The SAA (Zephyr Hills Phantoms MC #2)
Prologue
Nicole
(ten years ago)
“I don’t understand why you’re not getting what I’m saying, Nicole,” Jeremy sneered. “The bottom line is this, I no longer want to be with you. Plain and simple. You’re not my type. You never were and you never will be.”
“I was your type three months ago when you said all the right things, lured me to your bed, and took my virginity,” I dryly replied.
Don’t let him see you cry, Nicole. He doesn’t deserve to see your tears, I internally chant.
Right now, I’m holding back my tears of sorrow by a sheer force of will. I refuse to let him see how his words are hurting and affecting me. Breaking me. To think that I’ve wasted almost a year on someone so unworthy, somebody who has turned out to be so shallow and downright rude had me angry at myself.
“Pssh, it was a pity fuck,” he snidely retorted as if he’s some sort of prize.
“I see, so you’re saying I was a pity fuck that warmed your bed and whom you continued to manage to get there several times a week since then.”
“Until something better came along.” He did not just go there! The nerve of this piece of shit! What gives him the right to treat me this way?
“Well, you can see yourself out. Please, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.” Standing, I pulled my sweater closed and moved to my front door. After I opened it, I continued to stare Jeremy down and waved him out of my place until he stomped out, huffing and puffing like he was the big bad wolf and wanted to blow my house down.
While I wanted to slam it shut, I wouldn’t give him or any man that sort of satisfaction or give him enough control of seeing how hurt I was, so I quietly closed it behind him then made sure it was securely locked before I slid down the wall to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest, crying silently at the horrible, hateful things he had spewed at me.
* * *
A good cry and a shower later, I managed to gather all the things Jeremy had left behind at my house and shoved them into a garbage bag then dragged it out and set it out by the curb near the other trash. He could come pick them up or let the neighborhood strays piss all over them for all I cared. Grabbing my phone, I opened up our text stream.
Me: Your stuff is in bags out by the curb. Since trash runs tomorrow, you might not want to wait to come pick them up otherwise, head to the dump. Have a nice life.
His response was less than stellar, but I kept my head high and poured myself a glass of wine before settling in to read.
It was my escape from reality, had been for a long time, and now that I recognized my happily-ever-after was never going to happen like it does in my favorite novels, I would focus on my book boyfriends only. At least they don’t make promises they won’t keep.