Her Pucking One Night Stand (Game On Daddies #1)

1. AVA

1

AVA

I storm out of Dean’s glass double doors with so much violence that the letters spelling out Effortless Massage and Tranquility Center reverberate like a plucked string. That name is ironic as all hell. Because despite the burbling fountain in the corner and the incense on the counter that stuffs me up, there’s never been anything tranquil about this place.

As of this moment, Dean is officially my ex. In my heart, if not in reality… yet . I’m over his snide remarks and snider put-downs. I’m done with how he grins blandly at clients only to berate me in a whisper behind the scenes, and outright yell at me once we’re home. And let’s not forget the cherry on top: walking in on him, balls deep in one of our so-called client’s mouths.

So, this is it.

I’m out.

Sliding the plain gold wedding band off my finger feels strangely comforting. The cool metal leaves behind a faint imprint, but it’s more than that— it’s freedom in its purest form. I tuck it into the inner zipper pocket of my small backpack purse, and glance down at my now bare hand. It looks good—right, even. Lighter. Freer. This is more than just taking off a ring—it’s ripping off the past like a bandaid and taking back my life, choosing my own happiness.

I set my suitcase on the sidewalk beside me and lock up with my key. Once I slip that key into the mail slot near the bottom of the door, I yank out the shoe polish I brought with me for this precise purpose, and pry off the lid. The white goo filtering up through the sponge makes me smile.

Spreading my arms as tall and wide as I can—which, granted, isn’t that far considering I’m five-two—I use the chalky polish to write in sweeping block letters that will stand out from a distance.

With my handiwork finished, I back up several steps to glow in the majesty of what I’ve written. I take a selfie with the window in the background and text it to my BFF. Leighton Jennings has been my best friend since she arrived on her first day of eighth grade at my public middle school. I know she, more than anyone else, will appreciate this. The best thing about Leighton is no matter what, when I need her, she’s there.

Leighton: Holy fuck, you actually did it! Lol! You’re such a badass.

Ava: I am, aren’t I? Think the Dino will be pissed?

Dino is the pet name Dean’s mom calls him. He puts up with it from her but hates it from everyone else. Hence, our reason for referring to him that way behind his back.

Leighton: Yeah, but he deserves it. How dare he skip paying you for a month.

Actually, it’s been a month and a half, around the same time I discovered him fucking another woman in the same place where I work. Not that I’m admitting that right now. It’s too goddamn depressing.

Why did I stay married to this prick for the past two years again? Oh, that’s right… I was nineteen, destitute, and down on my luck.

Dean started out as a nice guy. Or I thought so, anyway. He invited me to move in with him right after the apartment I had been living in was condemned by the city—our city—of Newark, New Jersey for an uncontrollable mold infestation. I had also just gotten laid off from my sandwich artist gig at the local sub restaurant.

Sure, Leighton would’ve taken me in. But I couldn’t have stayed for long, not since she has five roommates. That’s right. I said five. And I couldn’t depend on my parents. Mom’s probably in Idaho by now, living in a van in the woods, surrounded by free spirits who get high and embrace the “one with nature” lifestyle. We didn’t have much growing up, and once I was old enough, she hit the road for a cross-country trip. As for the sperm donor? I’ve never known where he is, and honestly, I don’t care. I was too busy surviving on my own to waste time wondering about the who or the why with him.

The one person I did have an interest in was Dean. He hired me to work with him at his massage therapy spa, helping me to go from unemployed to a woman with a job as a receptionist. I went from almost homeless to sleeping in this man’s spare bedroom.

He even encouraged me to become a licensed masseuse so I could move up within the echelons of his business. Within three months, we became romantically involved, and within six, we were engaged, having a city hall wedding two weeks later. I’d been his blushing and ecstatic child bride, imagining my happily ever after.

I should’ve known it was too good to be true.

Shortly after we said, "I do," the mean outbursts began. At first, they were rare, something I could excuse as a bad day or a foul mood. But it didn’t take long for them to become routine. I walked on eggshells constantly. I know I shouldn’t have stayed, but once in bed, he’d morph back into the silky-voiced, irresistible flirt who swept me off my feet. I still remember that first time…

“I’m so sorry about earlier, baby. I didn’t mean it.”

