Page 35 of Wicked Angel
Okay, for a few years.
My long-standing crush on him had frosted over, sure. But now it was almost worse. It was a hate crush. A terrible curse that had tortured me for way too long.
And Shayla wasn’t blind. She knew how hot her brother was—to women who weren’t related to him.
“I hope not. The thought of you touching my brother’s dick makes me want to vomit.”
“I did not touch your brother,” I promised her. “I hate men right now, trust me.”
“Me, too,” she said supportively, even though it wasn’t true.
“And don’t worry. I hate your brother the most,” I assured her, even though saying it felt kinda wrong. I knew I was supposed to be mad at Johnny, for the job thing, and I still was. I still hated him. But while I was drunk and vulnerable last night, he’d saved me. Who the hell knew what would’ve happened if him and Lamar didn’t show up and run those guys off? But I said it for her. “He’s a giant dick, okay?”
That made her smile. “I knew, all these years, you had a little bit of Mean Angie in you somewhere,” she said proudly. “You need to let her out more often.”
Hmm. Mean Me. “I’m not very good at that,” I said tentatively.
“But sometimes, maybe you should be. Not everyone deserves your kindness, babe. Those gropey A-holes last night sure didn’t.”
“True.”
Flynn did.
I felt a little ache in my chest. It still made me so fucking sad that I’d failed him.
She was right. I was way too nice to the wrong people. It was a gross pattern of mine. If a guy was a gorgeous mess, I’d be smitten in seconds. Add emotionally stunted, self-obsessed, unfaithful and wildly unstable to the mix and I was a goner—so long as he had a granite ass and a wicked smile. Flynn was the only truly decent, stable guy I’d ever dated, and it was the only long-term, serious relationship I’d ever had.
And I couldn’t make it work.
I needed to seriously change my approach when it came to men or something. Because what I’d been doing? It sure as hell wasn’t working.
“Okay… let me practice the mean thing,” I said, trying Mean Me on for size. “Your brother Johnny is an arrogant, self-centered jerk.”
She smiled again. “That’s better. And damn accurate.”
“Although… I’m glad he saved my ass last night,” I said seriously. “Unfortunately… it was kind of heroic.” In truth, I really wasn’t sure how to reconcile the heroic thing with my hatred of him.
Shayla frowned. “Let’s move past that part.”
“Yeah. Let’s.” I smiled a little, for the first time today. “How about this. Even dicks can be nice sometimes. And sometimes we’re all fucking jerks.” My smile faded fast. “Flynn’s never been one. But last night… last night was not good, Shay.”
“Nope,” she agreed.
“I was a jerk, too,” Mean Me admitted.
“Hmm,” she muttered. “He probably deserved it.”
“I just wish I wasn’t so drunk when I went back to the apartment,” I lamented quietly. My head was still throbbing. “And Flynn, too. I’ve rarely seen him so drunk. And I’ve definitely never seen him smeared in some other girl’s lipstick and glitter. The really sad part is I don’t think he did it on purpose, to hurt me or anything. He was so drunk, I don’t think he knew I could see her on him. I could smell her.” My voice faded. “I’m so dumb, Shay. I stayed up waiting for him to come home because I wanted to talk to him.”
“About what?” she asked gently.
“I don’t even know. Anything. Nothing. When he came in and I got all mad about the glitter and perfume, I started telling him I was taking all his favorite things with me when I moved out, just to try to hurt him. I put on our shirt, the one with our stupid faces on it. He wears it around the house sometimes. And I told him he couldn’t have it. It was the stupidest fight in the world.” I sighed raggedly. “I know it’s over. I know we’re done and we’re not going to be together anymore and we both have to pick ourselves up and move on. I just still love him, you know?” My voice broke a little. “I just… I didn’t know he’d move on so fucking fast.”
“It’s because he loves you,” she said gently. “He wants to get over you and he doesn’t know how. He probably threw himself at the first skank he came across.”
“Yeah. Probably.” She was right, maybe. But I really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Ugh.”
“Men are the absolute worst,” she commiserated solemnly.
