Screwed

by Kendall Ryan

  Even though he probably won’t answer, I still can’t resist trying to call him during our lunch break. I’m not surprised when his voice-mail message immediately plays.

  So this is how we end, huh? After giving me the most mind-blowing night I’ve ever had, he’s already moved on. I almost have to laugh. Roxy was right all along; I was never anything more than his latest conquest. Considering the many years I spent in school, I feel pretty fucking stupid right now. That JD after my name doesn’t mean shit. I fell for his game hook, line, and sinker.

  God, I’m such an idiot—it’s almost impressive how dumb I am. How many people warned me about him? Roxy got burned and tried to save me from the same fate. Mom could tell what kind of man he is with a single glance. Even his own fucking sister dropped hints that should have sent me running for the hills. They all knew better, but I was too arrogant and horny to listen to any of them. I still fell for Hayden’s nice-guy act . . . playing along and dropping my panties just as he probably knew I would all along. I should have known that a shithead can’t change his spots.

  Have I learned nothing these past few years? My relationships with men always end in disaster. They start out hopeful, then turn into something I never signed up for. I hated the passionless sex. The dull conversations. The pretending to be interested in basketball games or whatever damn sports thing they liked to watch on TV.

  But as I consider all this, I realize there was none of that with Hayden. The sex was off-the-charts hot, and I can truly say that every time he opened his mouth, he kept me entertained. There was no forcing his hobbies on me, either. He took an interest in my hobbies instead. It really felt like we were building toward something real. And then . . . whammo. The floor fell out from beneath me.

  Hating myself almost as much as I hate Hayden, I finish my last day of business meetings in a black mood and fly home alone.

  • • •

  When the taxi drops me off at almost eleven, some kind of masochistic curiosity prompts me to climb past my floor and up to Hayden’s. I peep around the corner of the stairwell. Light glows from underneath his condo door; he must be home for the night. I consider knocking and demanding an explanation, but right now, I’m not brave enough. The last thing I need is to break down in front of a man who’s already exploited my feelings.

  Besides, all my texts went unanswered and all my calls went straight to voice mail. Hayden must have turned off his phone. He’s willing to miss communications from anyone, no matter how important, just to avoid even seeing my name on his screen.

  So I already know perfectly well that he’s pushed me away. Knocking on his door will only force me to face that rejection in person. I don’t know which would be worse . . . Hayden outright sneering that he’s done with me, asking why I can’t take a hint, or Hayden gazing at me with pity in his eyes, trying to let me down easy. At least he won’t snow me with a fake apology just to set the stage for another booty call, like my last ex would always do. Hayden’s text made it pretty clear that he never wants to see me again—in or out of bed.

  Lost in resentful thought, I startle when Hayden’s condo door opens. I watch in horrified disbelief as a buxom, long-legged woman saunters out. She looks tired, satisfied . . . and familiar.

  Is that who I think it is? Even with the building’s hall lights dimmed for the night, Roxy’s face is unmistakable. And she’s dressed the most casual I’ve ever seen her, wearing flip-flops, Bermuda shorts, and a man’s T-shirt . . . is it Hayden’s? Her blond hair splays over her neck in a messy ponytail, as if she quickly pulled it back, and she isn’t wearing any makeup. Overall, she looks like she was rode hard and put away wet.

  I feel sick to my stomach. That prick sure didn’t take long to replace me, did he? And with his ex, no less. Her dire warnings to stay away from Hayden clearly didn’t apply to herself.

  Before Roxy can catch me lurking—or I start crying—I duck back into the stairwell and down to the safety of my condo.

  • • •

  The next few days pass in a dark funk. I bitch a little to Trina over lunch, then stop when I realize it doesn’t make me feel better. Neither does double-chocolate ice cream with hot fudge. Even my work can’t truly distract me. I’m numb and distracted, and tired, sleeping until my alarm demands that I get up or be late for work. I skip yoga, and generally feel exhausted.

