5 Rounds: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance (The Fight Game Book 1)

When I walk into my parents’ house, I realize that my dad and brother aren’t lounging in the sitting room the way they normally do. I hear Mom in the kitchen but otherwise the house is silent.

I make my way into the kitchen and, sure enough, I find Mom bouncing around getting dinner ready.

‘Hey, Mom.’ She startles, not realizing I had come in.

‘Oh, my goodness, you scared me,’ she breathes, clutching a hand to her chest. ‘I didn’t even hear you come in. You’re going to scare me to death one of these days with the way you sidle in.’

A strained smile tilts the corner of my lips as I remember hearing those same words not too long ago. Only that time, it was a feisty brunette that was saying them, and I was there to punish her for daring to think anyone else could have her.

I shake the thoughts of Remy from my head. Again. It feels like all I’ve been doing for the past week is shaking my head.

‘Sorry,’ I tell her, kissing her on her cheek. ‘I’m too graceful for my own good, I guess.’

She ignores my weak joke and instead pulls back to study my face. A small frown appears on her lips.

‘You look tired,’ she accuses. ‘Like you haven’t been sleeping. Or eating. Is everything okay?’

I try for a big smile. ‘I’m fine, Mom. I just had a long week with work and I’m tired. Nothing a good Sunday dinner and ten hours of sleep can’t fix.’

Her frown deepens as she steps closer to me. She grips my chin and turns my head to the side. ‘And you have a black eye!’ she exclaims accusingly.

I pull my face from her grasp, avoiding eye contact and resisting the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. I don’t feel like explaining that I’m so depressed, I’ve been throwing myself into training and going way too hard during every session. I’ve been running myself into the ground, and when I’m tired, I get sloppy. I’ll probably have a few more injuries until I can get my mental shit together.

I knew Mom would notice but I couldn’t bring myself to care—about the injury or about her inevitable reaction, which is exploding out of her right now.

She plants her hands on her hips with a disapproving glare. ‘When will you be done with this insanity? How can this be fun for you? You’re always hurt!’

Before I can answer back, I hear my dad’s footsteps on the stairs. I wince, knowing this argument is about to get a lot worse. Dad walks into the kitchen to find Mom and I glaring at each other.

‘What’s going on?’

Mom throws her hands up in exasperation. ‘He’s hurt again. Look at him! It’s ridiculous!’

Dad frowns as he looks me over. I grit my teeth and endure the scrutiny, fury starting to sizzle in my veins.

It was a mistake to come here—I should’ve known this would happen. I’m too exhausted and emotionally unhinged to deal with them right now.

‘You look horrible,’ he finally spits. ‘You look like a bully that got into a fight in a schoolyard. No better than an immature schoolboy that can only solve problems with his fists.’ He gives me another once-over and scoffs, his words dripping with disdain. ‘Your mother is right. You need to end this ridiculous caveman phase of your life. I will never understand what on earth pushed you to this idiocy.’

I clench my fists so hard that I can feel my fingernails ripping into my palm. I take a deep, stuttering breath to try to keep myself from exploding at the insult.

‘I’m not a caveman, I’m a professional athlete,’ I begin calmly. ‘And it’s not a phase. I’m on the verge of getting into the top organization in the world.’

A pained expression appears on my mom’s face. ‘How can it be a sport when you’re just beating each other up? Not only in your fights, but every single day at the gym. How is that a sport? How is getting hurt fun for you?’

I shake my head, furious that we’re having this conversation again. I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve tried explaining this to my parents over the years. ‘Mom, it’s the oldest sport there is. Combat is the ultimate form of competition. I know it just seems like guys beating each other up, but it’s not centered around pain like you think it is. It’s about skill, and strategy, and grit. Can’t you just accept the fact that I love this sport for reasons you don’t understand?’

‘Enough,’ my dad snaps, just as tired of this argument as I am. He’s heard all of this before. ‘I’ve heard enough of your ludicrous justifications. It’s barbaric, and you need to stop this right now. I won’t have you disgrace this family any longer. Do you have any idea how it feels to hear our friends at the country club talk about how their sons are doing as lawyers, doctors, investment bankers? I spend so much time steering the conversation toward Scott that I’m pretty sure a lot of them think we only have one son.’

I didn’t think it was possible to hurt any more than I already am, but I’m immediately and brutally proven wrong when my already-butchered heart feels yet another slash of pain at my dad’s words. I swallow roughly to try to keep the tears at bay.

