Love Song(15)
“Really? Well, guess what? You will be leaving my side. In fact, you will be as far away from my side as humanly possible.”
As he lifts the cup to his lips, I notice the purple bruise shadowing his cheekbone. I feel a prickle of guilt, but not enough to apologize again. He ambushed me like a feral dock dweller last night. I regret nothing.
We’re interrupted by the buzzing of my phone as two messages pop up. Isaac responding to my angry text. Awesome.
I chug the rest of my coffee and stomp toward the sink.
“He’s in your contacts as ‘the cheater’?” Wyatt sounds amused.
I turn to find him peering at my screen. “Stop reading my messages,” I order.
“Why haven’t you blocked him?”
“Because we have unfinished business.”
“You can’t possibly be thinking of taking him back.”
“I’m not. And even if I was, it’s none of your business.” I snatch the phone before he can read any more notifications.
My irritation rises to sky-high levels. All I wanted was to have a nice, relaxing summer. Do some soul-searching. Figure out my life plan. Instead, I’m stuck here with the guy who laughed when I told him I liked him and then two years later forgot about grinding his dick all over me.
Angling away from Wyatt, I click the chat thread to check what bullshit Isaac wants to feed me this morning.
THE CHEATER
I didn’t forget to put him in the box.
I’m keeping Hot Boi.
My jaw drops. I expected an excuse, not a confession. I angrily type a reply.
You CANNOT be serious.
THE CHEATER
Dead serious. He belongs with me.
FFS Isaac. This isn’t a custody battle for a human child. I’m the one who bought him.
THE CHEATER
And I’m the one who named him. I bonded with him. You never even respected the heat settings.
OMG How is this happening right now. It’s a toaster!!!
THE CHEATER
See this is why you don’t deserve him. You underestimate him. He has a croissant mode.
“This is a child.” Wyatt’s voice echoes over my shoulder, making me jump.
“Stop reading my texts,” I say in exasperation.
“You realize that, right, Logan? You dated a child.”
“Yes, that is clear now, Graham. Thank you so much for pointing it out.”
“With that said, and please don’t hate me, but…” Wyatt’s lips twitch. “His sense of humor is stellar.”
“Don’t you dare compliment him,” I mutter, even as I’m furiously composing another text.
You used croissant mode once and then you whined for an hour because it over-toasted. Hot Boi is mine. I want him back.
THE CHEATER
We all want things in this life.
I swallow a scream of frustration. Why are men so fucking crazy!
“Sort of seems like you’re still into this guy,” Wyatt says lightly, sipping his coffee. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be picking fights about a toaster.”
“It’s my toaster,” I shoot back. “And it’s a matter of principle.”
“Whatever you say, kid.”
A wave of anger slams into me. “No.” I jam my finger in the air, because I’ve had it up to here. I’m done. Fucking done. “Call me that one more time and I’ll smash your guitar to smithereens.”
He simply arches a brow.
“I mean it,” I warn. “Don’t call me that. And do me a favor? Just leave me the hell alone. I’m not going anywhere, and if you insist on staying here too, fine, go ahead and stay. But I don’t need you to babysit me, I don’t need you to talk to me, and you know what? Don’t even look at me—”
“You never used to be this dramatic.”
I spit out an incensed curse and turn my back on him, because if I have to see that infuriating smirk for one second longer, I’m liable to punch it off his face. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.
“That’s very mature, Blake. Just turn your back in the middle of a conversation.”
“The conversation was over,” I say stiffly, then march off before he can say another word.
I spend the rest of the morning avoiding him. I eat breakfast alone on the front porch, then curl up with a thriller about a lady who wakes one morning to discover she has a whole-ass family she doesn’t remember. I don’t see why she’s so scared. I’d love to wake up to an entirely new life. One where my father doesn’t constantly butt into my business, my boyfriend doesn’t screw cheerleaders, and my former crush doesn’t view me as a burdensome toddler.
Eventually, my sulking gets tedious, so I throw on a bathing suit under my clothes and pack a small tote. Sunscreen, towel, earbuds, water bottle. Good to go. All that’s left is the keys to the bowrider, the twenty-four-foot speedboat our families purchased last year. It’s the only boat I feel confident at the helm of; our cruiser and motor yacht are way too big.
The boat keys aren’t hanging from their usual hook, so I head outside, spotting Wyatt below on the dock. He’s got his guitar on his lap, but he’s not playing it, too busy leaning over to scribble in that notebook of his. A beer bottle sits on the table beside him, and as usual, he’s smoking a cigarette, his long fingers flicking a tower of ash into the plastic ashtray next to his beer.