I wasn’t going to tell her otherwise.

It had been surprisingly easy to escape. The valet knew my poor ass didn’t belong in her Audi S8 but begrudgingly helped me load all her suitcases. When Victoria emerged like a goddamn queen with her giant sunglasses and a luxury purse dangling over her forearm, he opened her passenger door without a word as I slid behind the wheel. This car was a dream to drive, I couldn’t wait to get on the highway upstate to open her up.

But first, I would take care of my girl.

My girl. Still wondering when she’d come to her senses on that.

I pulled into a gas station, encouraging her to change into something more comfortable. She rummaged in the trunk and emerged in jeans and a Stanford hoodie.

“I’ll call management on Monday,” she said as she slid back into the passenger seat. “I checked the condo bylaws, and there’s no rule against a relationship between a super and a tenant as long as there’s no preferential treatment. So as long as we disclose that we’re together, we’re in the clear.”

I pulled onto the highway, still a little surprised that she was so serious about a relationship with me. But I kept my mouth closed to prevent myself from talking her out of it. I wasn’t gonna look a gift cobra in the mouth.

The dashboard lit up with a phone call from her dad. After a brief hesitation, she declined then tucked the phone into the cupholder and dropped her temple onto the window.

I knew the perfect song to lift her spirits.

“Play the playlist called Paperclip,” I asked Siri. When her brow lifted, I explained: “People Against People Ever Re-enlisting: Civilian Life is Preferred.”

“Quite an acronym.”

“Wish I could take credit for it. Sort of like NAVY: Never Again Volunteer Yourself,” I said. “I listened to this playlist on patrol, tired of being told what to do.”

“You don’t mind when I tell you what to do.”

“That’s different, my commanding officers didn’t reward me with pussy,” I smirked.

I skipped past Rage Against the Machine, the Sex Pistols, the Clash, Joan Jett, and landed on the first song that Pike taught me on guitar on the sub. He’d been attempting to settle a debate about whether guitar or drums was more of a pussy magnet. While I still believed it was drums, I’d learned guitar as a back-up plan. And that reminded me, I should bring Victoria to the next Your Local Phantom show—Stacy hadn’t been wrong about her taking me home when she saw me play last week.

“Green Day songs, go.”

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