‘Honey,’ my mom says to her husband with a wince. She touches his arm in an effort to pull back his words.

But they’re already out there, finally spoken. I finally get to hear my father’s true thoughts.

I knew my parents weren’t proud of me, but I never thought they were actually ashamed. I thought they just didn’t understand. I meant what I said to Remy that night on the couch: I really thought my mom’s concerns came from a place of love, in her own fucked up way. I didn’t know they hated fighting—hated me—this much.

‘Well, I’m sorry I’m such a big disappointment, Dad,’ I choke out. ‘I didn’t realize your wish for my life was to do the normal, boring things that everybody else does, even if it makes me miserable. I guess I was stupid to think I could pick one thing that brings me happiness and maybe, just maybe, you’d be happy that I was happy.’

I look between my parents, blinking back sudden tears. ‘You were amazing parents when we were kids,’ I say hoarsely. ‘You loved us and raised us with morals and work ethic, and Scott and I loved you. We still do. God, I love you both so much, even right now when you’re breaking my heart.’ I choke back the sob that threatens to rip out of me.

I clear my throat and straighten to my full height, spearing them both with a hard look. ‘But somehow when we became adults, your warped vision of success began to fuck us up. I need you to know that in that aspect, you guys are terrible parents. I don’t know if it’s because you bought into your stupid country club mentality that only certain high-paying careers count as success, or if something else drove you to think this way, but either way you completely fucked over Scott and I when it came to our outlook on careers.”

My mom looks away from me as tears start to well in her eyes. It’s killing me to hurt her like this, but they’ve been hurting me for so long and they don’t even realize it. I can’t keep dancing around the truth, hoping they’ll figure it out on their own one day.

Dad looks absolutely furious at my declaration. Rage boils in his eyes, and I think he wants to cut me off, but I don’t give him the chance. ‘Scott bought into your bullshit and went into the finance world, probably because you sold him on the importance of making a lot of money. He’s now just as much of an asshole as any other Wall Street moron. He’s so obsessed with money that he looks down on anyone that makes less than six figures. So much for the morals you raised us with, huh?’ A sob tears out of my mom as she claps her hand to her mouth, but I can’t stop my rant. ‘But me… I was smart enough to figure out that this particular view of yours is bullshit. I picked a job I love, that I wake up every morning excited to do. See, despite your bullshit parenting, I figured out that there’s only two things that really matter when it comes to a person’s career: it should make you happy, and it should make enough money to support your family. That’s it. Well, I make good money with this sport. Not with fighting, not yet, but with teaching, and helping others. This sport helps people. It helps them to feel strong, and confident, and brave. It’s so much more than just black eyes and fist fights. Though I don’t expect you to ever give a shit about that.’

I look between my parents again. My dad is fuming, clenching his fists and visibly trying to keep from lashing out at me for demeaning his parenting skills. My mom is crying quietly into her hands.

It’s the sight of my mom’s tears that finally cools my anger and dulls my pain. Suddenly all I feel is sadness. I’m sad for them, for their warped view of the world that is keeping them from having a real relationship with their son. I might never know what made them this way, but I’m deciding not to accept their treatment of me anymore.

I let the hurt and sadness shine through my gaze, so they know that even though I’m being harsh, I’m not doing this to hurt them. I just need them to understand. ‘I don’t need you to like fighting, or even accept it. I just need you to accept me. I need you to understand that this job makes me happy, that it makes a difference. And I’m good at it. God, I’m really fucking good at it. I’m going to be the best in the world one day, and I hope by then you’ll be in my corner. But I can’t take this any longer. I don’t want to talk to you if all I’m going to get is condescension and disgust. I deserve better than that. As my parents you owe me more than that.”

I shake my head sadly as I walk out of the house, but pause when my hand grips the doorknob, desperate to make them understand. “So… don’t call me anymore. Don’t call me until you can stomach the idea of having a conversation with me that doesn’t involve shitting on my life or trying to convince me to take a job as a corporate snob. Just… try to be my loving parents for once.’

I walk out of the house and away from my own family, at least for the foreseeable future. I ache with the hope that it’s not for longer than that. Because I meant what I said: I won’t come back until they accept me as I am. I refuse to be shit on any longer.

