Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,98

so I had the right to burn, break, and trash anything I wanted…and I did.

“No, I haven’t had a chance.” Aka I’m handling my anger just fine. “Listen, I was hoping maybe I could pick up some hours at the flower shop. Just while I figure things out.”

Did I mention I may have lost my cool at the marketing firm where I worked and got fired? Okay, maybe I wasn’t doing the best at handling my anger. But when you find out one of your coworkers is on the list of whores? Well—You. Lose. It. And of course get fired. Screw you, James!

“Hmmm…you know it’s a slow season. We just had to let Becky go.”

Yeah, yeah yeah…even my parents who own their own flower shop can’t throw me a bone. Then again, they are housing me so I’m not homeless, so I guess beggars can’t be choosers. “Yeah, no worries. I’ll find something.” Like a job in murdering cheating assholes. I’ve come up with quite a few creative ways to take them out.

My phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket and almost drop it at the name on my screen. He has some nerve…

Maybe he wants to apologize. If he asked me to fix us, would I? Should I—"Silence!” I scream at myself, accidently scaring my mom. I need to shut my brain down. No way in hell will I get back with him. Now, heart, shut up—you’re done calling the shots.

I mouth, “Sorry,” to my mom and put my finger up, letting her know I’ll be a minute as I excuse myself outside to take his call.

“What do you want?” Yeah, start off strong and stern. Take no prisoners.

“Hey, baby girl.” Gah! Nickname from hell! Don’t fall for it!

“I’m not your baby girl, James.”

There’s a long sigh. “I know, but…Katie, I miss you. You know I do. I don’t sleep well without you.”

La-la-la!

“Good! Why don’t you have one of your girlfriends keep you warm. Seriously, why are you calling? We’re over, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, I know. I hurt every day because of it. But I need a favor, and I know you still love me, so you’ll help me, right?”

Is he for real?

“Hold on, let me shake my Magic Eight Ball. Oh, lookie there! This must be a new one it says go fuck yourself!”

“Baby girl, please. I need—”

“What could you possibly need from me, huh? Haven’t you taken enough? What, do you not know where to pick up your laundry? Cook? Need more money?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. “I need your engagement ring.”

I almost drop my phone a second time. I clearly heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

“I need the ring back. It cost me a lot, and I figured since you probably don’t want it, I could get it back. The jeweler said he’d give me a good return price on it—”

“You already talked to a jeweler?” my voice rises.

“Baby—Katie, listen. I need the money, and I spent a lot on that ring. It was bought on your credit card and it’s blocked, so I can’t—”

Wait. Just. A. Goddamn. Minute.

“You what?”

“I was going to pay it back, but—”

“You didn’t charge my engagement ring to my credit card.” Red. All I see is red. My tone is calm yet murderous.

“If you could just give it—”

“You are one grade-A asshole! No, you can’t get my ring back—that I apparently paid for! What you can have is a one-way ticket to hell—that’s where you belong, you cheating piece of shit! And on the way there, I hope you get chlamydia!” I finally take a breath. Wow, that felt good.

“Well, now that you’re bringing it up. You may want to get tested. I’m not sure how, but I’ve had some…issues down there.”

I hang up.

And toss my phone into the bushes.

Then go back and get it because now I need it to make a Gyno appointment.

Fuck!

3

Negative.

He’s damn lucky too. If I had crabs on top of everything else, I would be treating them in jail. For seven whole days, I thought the unimaginable: crabs, herpes, you name it. I was beyond paranoid. I didn’t have any symptoms, but man can a mind do wonders when you overthink. Maybe I had a new version—one with no symptoms, but the bugs were there, eating away at my vagina.

I hang up with the doctor and sigh a breath of relief.

“No new-aged crabs. Phew.”

“Excuse me?”

I forgot I’m in a salon chair, with a seventy-year old lady working on me. “Oh, nothing. The market is