  But one morning, I wake up pissed off. Not upset, not depressed, but filled with a fury that’s cold and hard and strong as iron. It pushes me out of bed and into the shower like I’m preparing for battle. All my helpless self-pity has transmuted itself into determination.

  No more sad-sack Emery, I decide, welcoming the cool spray on my face. No more moping and wallowing in heartbreak. I refuse to waste any more energy on that prick, not even to hate him. As Mom always says, the best revenge is living well.

  I have to remind myself who I am, and the best way to do that is to get centered on my career again. I have to kick even more ass at work and double down on studying; the bar exam is only a week away now. And I have to make a clean break, so that I’m reminded of Hayden as little as possible. Which means finding a new apartment. Again.

  Despite my new resolutions, I feel a residual flash of anger at myself. What the fuck happened here? After my last boyfriend, I told everyone who would listen that I’d sworn off men, but I still managed to get tangled up with yet another jerk. I convinced myself that Hayden would be different when he was just Asshole McFuckstick: The Thrilling Sequel.

  At least I got some good sex out of this whole mess, I think bitterly as I comb my hair. At least I came to my senses before he sank his claws too far into me. At least I only wasted a month of my life, instead of two years.

  Even so, what’s wrong with me? Am I an idiot? How many times do I have to make this kind of mistake before I learn to avoid it? Maybe I just won’t have a next time at all. I should have stuck to my no boys allowed rule in the first place. All men ever do is confuse your priorities and fuck up your life.

  I remind myself of another Mom proverb: Spit in one hand and wish in the other, and see which one fills up first. I can’t change the past, so I force my attention back to the future and resume my pep talk.

  I’m Emery Winters, damn it, I repeat silently while I get dressed and put on my makeup. I don’t need men. I don’t need anyone. I’m a lean, mean legal machine. I eat textbooks for breakfast and contracts for dessert. No one can fuck with me.

  Speaking of which . . . I tell my growling stomach to hold its horses. There’s something I have to take care of before work, and I don’t want to be late. Besides, it’s Monday, so there will be free donuts in the conference room. Think of the sprinkles. No, wait, don’t think of them yet.

  At last, I look as fierce and polished as I wish I felt. I dig my tenant agreement out of my filing cabinet and head downstairs to the building manager’s office.

  “Good morning,” I say as I walk up to his desk, aiming for a tone that’s cheerful yet brisk. “I’d like to inquire about canceling my lease on 4B.”

  The small, skinny man takes the heavy packet and turns to its last page. He blinks slowly as he reads, like an old owl. “This is a twelve-month lease,” he finally says. “You’ve only lived here for . . . six weeks?”

  “Yes, I know. I’m willing to pay the fee for early cancellation.” I pull my checkbook out of my purse. “I can write you a check now if you want.”

  Another long blink. “Is there something wrong with your unit?”

  Yeah, your boss’s dick got into it. “Not at all. It’s a great place,” I say with a smile. “I just need to move.” And this guy just needs to stop grilling me and fill out the paperwork already.

  “I see,” he replies, looking like he doesn’t see at all. “Hold on a moment, ma’am. Let me check with Mr. Oliver.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. I wait as patiently as I can while he dials and mutters into the phone. After five minutes that feel like five hours, he hangs up. “He’ll be right with y
ou.”

  “Uh . . . sure.”

  With a heroic effort, I maintain my smile while screaming internally. This is absolutely the last thing I wanted. I’m not ready to see him face-to-face yet. But here he comes . . . After what feels like only a split second, I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. The familiar sound of his leather dress loafers on carpet.

  When Hayden walks in, time screeches to a halt. My empty stomach constricts at the sight of him. All the hurt and betrayal I felt in Omaha comes flooding back with a motherfucking vengeance. It took me days before I could even start moving on—but this bastard never had anything to move on from. He played me like a violin, got what he wanted from me, and then hooked up with his ex the very next night.