I slump into my car, willing the sadness radiating through my body to somehow diminish into a more bearable pain. I’ve been sliced with so much heartbreak lately that I’m not sure how much more my mind and body can take.

I exhale a shaky breath as I back out of the driveway and leave my family behind.

The next week is even emptier than the last one. Not only has Remy still not come to the gym, but I also haven’t heard from my mom. I definitely won’t be the first one to reopen lines of communication because I meant every word I said to them, but it still hurts that she hasn’t even tried to call me. I can only hope it’s because they know I was serious and are rethinking how they’ve been talking to me.

I throw myself into work and my training sessions even harder than before, if that’s even possible. My miles increase and my workouts on the heavy bags become longer and harder. I barely make it to my bed every night before I’m passing out from exhaustion.

Jax has to practically force food down my throat. It’s not that I’m not eating, but I’m definitely not eating enough. He stops by the gym during his lunch break most days and drags me out to eat some kind of calorie-dense protein meal. Being a pro athlete himself, he can tell my strength is down by looking at how I move during my workouts. Just the fact that I’m losing rounds at the gym to people that I have no business losing to is proof of the fact that my body is rundown and my head’s not in the game.

But he doesn’t push me to talk about anything. He just shoves food down my throat and subtly lets me know that he’s there if I need him. Every day that he doesn’t question me, I’m reminded again how much Jax gets me and how grateful I am to have him as a friend.

I’m attempting to refuel after a particularly grueling Saturday morning session when I first try to talk to him. It slips out of me while we’re both drifting around the kitchen making food.

‘I confronted my parents,’ I blurt out suddenly. He straightens from the fridge and turns startled eyes toward where I’m standing by the stove with a skillet.

‘About fighting?’ he asks, his tone gently coaxing me to continue.

I nod. ‘I had a black eye when I showed up to their house and Mom went off about how I could think being injured is fun, and that I should just quit. Dad took the opportunity and jumped in about what a disgrace I am and how they can’t tell any of their country club buddies about me or what I do.’ I laugh bitterly. ‘He said they talk so little about me that their friends probably think they only have one son.’

Jax’s eyes go wide. ‘He actually said that?’ he breathes. I nod again. ‘Jesus Christ, that man is so messed up. What an asshole. You’re his son, for fuck’s sake.’

I shrug tightly, trying to brush off the hurt feelings that try to envelop me at the memory. I’ve kept the pain to a dull ache all week, and I’m not about to drown in them now. I just want Jax to know why my head’s been so fucked up.

‘I told them they sucked as parents,’ I continue. Jax’s eyes widen even further, and his jaw drops open. ‘I told them they need to get over themselves and get over the idea that only certain careers are socially acceptable. I tried to explain that I love this sport, and that I’m really good at it, and that they should love me enough to support me even if they don’t understand that.’ I swallow the hurt that tries to make an appearance with the final piece of the memory. ‘I told them I don’t want to talk to them until they can do that.’

Jax winces as he puts the pieces of the puzzle together. ‘I assume they haven’t called, then.’ When I nod in confirmation, he goes back to arranging his ingredients on the kitchen counter, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I’m glad. It’s long overdue that they hear the truth about how badly they’ve treated you. You did the right thing.’ He hesitates before looking over at me. ‘You know that, right? You did the right thing.’

I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. I know Jax is right, but the knowledge still makes my chest feel hollow. ‘I know,’ I say softly. I take a deep, stuttering breath. ‘It just sucks.’

Jax nods in understanding. ‘I don’t know about your dad, since he might be too far gone into his bullshit by now, but your mom will come around. She’s not a bad person, Tristan. She’ll figure it out. Just give them some time.’

His words are so close to Remy’s that the sudden, piercing reminder makes me suck in a sharp breath. I take short, shallow gulps of air as my heart rate begins to increase. I try to distract myself by returning to the eggs cooking in the skillet.

Of course, Jax notices the change in my behavior. I can’t see how hard he’s analyzing me right now, but I can sense his hesitation. He’s trying to decide if this is the time he needs to push me, or if he should back off.

I can’t decide which I want him to do, either.

‘That’s not all, is it?’ he finally asks softly. As soon as he asks, I realize I wish he hadn’t opened that door.

But even I can admit a partial truth. ‘No, it’s not. But the rest of it I just need to get over. Nothing worth talking about.’

