Page 9 of Tony
“Act?” I laugh. “It’s not an act. I need you, Rosalinda. I need you to fuck me so I can forget you.”
She blinks at me, then huffs out a laugh. “I forgot about you so long ago, I barely remember what it was like back then, Tony. They say when you break up with someone you only remember the good parts. Well, that’s not my problem.” She places both hands on my chest and pushes me until I have to take two steps back. “My problem is that I only remember the bad.”
She slips past me and climbs the steps up to her deck, disappearing from view. But a moment later I hear the jingle of keys. The creak of a door. And then the finality of this encounter as she slams it closed.
CHAPTER FOUR - BELINDA
I lock the door and lean against it, my heart hammering inside my chest. What the fuck just happened?
Tony Dumas is here. Outside my apartment. Right now.
I rush into my bedroom, head straight for the window, and push the curtains aside just in time to catch him flipping up the hood of his jacket as he rounds the corner to the front of the garage.
I step back, hit the bed, and take a seat.
Did that really just happen? Did my ex just travel more than two thousand miles to… what? Stalk me home from work and kiss me good night?
Don’t be an idiot, Belinda. He came here to fuck you and then forget you. He literally just said that! To your freaking face!
And Rosalinda? What the actual hell? Like I’m some conjoined twin or my own split-personality version of Brangelina. Which so pisses me off.
But never mind that. He came here to get me out of his system because we have this… this… sick thing between us.
This sick thing where we get off on the hate and the venom. Where we crave the anger and rage. Where getting off isn’t enough—we must be filled with wrath and fury when it happens.
I grab my hair and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to scream in frustration.
But I hold it in, flopping back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. Why? Why did he come here? Why did he start this again?
It took me months to stop thinking about him after we broke up the last time. Months of lying in my bed, straining to hear footsteps outside my mother’s apartment connected to our Key West motel.
Footsteps I recognized.
That’s how I knew he was behind us tonight. I heard him. I didn’t say anything to Vinn and Vonn because that would turn into something… well, not good. Toxic masculinity at its finest, probably. A whole bunch of posturing and implied ownership.
It’s been eight years. I was doing good. I’ve had a couple dozen nearly normal relationships. Well, encounters. More like booty calls. But still, they didn’t involve hate-fucking.
I was in a good place before that last trip to Key West. And even then, I was very proud of myself for walking away. For not giving in to the urge to walk into his cottage—just across the fucking street from the one I was staying in—and start it all up again.
And just a few days ago I was thinking, Yeah. I’m good. It’s all good. I’m over it. I’m over him. Goodbye, Tony Dumas. So long, asshole. Hope I never see your face again.
But now?
I reach for the pillow, place it over my face, and scream into it.
Then I do it again. And again.
Because I might not want to admit it, but… Oh, my God. I fucking wanted to give in. So bad.
I wanted to bite his lip, and claw his face, and make him… make me.
I reach for my phone in my jacket pocket and I’m just about to pull up Tara’s contact when I remember she’s back there. In Key West. With Tony’s stupid brother. Two hours ahead, so it’s four in the morning her time.
I throw the phone across the room. I regret it immediately. That regret is coursing through my veins before it even hits the wall. And then I’m down on my knees, scrambling on the floor trying to find it.
Great. I hold it up to the light filtering in from the window. The screen is cracked. I’ve only owned this phone for six months. The screen on my last phone was so messed up I couldn’t even use it anymore. And I had to wait months for that fucking upgrade.
I hate Tony Dumas. I hate him with a passion.
