Page 2 of Her Maine Distraction

I usually reserve this kind of fast food for mornings after heavy drinking, but I feel like I have a hangover from all the crying, so I’m going to overlook the fat and calories.

Besides, who do I have to look good for anymore?

Circling the apartment complex’s parking lot to make sure Kyle’s car is gone, I pull into a spot and sit in park for a moment, taking a deep breath before I head up to our place. Well,hisplaceI guess, as he so kindly pointed out a few hours ago.

I told him to get the hell out of our apartment after the bitch he was with ran out half-dressed, but he said if anyone was leaving, it would be me, sinceImoved in withhim.

Bastard.

My hands shake slightly as I unlock the door, and I force another deep breath into my lungs as I step across the threshold, my ears perking up to the dead silence I hear. It’s a drastic contrast to the deep grunts and female cries of pleasure I was greeted to the last time I opened this door.

Rubbing my temples, I trudge down the hall to the bedroom, but stand for a second under the doorway, looking at the unmade bed.

I curl my hands into fists, and head straight for the closet, methodically shoving everything I own into suitcases and various bags. I also unapologetically use one of Kyle’s suitcases, fully intending on throwing it in a dumpster when I’m finished with it.

Changing out of my work uniform and into something a little more comfortable, I take my bags down to my car in a few trips, and then I leave my key on the kitchen counter – no note, no insults, no defacing of his property. Nothing.

I don’t have it in me to care about his reaction. I refuse to give him some ‘crazy bitch’ act that he can use against me when people ask about what happened between us.

The kitchen will be buzzing with rumors by tonight, but I guess that’s what happens when you date where you work.

Groaning, I lean my forehead against the steering wheel. How am I supposed to go to work tonight? How am I supposed to face him,andher? That bitch, Julie, was secretly fucking my boyfriend.

It’s no wonder she was always smiling and being extra nice to me…

Although, Kyle never left me smiling quite like that, so I have no idea why she was so happy…

Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?

No.

No, I refuse to put it on me in any way that I’m the reason he cheated.

I know there are going to be whispers, sidelong glances, and pitying looks. And I swear if I see him and her openly flirty or interacting, I may lose my shit.

I should just quit.

There’s no coming back from this – Kyle and I. And I don’t want to be in the same place as him almost every day. I can’t. I used to think I was special because I was dating the brilliant Kyle Smith – sous chef extraordinaire to one of the best restaurants in North Jersey. Older, sophisticated, handsome, well-off. But none of that matters when he’s also a lying douche bag who never respected me.

How many other women was he sleeping with?

No, I can’t think about that. One is bad enough.

Starting my car, I realize I don’t have a plan exactly, so I just drive around aimlessly, no real destination in mind.

I find myself driving past my childhood home, and suddenly wish my parents still lived here – a thought I haven’t had since they retired and moved to Florida two years ago. I would have a place to stay until I found a new job, a new apartment, a new everything.

But then again, why should I have to start over here? Ally, Ashley, and Melanie have all moved to Maine, and the only real reason I’m still here in New JerseywasKyle.

The four of us have been best friends since freshman year of high school, and have always stayed close through everything in our lives. But Ally and Ashley have been gone for a couple years now, and Melanie almost one. It was around the time Mel left last fall that I started dating the bastard. I was so blinded by the fact he was even interested in me, that I didn’t think to question it. To question him.

Well,screwhim.

Banging my hand on the steering wheel, I turn the radio up, and head over to the restaurant. Luckily, it’s not open yet, so the yoga pants and t-shirt I’m wearing shouldn’t be an issue with management. Lakeview Terrace has a strict ‘no jeans’ policy, which I know extends to athleisure wear too.

I avoid using the employee kitchen entrance so I don’t have to seehim, and sneak in the front door, making sure to avoid any and every one as I go straight for my manager’s office.

I knock lightly. “Come in,” I hear her say through the door. Opening it, I find her sitting behind her mahogany desk.

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