He nods, and for a second it appears like he won’t push further, even though I can tell he wants the last word. In the end he can’t stop from taking it. ‘Maybe you don’t need to get over it,’ he mumbles before busying himself with the prep work in front of him.

I stiffen at his words. I haven’t been able to tell if he’s figured out that my mood has to do with his best friend. Something obviously happened while he was gone, but at the same time I doubt Remy is moping in a corner somewhere. So Jax technically only has the timing and my change in mood to go on.

But he’s also the most observant fucker I know. And something about his words just now makes me think he knows more than even I do. I sneak a glance at where he’s cutting up some vegetables.

Maybe you don’t need to get over it.

Does that mean I can still salvage this thing with Remy? She made it pretty clear when she left that she had only been interested in me for sex. In that aspect she was obviously into me—you can’t fake the kind of physical connection we had. But is it possible she wants more than that? Why would she say what she did if she wanted more?

I shake the tempting thoughts from my head. I can’t bring myself to really hope that Remy has feelings for me. If I do, and it turns out that she’s telling the truth about only wanting me for sex, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Even now I’m only barely staying above water because I’m stuck in a place where I know I felt something between us, but I’m also not 100% certain she wasn’t just using me for my dick. I’m trying not to crash and burn but also trying to limit hope.

I once again swallow every emotion swirling around in my heart and go back to faking my normal, stoic self.

Another week goes by without seeing Remy. Eventually, I’m able to stop myself from checking the doorway every five minutes. My workouts are just as hard, I’m just as exhausted, and I’m even more confused than I was in the beginning.

Part of me is beginning to wonder if those ten days even happened. Did I misread the situation so badly that I made up everything that I thought we felt while Remy was living in the house? It would explain how easily she was able to shove me under the rug and forget I exist.

But the hole in my heart is still there, and it still aches. I still can’t see a short brunette on the street without my breath catching. I still can’t look at Jax’s room—or sometimes even my own—without remembering Remy’s presence in the house. I still can’t wake up without a stab of pain that she’s not there with me.

It’s Friday afternoon and I’m finishing up my last private lesson of the day. I have another hour before open mat starts where I’ll oversee the students that want to come in and train on their own. I decide to use the time the same way I’ve been using any free hour the past few weeks: I throw myself into a workout.

Within minutes my gloves are laced up and I’m pounding on the heavy bag. The sound of my fists hitting the leather reverberate through the room, though it’s not loud enough to drown out my chaotic thoughts.

The harder I hit, the more the chaos in my head dulls. There’s something so primal, so honest, about fighting that I’ve realized in the past few weeks that it’s hard to feel sad while you’re doing it. The only things you can feel are determination or anger. Or sheer numbness, if you’re exhausted enough.

For the first time in weeks, my numbness melts to anger. Anger at these insane emotions that Remy stirred in me so suddenly. Anger at the confusion over our relationship—and lack thereof. Anger at the fact that I’m hung up on a woman that doesn’t want me back.

How can it possibly feel this bad? We didn’t spend that much time together. I shouldn’t be so depressed over her rejection or so obsessed with the thought of making her mine. I shouldn’t have reacted with anything but short-lived shock that she turned me down. How can wanting to explore the possibility of a relationship with someone cause this much of an ache in my body?

I realize with a shock that I’m in the same position that every girl that’s ever wanted to date me was in—wanting more but getting rejected because the other person is only interested in sex. When I would break up with a girl, I thought I was only hurting her idea of our potential. I was just stopping the fairytale before it could get started and inevitably run off the tracks. It’s not like I was letting them fall in love with me and then breaking up with them.

My eyes widen and I pull back from the punch I was about to throw.

It’s… not possible.

I’m not that guy. That kind of thing doesn’t happen to me—I’m too rational and too focused on my goals. It’s impossible.

…isn’t it?

Did I fall in love with Remy?

I have no idea what love feels like. My girlfriend in college was nice, and we got along great, but I knew I wasn’t in love with her. I was too glad for time without her when we were busy, and not sad enough when she finally ended it. I wasn’t sure I was even capable of feeling love. How could I when fighting was always #1 in my book? How could I say I love someone when I would pick my career over them any day of the week?

Except… except that’s not true.

I know I need to be selfish if I want to be the best in the world but right now, in this moment, I feel like I would walk out of a packed arena with a title fight on the line if it would get me Remy. I would pick her every second of every day and every week.

Because I’m completely, desperately in love with her.

