absolutely couldn’t live without. It surprised her, how practical and pragmatic she could be; she’d spent so long browsing in the stores to decide on all this stuff, and here she was, sifting through it like the speediest packer in a sweatshop.
All those designer label shoes she’d be leaving behind. Whatever. He could have ‘em. Ditto the cocktail dresses and expensive lingerie and all the other shit he’d bought to sexy her up. She didn’t need any of that anymore, not from him. Dare Bowden thought she was hot as fuck. He’d told her so. That was good enough for Holly Watkins…
…who was suddenly so glad she hadn’t married her asshole of a boyfriend. She’d wanted it for so long, had waited for so long for him to propose, but he’d never taken the hint. And here she was, still Watkins.
Jeans, slacks, yoga pants, a few summer dresses: those were more her style now. Starting from scratch meant reinventing herself— for herself.
It was stuffy in the bedroom, so she opened a window. Through the decaying foliage, she glimpsed the front of a cab parked at the edge of the drive. Then it set off and a suited figure walked toward the house.
Crap. Looks like I won’t be sneaking away after all.
Holly steeled herself, decided to just keep her head down and get on with it. She’d almost finished packing her essentials. The rest wouldn’t take long. Anything he might contest, that he might claim belonged to him, she wouldn’t touch. He’d paid for most of it anyway. Let him give it to his ring whore.
When he reached the bedroom, he didn’t say a word. He just stood there at the door, the top half of his shirt torn open. Holly wondered if he’d been in a fight. But he reeked of lady’s perfume, and he didn’t bear any marks or bruises that she could see. It had to have been the ring whore who’d ripped his shirt open in the midst of passion. She’d rather not think about it.
Holly ignored him while she packed, but he didn’t move an inch. For minutes, he stood there, leaving her to guess exactly what was going through his mind. She felt his gaze on her back…that twisted, judging gaze.
“So how did it feel?” His words sounded cold and calibrated.
“How did what feel?” Still she didn’t look him in the eye.
“Getting revenge,” he said.
Holly didn’t want to dignify that with a reply.
“Who is he? Another fighter?”
She stayed silent.
“You were always sly,” he said. “Look at you…you won’t even admit it. You won’t even admit when you’ve fucked someone to get even.” The coldness in his words began to thaw. He was working himself up. “Who is he?”
Holly said nothing. She packed her hairdryer and brushes.
“What’s his name?”
Nothing.
“You busted my balls over my phone call. So now it’s my turn. You fucking nagged me until I told you what you wanted to know. So here it is…what’s his name?”
Still she ignored him.
“I want to know his name, slut.”
Holly lashed him with her gaze. How dare the prick call her that after what he’d done.
“Aha, there she is. There she is. There’s my vengeful little slut. Won’t admit it with words, but everything else about her tells me exactly what she got up to last night.”
“Shut up, Trey.”
“Why should I?”
“Just let me pack my things and get out. There’s nothing else to say.”
“You’ve already said it all. You left the party early last night. You’re still in the dress you were wearing, so you haven’t been back long from whoever’s house you stayed at all night. You haven’t fixed your hair. You haven’t washed; I can smell the prick on you. And you’re staying silent because you’re a guilty little crack whore who fucked some random fighter you only met last night. So you see…you’ve already said it all. You’ve just not admitted it.” He took his first step toward her.
All those designer label shoes she’d be leaving behind. Whatever. He could have ‘em. Ditto the cocktail dresses and expensive lingerie and all the other shit he’d bought to sexy her up. She didn’t need any of that anymore, not from him. Dare Bowden thought she was hot as fuck. He’d told her so. That was good enough for Holly Watkins…
…who was suddenly so glad she hadn’t married her asshole of a boyfriend. She’d wanted it for so long, had waited for so long for him to propose, but he’d never taken the hint. And here she was, still Watkins.
Jeans, slacks, yoga pants, a few summer dresses: those were more her style now. Starting from scratch meant reinventing herself— for herself.
It was stuffy in the bedroom, so she opened a window. Through the decaying foliage, she glimpsed the front of a cab parked at the edge of the drive. Then it set off and a suited figure walked toward the house.
Crap. Looks like I won’t be sneaking away after all.
Holly steeled herself, decided to just keep her head down and get on with it. She’d almost finished packing her essentials. The rest wouldn’t take long. Anything he might contest, that he might claim belonged to him, she wouldn’t touch. He’d paid for most of it anyway. Let him give it to his ring whore.
When he reached the bedroom, he didn’t say a word. He just stood there at the door, the top half of his shirt torn open. Holly wondered if he’d been in a fight. But he reeked of lady’s perfume, and he didn’t bear any marks or bruises that she could see. It had to have been the ring whore who’d ripped his shirt open in the midst of passion. She’d rather not think about it.
Holly ignored him while she packed, but he didn’t move an inch. For minutes, he stood there, leaving her to guess exactly what was going through his mind. She felt his gaze on her back…that twisted, judging gaze.
“So how did it feel?” His words sounded cold and calibrated.
“How did what feel?” Still she didn’t look him in the eye.
“Getting revenge,” he said.
Holly didn’t want to dignify that with a reply.
“Who is he? Another fighter?”
She stayed silent.
“You were always sly,” he said. “Look at you…you won’t even admit it. You won’t even admit when you’ve fucked someone to get even.” The coldness in his words began to thaw. He was working himself up. “Who is he?”
Holly said nothing. She packed her hairdryer and brushes.
“What’s his name?”
Nothing.
“You busted my balls over my phone call. So now it’s my turn. You fucking nagged me until I told you what you wanted to know. So here it is…what’s his name?”
Still she ignored him.
“I want to know his name, slut.”
Holly lashed him with her gaze. How dare the prick call her that after what he’d done.
“Aha, there she is. There she is. There’s my vengeful little slut. Won’t admit it with words, but everything else about her tells me exactly what she got up to last night.”
“Shut up, Trey.”
“Why should I?”
“Just let me pack my things and get out. There’s nothing else to say.”
“You’ve already said it all. You left the party early last night. You’re still in the dress you were wearing, so you haven’t been back long from whoever’s house you stayed at all night. You haven’t fixed your hair. You haven’t washed; I can smell the prick on you. And you’re staying silent because you’re a guilty little crack whore who fucked some random fighter you only met last night. So you see…you’ve already said it all. You’ve just not admitted it.” He took his first step toward her.
Similar Books
