Stuck Up

“Bitch.”

The word launched from him like a bullet from a gun. If it could slice through the air and pick her off, he’d feel an ounce of relief from his pain.

He sucked in a breath barely staunching the flow of words threatening to spill forth. His mind seethed with rage as he watched her move through the crowd. A pressure cooker of emotion settled in his belly.

The way she’d led him on, convincing him with her sweet talk and sexy pictures that there was a chance made him fucking sick. How could she do this to him? How could she deny him when he’d been nothing but nice to her?

He’d been following her blog for years, trying to comment her page and like her pictures. All he wanted was a response, a sign she noticed him. And when she did respond? It had been flowery, sugar-coated words that made his heart race and his cock harden.

Every thing she’d said was a lie though. Every “thank you” and flirty reply was just pretend. Telling him how nice he was nothing but bullshit.

He’d been patient, he’d been kind, he’d waited until the right moment to make his move and she shot him down.

He’d tracked down where she’d worked and bought her flowers. All he wanted was to take her to dinner at her favorite restaurant and talk. She’d had the nerve to look scared when he approached. The fear practically glittered in her brown eyes, something her fake smile couldn’t hide. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough when she figured out who he was.

How fucking typical of her. Just like all the other stupid bitches who made a man think there was a chance. Just like all the rest! Just. Fucking. Like. Them.

He clenched his fists, thoughts racing through his head. He wanted his pound of flesh, he deserved. Tracking her rapid retreat, he plotted. Scenarios flashed in his mind’s eyes of all the ways he’d make her pay for rejecting him.

He’d show her what it was like to have someone toss her aside.

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