“Good night and thank you.” I wave as I slip inside. For the second time tonight, I wonder if I’m making a mistake by leaving a man. They’re so different; Pierce probably the safer choice. I just can’t give him a second thought when every part of me is hooked on Blake.

Sometimes, it takes a moment of intolerance to realize where your soft place is. Everything Pierce did tonight was perfect yet I couldn’t be with him because deep down, I was with Blake . . . I never actually left him.

My feet ache from a few hours spent in heels as I make my way up the last flight of stairs. I script exactly what I want to say to Blake—how I want to package my bid to get him back.

Anger makes people say things they wouldn’t otherwise. Nothing happened between Pierce and I to change the way I feel about Blake. Nothing happened to make me feel guilty about tonight except for going in the first place.

The apartment is dark when I push the door open. He’s either away or asleep; I’m hoping for the latter. I need him, and I’m not going to let myself fall asleep until I have him in my sight again. I peel my heels off and flick on the kitchen light.

My stomach turns.

My legs buckle.

Life isn’t fair.

It certainly hasn’t been kind.

They say the awful things that happen to us in our lifetime only make us stronger. I think they just harden us until we can’t feel anymore.

Clothes are scattered in a clear path from the door to Blake’s bedroom—not his clothes. My eyes stick to them. Maybe if I stare long enough, they’ll just disappear. Turn into nothing but a wicked game my mind played.

I step over the tiny black skirt first, then the thin red sweater. I reach toward his doorknob as if it might burn me. I don’t want to know, but I have to. Was moving on this easy?

Before the door even opens, I hear the sounds—the grunts and moans. I see two dark silhouettes, and I know. I know I ruined everything we had, or maybe we never had anything at all.

It only took four hours for him to replace me with someone else—for him to replace me in his bed.

I should close them out of my view, but I can’t. My body is paralyzed, but my heart bleeds as the show of emotions slide down my cheeks. This I can’t erase. I want to take this pain and inflict it on someone else—on him.

It only took him weeks to fix me, and now, I’m broken again. I want him to hurt as much as he’s hurt me.

I step back, slamming the door shut. The moans stop, replaced by hushed whispers.

I wait, needing to see what makes her better than me. Who was worth throwing everything away for? I swipe my fingertip under my eyes. Even if I’m weak, he’s not going to get the satisfaction of seeing it.

While I wait, I pour myself a glass of wine to try and numb the pain. Minutes tick by, and just when I’m thinking they may have picked right back up where they left off, the door inches open.

A thin brunette with long, mussed up hair steps out first in nothing but a black thong and matching bra. Our eyes connect, but she quickly looks away, picking her trail of clothes up off the floor. Blake follows in nothing but his gray boxer briefs. His cock is still swollen—probably a symptom of unfinished sex. Years from now I’ll still think about it. How it felt inside me . . . how it felt to come hard around him. I hate myself for even thinking about it.

“Sorry,” the girl mutters as she reaches around my legs to grab her skirt. I watch her shimmy into it, her cheeks blushing more with each passing second.

“Do you want me to help you find your shoes?” I ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch of glimpse of Blake staring at me curiously.

She looks up through her lashes, her doe eyes studying me.

“They’re at the foot of my bed,” Blake answers for her. His voice hints of annoyance but not an ounce guilt. “Why don’t you go get them for her, Lila?”

I hate him. I hate that he called me Lila instead of Lemon Drop. Because I don’t want him to know what I’m thinking or feeling, I walk past them to his room. He won’t expect this. It’ll throw him off . . . make him wonder. I flip the light on, instantly spotting the black stilettos. I grab them up quickly, wanting to escape the lingering smell of sex.

The walk out to the living room is just long enough to take a breath, to clear up my emotions again. “Here,” I say, holding them out to her.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, slipping them off my fingers.

“Not a problem. I’m used to it.”

Her eyes double in size, but she quickly recovers, slipping the shoes onto her feet. I muster everything I have in me to keep myself together. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let anyone take the best of me again. I’m definitely not going to let this woman I don’t know, who probably just met Blake a couple hours ago, take it. I’m not going to let him get away with it either.

When she’s done, she turns to Blake as if I’m not in the room. “Do you want my number?”

Even I know the answer to that.

He shakes his head, walking to the door and opening it for her. “I told you this would be nothing more than this.”

She sidles up to him, tracing a small circle onto his chest. “But can’t we do this again?”

He shakes his head again, more definitive this time.

Her finger quickly falls away. “Okay,” she says, sounding on the verge of tears. “I guess I’ll just catch a cab then.”

To my utter disgust, he reaches his hand out, a rolled up twenty between his fingers. “For the cab,” he remarks.

“Fuck off!” she seethes, pushing past him. “You’re an asshole.”

With no reaction from him, she walks away. I wonder if this is how his hook-ups usually end. If there’s a long path of pissed off women in his wake.

He closes the door, staring at it for longer than necessary. I want to run away, but there’s nowhere for me to go. Besides, I ran here and look where it got me. “What the hell was that?” he finally asks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just got home from my date.” I put extra emphasis the last word. “I heard noises, and I went in to make sure you were okay.”

He tugs at his hair, lifting his eyes to the barren ceiling. “Don’t fucking toy with me, Lila. What the fuck was that?”

He needs to feel the sharp edge of the blade. He needs to know what he’s done to me. Reaching my hands back, I work my zipper down, feeling the tight bodice loosen around my stomach. I slip one sleeve off my shoulder, then the other. My breasts exposed. My lacy, green panties the only thing that covers me.

His eyes find me, full of want . . . finally hinting at guilt. Or maybe that’s just what I think I see. He saunters to me, I take a couple steps toward him. I rest my hand flat on his bare chest; his heart beats viciously against it.

I imprison my heart to try to keep it from feeling as my fingers slide down his taut stomach. My eyes cloud over anyway.

He grips my hips. I stare up at him, remembering how good it can feel to be with him like this.

“What are we doing?” he asks in a low voice.

I slip my hand lower, wrapping my fingers around his swollen cock. His breath hitches, his fingers digging deeper into my skin.

Standing on my tiptoes, I bring my lips to his ear. “This is me saying goodbye, Blake. I’d say fuck you, but she already did.”

My hands fall away from him as I step out of his grasp. I never had the strength to do this with Derek—put a painful, sharp period at the end of our relationship. I gather the silky dress from the floor and stalk off to my bedroom without another word.

I don’t look back. I can’t let him see me fall apart.

He doesn’t come after me or call my name. All I have left to do is lie in the bed I made for myself . . . the one he tore the covers off for me.