“FUCK!” I scream in frustration. I let loose a barrage of punches on the heavy bag.

With every punch, I realize that’s exactly what happened. Somehow during her time at the house, I fell in love with her. I may have even felt that way before she moved in, if I’m being completely honest with myself. Even when she hated me, I always loved how feisty she was, how she would go toe to toe with me and never just roll over at my feet. Being in close proximity must’ve shed the veil between us and forced me to see what I never wanted to admit to myself: that Remy is my perfect match. The sex just opened the door to our chemistry.

“Fuck,” I grit through my teeth, throwing each punch harder than the last. It’s an outlet for an emotion that I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to love Remy. Not just because she clearly doesn’t want me back, but because love is a distraction I can’t afford in my life. Even if she wanted me, too, a relationship would affect my focus and fuck with my strict game plan for becoming a world champ. If I’m this messed up over one fallout with her, the potential for these kinds of emotions to ruin me is astronomical.

I can’t pursue this thing with Remy. And more importantly, I need to get these thoughts and feelings out of my head. They’re already hurting my training.

Even the hardest bag workout I’ve ever done can’t stop the anger from coursing through my veins. It’s like once I gave my body permission to feel it, I accidentally let it take over. I’m shaking—both from exhaustion and fury—when I finally unlace my gloves and throw them into my bag.

On a whim, I grab my phone instead. I dial before I can second guess myself.

Aiden answers on the first ring. ‘Tristan, what’s up? Are you at open mat? I’m heading over there now.’

‘Let’s skip it,’ I tell him hastily. ‘I need a drink. I’ll have Danny cover the gym for two hours. You in?’

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I take a breath and let him have it, since I already know how crazy I sound right now. I’ve never been one to skip the gym—especially for a bar—and definitely not in the past few weeks. I’ve been gym-crazed and haven’t been out with the guys at all.

‘Yeah, let’s do it,’ he finally answers. ‘I’ll grab Max, too. Let’s try out that new bar on 21^st Street. Wanna meet us there in thirty minutes?’

‘Yeah, sounds good. I’ll see you there.’

Twenty minutes later, I’m nursing my second whiskey at the bar and internally cursing Aiden for his location choice. It’s 5:00 on a Friday and this place is not far from the Business District, which means it’s packed with corporate assholes that are finishing a week of desk work and looking to lose themselves in a different life for the next three days.

The alcohol muffles the hurt in my chest better than the workout did. I should’ve started drinking sooner. I realize now that this is probably the reason that drinking is a normal coping mechanism after a breakup.

I shake my head to try to clear those thoughts from my head. It can’t be a breakup if we were never together.

With a growl I slam back the rest of my whiskey.

Maybe Remy was right to shut us down. Maybe it’s better if we were only having sex. I can’t afford a distraction when I’m so close to the UFC, and she would’ve been a very big one. It didn’t take long at all for me to completely lose my head and my focus around her. If it’s this bad after less than two weeks, who knows how deep I would’ve gone with any more time with her.

I’m glowering at the bar staff, waiting for another refill, when Aiden and Max find me. Aiden looks between me and the bartender with a questioning gaze. ‘What on earth did the nice man do to piss you off? He has liquor, we need to like him.’

I turn my glare toward my teammate, but he only offers a grin before taking a spot next to me on a barstool. Max sits on the far side.

‘So… what’s up?’ Max asks curiously. ‘We haven’t seen you in weeks. Miss us?’

I shoot another glower at the bartender who still hasn’t acknowledged my silent signal. ‘I just punched you in the face yesterday. How could I miss you?’

Aiden grins again. ‘Miss bonding with us over alcohol, then?’

I sigh in defeat. ‘Something like that,’ I murmur. ‘What’s going on with you guys? Outside of the gym, I mean.’

‘It’s funny you ask,’ Aiden chirps happily. I mentally groan my regret for starting this conversation, even as I’m subconsciously thankful for the distraction from my thoughts. ‘I think I’ve finally found a good work/school/gym balance. Gym is good, though you know that. Work is boring but easy. And school is great. I have one semester left and I’m stupidly excited for the criminal justice class I have to take for my thesis. Who knew I was actually smart with this liberal arts shit.’

‘None of us,’ I hear Max mutter. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips for the first time in weeks.

Aiden ignores the comment. ‘I’m also seeing this hot-as-fuck blonde that I met in my political science course this year. Hottest chick I’ve ever been with. Smart, too.’

