Toxic Hearts: A Bully Romance Standalone by Emm Darcy & May Sage

Author:Emm Darcy & May Sage [Darcy, Emm & Sage, May]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Twisted Mirth Publishing
Published: 2022-09-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Idon’t know why I hate Chase more: because he made me feel so fucking much or because there’s a chance he won’t do it again. I don’t think I can live another day knowing it’s possible to feel this kind of pleasure but never experiencing it again. He called me desperate. I hate that he’s right. When I wake up on Sunday, I want him. I hate him, yet I want him more than I want anything else in the entire world. I could kill him for making me feel this way. Suddenly, I understand crimes of passion. They don’t seem quite so stupid when I’d do just about anything to be rid of Chase. To completely erase his existence from my mind and my body. He’s left his mark, indelibly stamping his name all over my flesh.

I thought Damian was good at sex. He made me come, and from what my friends have been saying, that in itself is an achievement. It was nothing compared to how I felt last night. Alive. Burning. Maybe dying a little.

Still in bed, not ready to face the day, I try to get myself off, and fail miserably. My fingers aren’t even taking the edge off. I might as well be rubbing my elbow, for all the good the friction does to me. What’s happening to me? I used to be able to make myself come.

Sighing, I give up and reluctantly drag myself out of bed. I check my phone on the way to the bathroom, surprised to find a message from my boss.

Ginny: Can you come in today? Ten to two.

The flower shop is open on weekends, but Ginny’s daughter, Sarah, is back from the college campus, and Ginny prefers to give her the hours. That suits me just fine: the ice rink has several freestyle slots, and I can catch up on school projects then.

Still, money’s money, and as far as jobs go, there are definitely worse ones than sweeping in this town.

Me: Sure, I’ll be there.

I don’t have much time to spare, so I head to the shower. As soon as I step on the tiled floor, I feel my cheeks heat as images of yesterday assault me, unbidden. I groan in frustration and wash as fast as I can before dressing and heading out.

Sundays are half days, but they’re apparently a lot busier than weekdays. Ginny’s daughter is there, but she has to man the register nonstop, while Ginny and her second florist, Peter, alternate between composing bouquets in the back and greeting clients. I suppose Manny’s Bouquets isn’t as irrelevant as I’d believed. It gets so hectic at one point, I have to help at the point of sale. I can’t say I complain about setting down the broom for a while.

By the time the clock strikes two, my shoulders hurt, my lower back is on fire, and my feet want to sue me for abuse. I’m wearing my Timberlands again. I really ought to make better choices with my footwear, to mention one aspect of my life that could easily see some improvements.

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