Emily zooms down the hall, excited to see her dog, and my heart stings at the thought of Janie. I can’t wait to get her back. Matter of fact, I will probably do that next week. I am ready, and the longer I wait, the more attached she will become to Deacon and the less she will be to me. And with the way Deacon has been going downhill lately, she doesn’t need to be with him, anyway.
I don’t know why I followed Emily in her house. I can’t think about what I want to do if I’m around her. Of course, it is hard to resist candy if it is right in front of your face. I need to take a step back so I can objectively examine the situation.
It is just so difficult to do that. It seems impossible. But I didn’t want to be rude. I was rude enough to her this morning by disappearing for two hours.
The bedroom door opens and closes. I look down the hall, and Emily has shut herself inside, presumably because Lucy was going crazy. I hear her talking to her, Lucy’s low growls indicating her own excitement at seeing her human. Minutes go by, so I sit on the couch, tapping my fingers on it. When I shift to get more comfortable, something stabs me in the ass. I reach down into the corner of the couch, and pull it out.
It’s a book. I toss it on the table before lunging forward and picking it back up, because something catches my eye. Huh?
Being a Bitch: How to Trap Your Man for Good.
What...
I thumb the pages, my jaw going lax as I skim over step-by-step instructions on how to entice a man to be with you. And not just for a relationship … marriage. I try to explain this away in my mind, try to make an excuse that this book could have been something she read when she was with Deacon, but … why would it still be in her couch after all these months?
I stare at it in disbelief, my eyes nearly detaching from their sockets as I find scribbled notes in the margins. Brooks called. Waited twenty-five minutes before responding. Worked.
What.
The.
Fuck.
The bedroom door opens again, and I quickly stuff the book back into the corner of the couch. I hurry across the room, and start pacing, trying to act normal, but probably looking anything but. Lucy trots around the corner, followed by Emily. I smile at her, then ruffle Lucy’s fur and rub under her chin.
“You want to stay for a late dinner? I have stuff for tacos.”
I do my best to conceal my astonishment. “Oh, I’d love to, but I promised my dad—I wish I could. Maybe later in the week.”
She smiles. “Any day. You just let me know.”
For good measure, I walk to her, wrap her in a hug before pecking her on the lips, contemplating the fact that I might be kissing the devil. She acts as if she wants more—her tongue sliding out to lick me again—and my cock stiffens. Physically, she drives me crazy. Emotionally, probably the same. But no fucking wonder, because she has been playing me all along.
I need to get the fuck out of here. “Sure thing. See you later.”
She is my shadow as I walk to the door, but I don’t look back at her. Instead, I walk to my car in silence, throwing my hand up in a lazy wave while mumbling “psycho” under my breath before I get in. I need to get home and download that book. I need to know what the fuck I have been dealing with.
It is two AM, and I have finished reading the manual that she mistakenly thought would be a pathway to my heart. I chug another beer, and crush the can before throwing it into the pile that has accumulated on my deck.
Fucking hell.
What the fuck do authors think they are doing writing shit like this—fucking with people’s lives? Emily has completely and totally been playing me like a guitar with no strings. Everything in the book, every little fucking thing she has done. I noticed a total change in her demeanor with me after that day at the supermarket. Come to think about it, she seemed like a completely different person that day she showed up at church.
I wonder...
No.
No, I doubt she would have gone that far. Or would she?
Truthfully, I guess there is no way I will ever know for sure. After Eliza strung me along because she couldn’t have the man she wanted—or was too chicken shit to fess up to her parents that she was going to be with a poor man—I will be damned if I am going to be with someone who has essentially done nothing but manipulate me.
I saw her notes. There is no explaining that away. I don’t know how I didn’t see any warning signs. I only thought she was playing hard to get. I thought we simply had a connection we were both struggling with.
But she thought she could force me down the aisle? I simply can’t believe it.
Obviously, I have terrible taste in women—two cheaters and a nutcase.
One thing is for certain, Emily has done me a huge favor, because now I don’t have to choose between her and Deacon. I don’t have to subject my parents to any undue stress by straining the relationship between our families, because there will be no Emily and me.
I crack open another beer, and gulp it down, then crush it in my fist and toss it aside. I wish I could hate her. I wish I could scream at her, shake her, ask her why she did this. She fucked with my emotions, made me care about her, made me do horrible things behind my friend’s back.
I could never be with her now. I am definitely done.