Timidly, I asked, “You didn’t?”

“No. Why don’t you come here and let me make it up to you?”

He kissed me softly on the forehead, his hands unhurried as he stripped away my clothes piece by piece. With each inch of skin he revealed, his lips followed—brushing over my midriff, trailing down my arms, lingering at my cleavage and breasts. He kissed his way to my thighs, teasing the sensitive spot below my belly button before moving lower, his mouth grazing my pubic bone. When he laid me back on his mattress, spreading my legs with a reverence that stole my breath, his lips found my clit. Then his tongue followed, igniting a fire that consumed my entire body.

Unlike my high school boyfriend, Dean knew how to make me orgasm, which I thought was very thoughtful at the time. We argued but always made up. That’s what couples did, right? But eventually, any enjoyment on my end ceased. All that good behavior that made up for the bad petered out until every single day with him became this miserable slog. It was so gradual that it took me a while to realize I’d been unhappy for a long time.

My frustration led to our first big argument, and that argument wound up with me cowering on the kitchen floor as he bellowed at me to get off my lazy ass and make his dinner. Terrified, I did his bidding, quietly sobbing the entire time.

That’s when I understood I could no longer live with him.

Months of planning have led to this moment. When you’re working with limited means, patience and caution become necessities. But after saving every dollar, selling everything I could part with, and applying for jobs outside of Jersey, I finally have what I’ve been working for. A new job in California, and a fresh start.

I cross the street to the bus stop and wait. Soon, I’ll be boarding a plane and grabbing ahold of my second chance with both hands.

It’s only once I’m aboard the bus and sitting in the next-to-last seat that I’m able to watch as the other riders notice what I’ve done. There are snorts and a handful of giggles. It’s downright glorious.

DEAN MASTERS HAS THE TINIEST OF COCKS is emblazoned across his glass storefront for everyone who passes by to witness.

To be fair, the cock thing isn’t technically true. He has a perfectly average-sized dick. But he has acted like such a prick for so long that stating it this way feels damn good. It taps into the resentment—and, okay, vindictiveness—that’s been festering inside me like a life-threatening parasite.

A rush of triumph surges through me when the bus brakes hiss as they release and the engine roars to life. This is my moment of victory. And now, as I’m finally free of him, the divorce papers I filed this morning are sitting on his desk, waiting for him to find them.

Admittedly, I’m being a chickenshit for not doing it face to face, but I have no clue what his reaction might be. I know it won’t be pretty. While Dean has never actually struck me, I’m not at all sure that he wouldn’t if given enough provocation. And showing him papers that prove I want to permanently dissolve our marital union could very well push him right over that edge.

No need to be there for that.

If he fights it, I’ll have to get an attorney involved, but by then, I’ll be away from here. Long fucking gone.

The only thing tying me to this place is Leighton, and while I’ll miss her, having my best friend in a state this tarnished makes it impossible to stay in Newark any longer. Not with Dean here. I have an escape hatch, and I’m taking it.

Maybe that sounds selfish, but other than my friendship with Leighton, Jersey holds few cheerful memories for me. Mostly, it’s been childhood neglect, followed by Dean accusing me of being a waste of space. My bestie has reminded me time and again that I deserve better—that I’m worth more than being his unpaid servant, and that being treated like a doormat isn’t really living.

I’m trying with everything I am to believe her.

Even if it’s hard.

Saltwater stings my eyes as I let the momentousness of what I’m doing roll over me. But these tears are different—they’re a baptism, cleansing the old me and awakening the new. I’m running from painful memories and poor choices, and while it’s scary, it also feels liberating.

So, as we chug away from the impoverished downtown area I’ve lived and worked in for so long, I grin to myself and wipe the moisture from my cheeks. All my preparations are paying off, and everything is working out.

Even if it never has before.

I bring up every peaceful thought I’ve ever had. Each pink and tangerine sunrise. Each view I’ve had of the Jersey Shore. Each confidence I’ve shared with Leighton.

I’m going to be okay. I have to trust in that. Even if there’s this ominous anxiety building under my skin telling me otherwise.