Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

e. Inhale, fucking exhale.

Fuck it.

I slid out of my car and slammed the door closed. The bright beams of my headlights illuminated the door of his garage.

My hands curled into fists as I marched to his front door. The porch light came on as I rang the doorbell once. Twice. Ten times. And when it didn’t open fast enough, I started banging on it with my fists.

Open up, asshole.

And then he did.

He filled up the doorway. He stood there, looking tall and mercilessly beautiful. I was tall, but he was taller. He had to lower his head to look at me this closely.

His eyes, deeply blue in the daylight, had gone dark and cold. He reminded me of a silent lion before it attacked. It felt like I was looking at a different person.

I wanted to tear right into him.

I’m done with you. His voice kept banging in my head.

“You fucking asshole,” I said. My voice had gone quiet and thick. “How could you?”

I waited for him to say something. Anything. His lack of response cut me more than his words could.

“Aren’t you going to say anything to me?”

Nothing. The man who said he liked me was gone. His mouth looked hard. His masculine face had no softness or compunction over what happened just a couple of hours ago.

Filled with hate, I drilled a finger into his chest. “How dare you! What right do you have to play with my feelings? Or anyone’s? Do you think it’s okay to make me like you and when you get bored you can just throw me away? Fuck you!”

And still there was no emotion on his face. It made me angrier, spurred me on.

“You think you’re someone special?” I snarled. “You’re not. You’re not the first asshole who tried to pull this crap on this girl. There’s one of you on every fucking corner of every fucking street. Did you make a bet with your teammates to get me to like you? Have fun with the fucking virgin, get you some dough while you’re at it. How much was it, huh? Was it enough to pay for my gas money?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he hid it so quickly I wasn’t sure if it really happened.

“Was that your girlfriend coming to visit you? She caught you, didn’t she? You motherfucker. You deserve to be alone.” I raised my chin, daring him to respond. “You deserve to be with girls like you who don’t give two shits about you. I don’t give a fuck about your bike, I don’t give a fuck about your shit, and I don’t give a fuck about you.”

I spun around, dismissing him. I took a step, two, and then stopped. I clenched my hands into fists. I wanted to punch him, make him feel something. Get a damned response out of him. I turned to face him again.

He hadn’t moved. His face was the same impenetrable wall that screamed at me how much he didn’t care.

“You’re just like everybody else,” I said softly.

With finality.

If he had something to say, I didn’t wait for it. I ran to my car.

My lungs felt full, my heart beating fast. I could feel the blood pounding in my head. I closed my eyes and hung my head, trying to calm myself.

I said what I came here to say. That was all I wanted. Right?

So why did I feel…empty? Incomplete. Something was missing and unfulfilled.

After a few seconds, I looked up. He was gone.

My throat tightened. I felt my body tense as I stared at his closed door. I was waiting. Waiting.

For what?