Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“No,” Nathan says without even looking in the right direction.
“Yes,” I blurt out.
The table goes quiet as everyone tries to locate her. “Where?”
“Eleven o’clock.” As I watch the girl, anger enters my bloodstream and heats up my body. Or maybe that's just the beer. I don't know.
“Right? That is her, right?” Ollie asks urgently. “Should we do something?”
“Who's that guy pawing at her?” Nathan asks with concern as he senses trouble in the air.
That's what I want to know, too.
The guy who’s talking to her, he’s standing too close and getting even closer whenever she takes another step back away from him. It's a crowded bar, and soon she won't have any more space behind her.
Ava doesn't look happy. She's frowning, her forehead wrinkling in chagrin.
And her steps are wobbly. She may have drunk too much.
If that guy gets another inch closer to her, I swear . . .
As if he's heard me, the asshole moves right up against her, until they're standing chest to chest. He puts his hand on her waist, even though she tries to push him away.
That's it. I put my beer on the table and get moving.
“Hey, Mason, where are you going?” someone asks. Probably Ollie.
“There, obviously.” I gesture at the dark corner where Ava’s being harassed by the douchebag.
Only losers need to use force to get the girl. Even if it was some random girl, the sight would be enough to annoy me.
The creepy bastard’s picked the wrong girl to mess with on the wrong night.
Ava
It's Saturday night so maybe I should've known better than to show myself at Feral, Ashbourne’s only decent bar.
But it's been a while since I came here, and after the brunch earlier today, I’ve been feeling so restless. All I've been able to think about is the Hunter brothers.
So when Sally Fields, an old friend from high school, texted me out of the blue, saying she's in town and asking to meet up for drinks, I said yes. We were never super close, but we hung out a few times.
I needed to get out of the house and find some distraction. I thought I'd find it at Feral.
Now I’m regretting that decision.
I did have a good time catching up with Sally, although we only got about two minutes into it when Joseph showed up.
“Found some other guy you want to fuck yet?” That was his first question when he approached our table.
I didn't even get a chance to hear about why Sally’s in town.
It only took two minutes of Joseph asking similar questions and ignoring Sally until she excused herself to the restroom. It's been fifteen minutes, and I don't think she's coming back.
I don’t blame her for not trying to rescue me from an obviously uncomfortable situation. I mean, it’s been years since we even saw each other, and it’s not like we were ever best friends or anything. At best, we were acquaintances.
“Have you been doing this every week since you ghosted me?” Joseph asks.
Yet another inane question.
“I didn’t ghost you, Joseph,” I say, deliberately not calling him “Joey” like I used to. “I told you we were over. It’s not your business anymore what I do every week.”
After the break-up, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’ve realized that Joseph had been invading more and more of my life when we were dating, to the point where there was no more space for myself.
Sure, as my boyfriend, it was totally normal and acceptable for him to want to know my weekend plans. But he also used to veto outings with friends he didn’t like, text and call constantly while I was outside, and sulk for hours if I was late coming home.
But now, I don’t have to do what he says. It doesn’t matter if he throws a tantrum or even says he wants to die. His emotional well-being is not my responsibility.
“You didn’t answer my calls. You didn’t reply to my texts either. What is that, if not ghosting?” Joseph asks as he aggressively steps closer.
“That’s called a break-up.” Despite the flame burning in my chest, I take a step backward.
I don’t want this to turn physical. I’m not stupid; he’s always going to win in a physical fight with me. He’s grabbed my wrist before, keeping me from leaving the room when he was getting volatile, punching the wall and slapping himself in the face.
“What are you talking about, baby? You’re not breaking up with me,” Joseph says, his face a gross mixture of sadness and fury.
“I am, and I have.”
“You’re not making any sense, Ava. You love me. Look me in the eye, and tell me you don’t love me.”
I stare flatly at Joseph as my feet remain planted on the checkered, black-and-white tiles. This is a public place. He won’t dare do anything too crazy.