The Devil Wears Black

“Yeah, Maddie?”

“I’m so sorry, but I think I’m a little nauseous.” Not technically a lie. “Think we can call it an early night?”

“Oh no. Do you think it was the tere siga?” Ethan frowned, giving me a puppy look that broke my heart.

Thank God he was too busy talking my ear off about his patients to notice the gigantic man standing in my doorway.

“No way. I’ve been feeling off for a few hours. I think it’s finally hitting me.” I glanced at Chase behind Ethan’s back, swallowing hard.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Positive.” I smoothed his Scooby-Doo tie over his chest with a smile.

“I like positivity. It makes the world a better place.” Ethan’s eyes lit up. He bent down to kiss my forehead. He had dimples. Dimples were great. Ethan, also, was great. So why was I eager to bid him farewell just so I could murder my unexpected guest on the stairway to my apartment for the entire street to witness?

Oh, that was right—because Chase Black had ruined my life and left me to piece it back together, each shard of our broken relationship cutting me deep.

More on that in a second.

I just had to say goodbye to my perfect, almost-saved-me-from-a-stroke Dr. McReality.

As I walked the rest of the way to my building, my heart flapping against my sternum like a fish out of water, I fantasized about the various ways I was going to greet Chase. In all of them, I appeared blasé, five inches taller, and wearing femme fatale Louboutins as opposed to my green Babette shoes.

Funny, I don’t remember leaving the trash outside. Allow me to escort you back to the recycling bin, Mr. Black.

Oh, you want to apologize? Can you be specific as to why? The cheating part, the humiliating part where I had to take an STD test afterward, or simply for wasting my time?

Are you lost, sweetie? Would you like me to escort you to the brothel you are obviously looking for?

Suffice it to say, Chase Black did not bring out the Martyr Maddie in me.

I stopped three steps away from him. My nerves were as tattered as my peach-patterned dress, and I hated the flutter of excitement skimming through my chest. It reminded me how stupid I’d been for him. How convenient. How submissive.

“Madison.” Chase tilted his chin up, looking down his nose as he examined me. It sounded like an order more than a greeting. The patronizing pinch of his eyebrows also didn’t look too inviting.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

“Let me come up?” He tucked his phone into his front pocket. Straight to the point. Not can I but let me. No How have you been? Or Sorry about that time I crushed your heart to dust or even How is Daisy, the Aussiedoodle I gifted you for Christmas, even though you told me you were allergic to dogs no less than three times, and your friends now dub her Assholedoodle for her tendency to piss in people’s shoes?

I clutched the lapels of my thin summer jacket, furious at myself for the way my fingers shook. “I’d rather not. If this is about you screwing your way through New York, you’ve got the wrong address. You can checkmark my name.”

Summer heat bled from the concrete, curling over my feet like smoke. The darkness of the night did nothing to dim how hot it was. Manhattan was sticky, bloated with sweat and hormones. The street buzzing with couples and shark packs of tourists, rowdy coworkers, and college kids up to no good. I didn’t want a public scene, but I wanted him in my apartment even less. Know the expression If anyone can have it, I don’t want it? That applied to his body. After we’d broken up, it had taken me weeks to rid my bedsheets of that singular Chase Black smell. He’d followed me everywhere, like a dark cloud with a bellyful of rain. I could still feel the fat swell of tears behind my eyelids when I thought about him.

“Look, I know you’re upset,” he started, his tone guarded, like he was entering a negotiation with an undomesticated honey badger.

I cut him off shakily, surprised by my own assertiveness. “Upset? I’m upset about my laundry machine breaking down. About my puppy chewing her way through the crocheted blue poncho I bought last winter, and about waiting for the next season of The Masked Singer.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but I held my hand up, waving it for emphasis. “What you did to me didn’t upset me, Chase. It devastated me. I don’t mind admitting it now, because I’m so over you I forgot how it even felt to be under you.” I barely took a breath before spewing more volcanic arson his way. “No, you’re not coming up. Whatever you have to say to me”—I pointed at the ground beneath me—“this is your stage.”