I don’t beg.
I don’t cry.
And I don’t give second chances.
Ream, the lead guitarist from the band Tear Asunder, deserves a gold medal for best dick move ever when he ran the moment he discovered my secret after two days of hot sex. Then he brings some chick to my coming home party from the hospital—after being shot.
I hate him.
Ream’s six foot two frame unfolds out of the car after being gone on tour for eight months. I stared, unable to help myself. And in my defense, any girl would stare. It would almost be rude not to because Ream was the type of guy who stood out. Not because he had pink hair or shouted or was obnoxious. No, it was because he was the complete opposite. Subtle and dangerously quiet. If he spoke, you’d better hope he liked you because otherwise you’d be falling at his feet begging for mercy. Except me … I don’t beg—ever.
But when our eyes locked, it was Ream’s confident cold indifference that had my nerves shooting off like jet sprinklers.
Ream told me he didn’t need a second chance because he was still working on his first.
Sex is ugly. It’s using someone for your own narcissistic pleasure. I did it and I hated it—until her. She was unfuckinexpected. Then I had to wreck our beginning with my screwed up past.
I don’t deserve her, but I’m selfish and I’m taking her anyway. This is who I am and it’s too late to change me.