Page 78 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
Thorne coughs and nudges Shane in the ribs. I blush.
“Oh no. Did I misbehave?”
“Nope,” Thorne says. “You were perfect. Right, Shane?”
Shane grins. “I was just kidding. You were an angel, Juliet.”
“Uh huh.” I give them both a knowing look. “I’m keeping an eye on you two.”
I circle the adoption fair, then settle in with Jessa and Ivy, who are in a large circular pen with a few small dogs that are fiercely friendly. Jessa hands me a little packet of dog treats and I lead the dog up to a curious family standing to one side of the pen.
They enjoy meeting Piglet, a five-year-old Yorkipoo. The little girl gives Piglet a few scratches behind the ear and declares that she’s perfect. Her mom smiles gently and tells her they have to look around a bit, but they can come back to Piglet if they want.
I pet Piglet, giving her a wink. “You hear that? You’re perfect.”
She gives me a doggy grin before barking twice and running off to sniff a mini schnauzer’s butt.
I turn, scanning the rest of the pen for a new family. Ivy is telling an older man where to go to apply for an adoption. It makes me smile. We’re a pretty good team!
That’s when I see him. Patrick, walking toward our booth like he owns the place. What the hell is he doing here??
My stomach drops. “Shit.”
“What?” Jessa follows my gaze. “Oh shit. Is that…?”
I nod. “That’s my ex.”
Ivy hears, immediately going into protective mode. “Want me to spill coffee on him? Or maybe I can get a dog to pee on his leg…”
I gulp, my hands balling into fists at my side. My body is ready to go to war, if that’s what it takes. “No, I can handle this.”
It’s better if I draw him out, make him approach me. His plan is to stare at me and hope to make me stumble over my words. Hiding isn’t how I’ll win today. I know Patrick and just how he behaves.
I step out of the pen, walking toward the kissing booths. Drawing him out. Patrick corners me, a familiar smirk on his face that used to make me feel special.
Now, it makes me want to throw up.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Juliet Monroe.” He looks around the fair. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
I straighten my spine. I hold up my hand, flashing my ring. “Hunter is actually my fiancé.”
Patrick laughs, the sound sharp and condescending. “Fiancé? Really?”
He reaches for my hand before I can pull away, lifting it to examine my ring. His touch makes my skin crawl. I pull my hand out of his grip and shoot him a pained look.
“Could you please not touch me?” I say, hoping my tone is thoroughly dripping with disdain. “Why are you even here?”
“Your ring is tacky,” he declares, loud enough for people around us to hear. “But I suppose some women trade up, and some just settle for whatever they can get.”
The words hit like a slap. I loathe Patrick with every fiber of my being. Just because he’s from an old-money family, he thinks he’s too good for everyone.
If I hadn’t been so weak when we were dating, I would have left him years earlier. Instead, I let him and his snooty family push me around and make me feel less than. Never, ever again.
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re a two-dollar hooker,” he fires back.
I feel helpless and humiliated, rage burning in my chest, but before I can find my voice to tell him exactly where he can shove his opinions, my new friends come to my rescue.
