Page 68 of The Worst Guy Ever
Rob drops me off outside my building and I find myself standing in the kitchen wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now. Megan is nowhere to be seen, I have chores to do, groceries to shop for, work to catch up on, and all I want to do is go to bed and relive last night. And cry.
I never cry. The stupid prick has broken me.
In my room, I change out of last night’s clothes and realise I’m still wearing Rob’s t-shirt, tucked into my skirt. I shove everything into the washing basket, but then I lose my mind and do the stupidest thing I have ever done.
I pull his t-shirt back out, lift it to my face and inhale.
The scent of him, his skin, his hair, brings it all rushing back. Everything inside me tightens, an unbearable ache from the memory of last night, and what I hate to admit is the best sex I’ve ever had.
Chapter 29
Hattie
Desperateforsugarandcarbs, I turn down the bakery aisle and spot someone I recognise.
Marcus, I think his name was. Michael? We met in a bar and went back to his hotel room not long afterwards. He was a lot of fun, and we left amicably, he didn’t pester me for more or act like I’d broken his heart. Those are the best kind of hookups. I didn’t think he was from around here, but maybe I was mistaken?
I walk towards where he’s choosing a loaf of bread but I’m so busy checking him out I don’t notice the woman standing on the other side of him. It’s only when he steps back and turns to face me that I see her. The woman holding his hand. The woman with her other hand on a pram.
His eyes meet mine and I cover my mouth so I don’t throw up right in front of the crumpets. It’s too late to turn, he’s seen me now, and his face goes as white as mine feels when he realises who I am. I need to keep walking but between them, the pram, and the trolley, they’re taking up most of the aisle. I just have to stand here awkwardly and wait for them to move. My gaze drops to the loaf of bread in his hand and there it is. A shiny band on his finger.
You arsehole.
He has a wife and a baby. A little baby too. A baby definitely too little to have not yet been conceived around the time he was balls deep inside me. My heart starts racing as his beautiful wife apologises for getting in my way.
You utter shit.
“No problem. What a gorgeous baby,” I say, peering into the pram where I see their little girl. There’s no mistaking that since she’s dressed head to toe in pink with one of those bow bands stretched around her soft, fair hair.
“Thank you so much,” his wife says.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty weeks today,” she beams, as if I’m supposed to know off the top of my head what that means. I do the maths.
“So what’s that, about 4 months?”
“Yeah, she’s growing so fast. It feels like she was just born yesterday.”
Bastard.
I look up at him and his eyes plead with mine. A subtle shake of the head says‘please don’t’. He knows I could ruin his life, right here in the middle of Tesco on a Saturday afternoon.
That’s not my style though, and why would I even bother? I’m not the winner, there’s no upper hand here. She’s the wronged woman, even if she has no idea. And I’m the woman who slept with her husband while she carried his child. Who benefits from a confession or confrontation?
No, the only winner is the man who gets to fuck around and get away with it. These men who have beautiful wives and perfect babies, and, still not satisfied, they make a whore out of me with their secrets and lies. I would never,ever, knowingly sleep with a married man, and if I knew they were expecting a baby I’d punch them so hard in the dick they’d never make another kid again. I hate him, and now I hate myself.
“Well congratulations, she’s an angel.”
“What a nice lady,” I hear her say as I leave them. I’m going to be sick. I slept with a pregnant woman’s husband and I had no idea. And he lives here, so I’ll probably see them everywhere I go now. I drop my basket at the end of the aisle and walk out, blinking back tears.
The sofa is my saviour. When Megan gets home that night, Kara is with her, and they find me curled up under a blanket on my fifth episode of The Repair Shop. At least I can pretend I’m crying about some old man being reunited with his childhood train set and not the truth, which I can barely admit to myself, let alone anyone else. They drop their bags in the hallway and rush in to see me.
“Right, pause that and tell us everything,” Megan says. I do as I’m told and she gets under the covers at the other end of the sofa, while Kara scoots in beside me. I want to explain, but when I open my mouth to speak, only a sob comes out.
“Oh honey, what’s wrong?” Kara asks, putting her arm around me. “Did he hurt you? I swear if he hurt you I’ll kill him.”
I shake my head and sniff uncontrollably. Megan fetches a box of tissues.