  And he looks as delicious as ever. That just adds insult to injury. He stomped my heart into the dirt and my body still wants a piece of him. Everything about this is so incredibly unfair. I try to grasp that anger, draw on it, and let it strengthen my resolve again.

  Hayden’s expression seems kind of pissed off too. As soon as his blue eyes meet mine, though, his irritation fades into what looks almost like regret. “You want to move?” he asks.

  What I want is to spit a defiant yes at him and swish out of here like a diva. He didn’t ask why I’m canceling my lease; he knows damn well what this is about. But I’m suddenly not sure if I can trust my voice, so instead, I just nod at him.

  “Okay,” Hayden replies in a carefully neutral tone that I can’t read. He turns to the building manager. “Go ahead and cancel Miss Winters’s lease. No penalty.”

  And with that, he walks out the office door, leaving both of us speechless. Hayden still seems pretty upset under his flat, even facade. But not at me.

  At himself? Why, when he was the one who tossed me aside in the first place?

  I hesitate, anxiety warring with curiosity, and anger playing both sides of the field. Then I shake my head and stomp after Hayden. It’s time for me to get back to work . . . but before I can do that, I need to lay this mystery to rest. Or else it will never leave me alone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hayden

  It’s been several days since I saw Emery, and my heart beats wildly in my chest as I watch her approach. She’s in one of her trademark fitted dark suit jackets and pencil skirts, and she looks beautiful, smart, and put together. It makes me miss her even more. Her heels click loudly across the sidewalk as she moves with purpose toward me.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asks, venom in her tone. If she was subdued in the leasing office, now she’s full of fire.

  A stabbing pain flares in my chest when our eyes connect. “That I’m an asshole, and you were right all along.” The words come from someplace deep inside me, so I know they’re true.

  “You just up and leave me in a hotel room in Nebraska, turn off your phone and, what . . . start fucking Roxy? Just for fun? Just to see if you could royally fuck me over like everyone warned me about?” Her voice is loud and angry, but her eyes well with tears at those last words.

  “You don’t know anything about me and Roxy.”

  Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. “No. You’re right. I don’t. Because you never told me anything about you and Roxy! I opened up to you so many times, and you couldn’t do the same.”

  Glancing around, I see a few of the nosier tenants have gathered on the sidewalk and are watching our spectacle.

  “Come with me. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  She narrows her eyes, and for a second I think she’s going to refuse me. But then I say, “Please,” and her gaze softens. She might not want to hear my explanation, but something in her needs to hear it. Closure, I’m guessing.

  “Okay.” Her tone is defeated, and I hate that. Her usual spark has faded, and everything in me wants to fix it. Part of me wants her to yell and scream and hit me, but she doesn’t, even though I deserve that and more.

  She follows me upstairs to my place, and when we enter, I can hear Dottie humming from the other room. I forgot she was here. One sighting of Emery and my head went completely blank, I guess.

  Dottie pokes her head out from my bedroom. “Hi, boss. Didn’t know you’d be back this morning.”

  “Dottie, could you excuse us, please?”

  Her brows pinch together as she glances between me and Emery. Emery is visibly upset, with her hands balled up tightly by her sides and her face red.

  “Sure,” Dottie says slowly.

  “You can take the rest of the day off. Paid. Take your grandson to the beach or something,” I suggest.

  She nods, and scurries out the door moments later.

  Then it’s just the two of us left alone in my condo. Bright sunlight streams in through the windows, and it’s too quiet.

  “You’re going to move out?” I ask.

  “What did you expect me to do, Hayden? Continue living here where I have to see you every day? No thanks. I have more respect for myself than that.” She plants her hands on her hips. “But I didn’t come up here to explain myself to you. You said you had something you needed to tell me.”

  “Right.” I nod. “Please come sit down.”

  We go into the living room and Emery takes a seat on the couch, her posture as straight as an arrow. She watches me warily. I wonder if the real reason she wants to move out is because being near me is painful to her, which would mean she has feelings for me. Or maybe it’s just that she’s pissed off and hates my guts. Either way, I have to take a chance.

