Page 73 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
“How else am I supposed to describe it?”
“Why are you getting so mad about this?”
I stare at her in disbelief. “My girlfriend wants to let some other dick knock her up, and you wonder why I’m mad?”
“You said you would support my decision no matter what,” she says, her eyes filling with tears.
“Well, that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you were mine!” I hate how it sounds—possessive and jealous—but I can’t fucking help it. “And if you want to stay that way, you’re not going to that appointment.”
Willow’s lips press into a thin line, and she stands up. “You’re being a total asshole,” she says quietly, a tear dripping down her cheek. “I’m going home. If and when you decide you can talk to me like a grownup, you know where to find me.”
I watch her walk away from the table, and it’s as if every bone in my body wants to jump up and follow her, but every muscle keeps me pinned to my chair. This is the reason having a girlfriend doesn’t work—they expect you to turn into somebody else. Willow has known all along how I feel about that fucking insemination shit. It was bad enough before we got together, but I can’t believe she thought I’d be okay with it now.
The server comes by and asks if I’d like a drink, and I almost tell him no—but then I think, fuck it. I want another beer, and I can have one. Just because Willow took her toys and went home doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a drink at the end of what is turning out to be a really fucking shitty day.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll go back to the bar,” I tell him. “You can have this table for someone else. My date left.”
“Sorry, man.” The server gives me a sympathetic look.
“Don’t be. I’m better off alone.”
Angrily, I stride over to the bar, wedge my way in, and order a whiskey, neat. But I only get about two thirds of the way through it when I look over and see none other than my fucking father sitting there, with a woman who is not my mother.
Wouldn’t luck have it that I’m forced to see him tonight?
He stands, making his way over to me. “Reid.”
“Asshole.”
Dear old Dad rolls his eyes like I’m a stubborn child, and maybe I’m behaving like one, but I can’t think about that. It just makes me feel shittier about myself.
“Sorry to see your date storm off,” he says, in a tone that lets me know he’s more amused than sorry.
“I’m sure you are. I see you’re on a date, though. Good for you. Glad to see some things never change.”
Dad looks over at his table, where the brunette he’s with is checking her lips in a compact mirror. “That’s Veronica. She’s my new secretary. I thought it would be a good thing to have dinner first.”
First. He means before they go over his personal preferences for sex. “And after? What’s for dessert?”
“Don’t be an infant.”
“Don’t be a cheater.”
My father laughs once. “I knew coming over here to talk to you was a mistake. You haven’t changed. You’re still a child, and I don’t have the patience for it.”
Well, color me disappointed. Like I give a shit. “How’s Mom? Does Veronica like her? Or is Veronica the reason for her latest attempt at rehab?”
My dad throws a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “This is for my son. He’s had enough.”
You know what? He’s right. I have had enough. I’ve had enough of this conversation, of my asshole father, of feeling like a disappointment to everyone—including myself. And I have somewhere I’d much rather be.
I think of Willow’s face when she left. The hurt expression. Guilt rips through my gut for the way I treated her.
Fuck, I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t have talked to her that way. I shouldn’t have embarrassed her like that. I shouldn’t have acted like a goddamn caveman who thinks he owns his woman.
