Page 65 of Average Joe

That was true once upon a million heartbreaks ago. “I don’t need you.”

“I’ve changed.”

Changed? Heaven help me.

“How many times have I heard those words?” I roared, knowing the point was moot. “They mean nothing.”

The man flinched, then set his shoulders straighter. “Your heart is hard as a rock, baby, and I get that’s mostly my fault, but someday you’re gonna have to let me in.”

“Just go. Please.”

When I moved to shut the door, he threw out the old classic, “I miss you.”

Those words—I miss you—used to mean something. They’d given a young, foolish girl hope. Hope, sometimes, was more destructive than heartbreak.

Pissed and so done with Warren and his games, I opened the door wider and seethed, “Good. You should miss me. I hope it hurts.” He could never suffer enough in my opinion. “I hope you feel hollow inside. I hope the guilt of being a shitty person eats you alive from the inside out.”

“You don’t mean that.” He studied me head to toe, then faked a warm smile and took a step closer. “You look good, sweetheart.”

No denying, the man was handsome. Seemed the full package at first glance. It would’ve been so easy to fall into his arms, absorb his words and attention, pretend that he loved me like he should, and let him back into my life so he could rip my heart to shreds all over again. Destroy me. All over again. I’d been caught in that trap for too damn long. Lesson learned.

I loved him. I hated him.

“Get off my property.” I shoved hard at his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t come back. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not leaving.” He threw his arms out wide, that cocky arrogance spilling through the glint in his eyes and the lift of his chin. “You can’t get rid of me. I’m staying right here until you talk to me.”

“The lady asked you to leave.”

I jumped at the gruff tone. Warren turned to face the intruder.

My big, beautiful, terrifying, angry neighbor came up the steps, slow and calculated, a man ready for battle. “You’d be wise to do what she asked.”

Joe had the intimidation factor dialed to deadly—his stance set for a fight, a brutal lock to his jaw, a fierce glare that made me back away in self-preservation.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed to whisper, “I’ve got this, Joe.”

Now standing toe to toe, neither one of the men paid me any mind, staring each other down like fighters waiting for the go-ahead to pummel each other. Their size difference was laughable. Joe stood at least a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than Warren.

Bless Warren’s poisonous heart, he didn’t back down. I was morbidly proud of the man because there was no way, if provoked, Joe wouldn’t pulverize the guy.

Excruciating seconds passed, my ticker hammering for reasons I did not want to contemplate.

Finally, Warren broke the tension, shooting me a quick glance. “Marley?”

He wasn’t seeking guidance on how to handle the situation. He was questioning my relationship with the other man on my porch. He had no right to be concerned.

No doubt, if given the okay, Joe would throw Warren off my property, and by the look on his face, he’d find the most unpleasant way to do so.

I hated Warren, but I didn’t want him bloodied or dead. “Just go.”

Warren released a breath, his shoulders dropping. “Fine, baby girl. I’ll go for now, but we gotta talk.” Avoiding my glare, he ducked his head, shoved past Joe, and trotted down the porch steps.

Joe blocked my view of Warren’s retreat, arms crossed over his chest. “This guy gonna be a problem?”

Heavens, he smelled good, like fresh laundry and an overload of testosterone.

“He’s been a problem for a very long time.” I rubbed at the ache in my temples. “My problem. And thank you, but I can handle him.”

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