  “This isn’t easy for me, but there are some things I need to get off my chest.”

  She crosses her arms in front of her. “Fine. I’m listening.”

  “Roxy and I have a past.” Fucking understatement of the year.

  “No shit,” she mutters under her breath. “You think I’ve just now figured that out? I saw her sneak out of your place late the other night—just after we had been together. She ducked out of here so fast, clearly doing the walk of shame.” She rolls her eyes for dramatic effect.

  “That night, I asked her to come over to set things right between us. Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re implying. I haven’t slept with anyone else since you.”

  “And you just expect me to believe you? Take that at face value?”

  “I’m an asshole and an idiot, but I’m not a liar. I’ve never once lied to you.”

  She works her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “I have to start at the beginning, or I won’t get this right.” Rubbing one hand over the back of my neck, I take a deep breath. “Her real name is Naomi. Roxy’s just a stage name. I knew her before she was Roxy, long before she was a stripper. We met in college. She was a dance major, believe it or not.”

  I look up to see Emery’s reaction. Her mouth is hanging open.

  “We dated for three years. I was crazy about her. I loved her free spirit, her straightforward outlook on life. She always seemed wise beyond her years, nothing like the bubblegum-chewing sorority girls who would give me doe eyes and then whine when I didn’t ask them out. Naomi was confident. Fun. She didn’t need a man. It made me want to be around her even more. Honestly, the way she was back then . . . kind of reminds me of you.”

  I meant it as a compliment, but I have no idea if Emery takes it that way. Her expression remains impassive as she waits for me to continue.

  “Our junior year, she broke her ankle in three places in a bad roller-blading accident, and had to have a couple of surgeries. It ended up costing her the dance scholarship that paid for her college, and she eventually dropped out of school. Things changed between us after that. She became . . . resentful, even though I tried to be as supportive as I could. I even had her move in with me, because she needed extra help getting around while she was recovering. But being together twenty-four/seven only seemed to make things worse between us.”

  I take a deep breath, knowing this next part of the story isn’t going to be pretty.

  “A few months late
r, Naomi told me she was pregnant. I was over-the-moon happy. I figured it was exactly what we both needed—I thought it would get our relationship back on track and give her something positive in her life to focus on, since her dance career had been effectively ruined. And even though I was young, I was excited about the baby. I bought all the books on parenting, and little rattles and blankets. It was nuts, but it was the only positive thing in my life at that time.”

  Emery leans forward, her fingertips on her lips.

  “She hated that I was happy about that baby. She said she didn’t know if she ever wanted kids, and certainly not when we were just twenty years old. It drove an even bigger wedge between us. And then . . .” I blow out a big breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Two weeks later, she told me that she’d lost the baby—had a miscarriage. Part of me didn’t believe her. Knowing how she felt about the pregnancy, I didn’t put it past her to just go off and have an abortion without telling me.”

  A lump forms in my throat, and I have to take a minute to collect myself. In my mind, I see a life that could have been, but never was. A little boy with my dark hair and her brown eyes toddling along beside me. I can see it so clearly, and it cuts like a knife through me. As he grew, I would show him everything I knew, all the ways to be a man. I’d take him with me to the properties we were renovating, let him help as much as he wanted. A paintbrush in his chubby fingers by the age of four. He’d learn responsibility, and I wouldn’t have to miss a minute of watching him grow. Working alongside me, he could learn a trade if he was the type who wanted to work with his hands, or if he preferred to be behind the scenes like me, I’d show him the finance side of things.

  “Oh my God.” Emery’s eyes are wide and her hands are clenched in her lap. “Do you really think . . . ?”

  Blinking away the mirage, I shrug. “Not anymore. That night you saw her leaving my place, I was so fucking confused about you, and I . . . I asked her to come over. I felt like I couldn’t face our future if I didn’t really have closure on my past.”