I raise an eyebrow in question. ‘Smart? What, you like this girl?’

Aiden chuckles and Max grins at the insanity of my question. I’ve been friends with these guys for long enough that I should know better than to ask that kind of question.

‘Nah, it’s not going anywhere. She’s just fun to hang out with every once in a while when the stress gets bad. She’s the same way—she’s not looking for anything, thank god.’

I swallow against a suddenly dry throat. I try once again to flag down the bartender for another whiskey.

‘It’s just better that way, you know? No pressure, no feelings, just great sex.’ Aidan lets out an exaggerated exhale and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘God, the sex is so good. She’s a total freak.’

Max nods his agreement and I find myself doing the same. Maybe it is better if it’s just physical—God knows the emotional part of the past few weeks with Remy has sucked ass. There’s a reason I never wanted more than sex with other girls. It’s just so much easier than the chaos that comes with… everything else. It’s probably a good thing that nothing came out of this thing with Remy and I.

I feel the choking grip on my heart loosen a little at the realization.

I look over at Max. ‘What about you? What’s your love life look like?’

He grins sheepishly. ‘I’m… kinda back with my ex. Not, like, dating, but we’ve been fucking lately.’ Aiden lets out a groan and drops his head to the bar.

‘Dude, you know she’s going to start pushing for you to get back together again,’ Aiden mumbles into the wooden bar top.

Max scowls at his friend’s head. ‘I know that. But I’ve made it clear that’s not happening.’

Aiden lifts his head so he can aim a glare at Max. ‘Yeah, because that worked out so well last time.’

I start chuckling as I listen to their banter. I should’ve leaned on these two a lot sooner. For just an hour, I can forget the pain that’s been threatening to tear me apart for the past few weeks.

The bartender finally slides another whiskey in front of me. As he turns to Max and Aiden to take their orders, I look beyond them to take in the rest of the bar.

With one look, my blood freezes and my heart drops. All the pain I’ve been trying to drive away with exhaustion and distractions comes right back to the forefront of my brain and multiplies tenfold.

Remy is sitting at the lounge section of the bar. With Jason.

Even though I can only see her from the side, I’d have to be blind not to recognize her body and her mannerisms. I can’t quite see her face, but I can see that whatever she’s saying has Jason grinning like a madman. He’s completely riveted by her.

And why wouldn’t he be? She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s wearing her work clothes and yet again looking like a sexy secretary with black heels, a tight black pencil skirt, and a white blouse. Her dark brown hair is lightly curled and hanging down to the curve of her ass, looking just as grabbable as her ass in that skirt. The outfit reminds me of the night I fucked her on the kitchen counter after I ripped off her work clothes and revealed the sexy red lingerie she wore underneath.

I desperately try to shake the memory before it consumes me.

At the sight of them together, the ache in my chest becomes an exploding bomb, piercing every corner of my soul with a pain so blinding that it feels like I can’t breathe. I realize in this moment that I’ve been holding onto a false hope that she didn’t mean what she said when she left. Like an idiot, I’ve subconsciously been trying to convince myself that she’d been lying, or trying to protect herself from me, and that’s why she hasn’t been around. It’s the whole reason I haven’t tried to contact her—I wasn’t ready to hear her confirm what my subconscious has been telling me for weeks.

But at the sight of Jason next to her, I realize she really did only want me for sex. That’s all I was good for to her. That’s the only way she could handle hating me and living in the same house as me. While I was falling in love with her, she was just using me to get off. And now that we’re no longer under the same roof, she’s free to move on to someone else. Maybe to Jason, who she has more in common with and who she’s never hated.

And I’m watching it happen.

I fight the urge to vomit as I turn back to the bar. I slam half my drink in one gulp, ignoring the wide-eyed look of shock on Aiden’s face. I don’t miss that he turns to see what made me angry, or the look of understanding that appears on his face when he puts two and two together.

All of the sadness inside me from the past few weeks suddenly morphs into furious pain. And I need an outlet before I explode and dump all of it on Remy.

Without thinking about what I’m doing, acting solely because of the anger coursing through my veins and the heartbreak tearing my chest in half, I look around the bar for a distraction. If Remy is moving on, then so am I. I’ll be exactly the kind of manwhore she thinks I am.

I plaster my trademark smirk on my face and turn toward the blonde sitting only a few seats down from me.