Page 26 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

first willing woman to accept you, let alone with her legs spread. My

father had just died, dammit! You were the only one who was there

for me day in and day out. I needed you to let me navigate the world

without my father for like a week or something. I didn’t think you

would leave me forever!”

“I had needs dammit, and they weren’t being met with you!” He

comes closer, nearly in my face, and I have every intention of jutting

my fist into his jaw if he comes an inch closer. “I was taking care of

you so much I didn’t get a single one of my needs met, Leah!”

“He was only dead for three weeks,” I snarl. “Three fucking weeks.

And you couldn’t stand that after spending a whole day in this shop

crying my eyes out, I wasn’t the perfect fucking girlfriend to tend to

your cock at night? Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m serious, Leah. The sexual chemistry was something we had

a lot of, but then it all changed.”

“MY FATHER DIED!”

He winces at my volume, throws up his hands, and walks away from

me altogether. “You know what? Fine. Don’t come to the wedding.

I’m trying to be the adult here and moderate this tension, but it’s

clear you’re not over it.”

“Fuck you.”

I’m writhing with heat as he waltzes out of the shop with so little

remorse that it aches. It physically pains me to know that’s how he

sees our relationship. He saw me as a vessel to satisfy him, as a way

to get all three of his needs met, and I did a damn good job of that for

ten fucking years—even in times he may not have even deserved it.

Falling into my stool, I aim to sit down and collect myself, but that’s

a possibility that’s long gone now. I sink onto the floor on my knees,

sobbing into my grease-stained hands while the largest portion of my

life has dwindled to nothing, and a measly four months has proven

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