“I’m pretty sure that’s a done deal. I’m out,” I reply unaffected, because it’s true.
“So what now? You become a born-again virgin?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” I answer, looking at my watch. “I gotta go.”
“Dix?” Hunter says, as I turn to leave.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll leave you with one quote that I live by,” he solemnly declares, and I’m actually afraid to hear what he has to say, as I know he does not have one alleged life-changing quote.
“Let’s hear it then,” I say, gesturing with my fingers for him to deliver me his gospel.
“‘Why buy the cow…when you can get the milk for free?’” he replies seriously. “You’ll thank me one day,” he adds with a nod.
Barely containing my laughter, I flip him off and say, “Nice going, Confucius.”
Madison is coming over at 7 p.m., and although she said she’ll eat at her place, I stopped by the supermarket on the way home and grabbed a few things—mainly of the sugary kind.
I’ve showered, tidied up, and caught up on some paperwork, and just as I’m about to settle down to watch the news, there is a soft knock at the door. Looking down at my watch, I see that it’s only 6:30 p.m. It’s a little early for Madison’s arrival, so I wonder who it is.
Muting the TV, I walk over to the door. The moment I open it, my brain tells me to shut it again because Juliet is standing before me, looking utterly devious in nothing but a pink silk dress, which could easily pass for lingerie.
“Juliet? I’m sort of in the middle of something,” I say, using my arm as a barricade as I rest my hand against the doorframe. This seems to be a trend lately.
“Is that any way to say hello?” Her lips tip up into a sensual smile.
“Hello,” I sarcastically retort, and Juliet finally picks up on my irritation at her just turning up, unexpected.
With her eyes narrowed, she asks, “You’re not happy to see me?”
Truthfully no, I’m not, and it must show on my face.
“Have I done something wrong, Dixon?” she questions, and I rub the back of my neck, as having this conversation is the last thing I want to do.
But now that she’s here, I may as well put us both out of our misery.
“Please, come in.” I step backward so she can enter.
She looks at me suspiciously but nods, and saunters in. Shutting the door behind her, I cut to the chase because I’m in no mood to drag this out.
“Look, Juliet, things between us, they’ve been… interesting, but I think it’s best we stop seeing one another.”
I lean against the door and cross my arms over my chest, my body language displaying the truth to what I just said. I give her a moment to process my comment.
“You’re serious?” she scoffs, appearing taken aback.
Her arrogance that I could actually not want her is quite off-putting, and I wonder how I found her self-assurance attractive in the past.
“Yes,” I answer firmly, and Juliet looks as if I’ve slapped her cheek with my curtness.
“I don’t know what to say,” she replies, visibly stunned.
“There’s nothing to say. You and I both know what this was. Let’s not make something out of nothing,” I say, and as harsh as that sounds, it’s the truth—the truth I have been avoiding for so long.
“I…” Juliet falters, nervously pulling at the gold necklace around her neck. “I like you, Dixon. And I know you like me, too,” she seductively says, stepping toward me.
I’ve got nowhere to go, but I stand tall.
“Juliet, I liked the sex. I liked the fact I could lose control with you and be someone I thought I wanted to be. But funnily enough, being with you proved to me that that man was a complete jackass.”
“You don’t mean that,” she says with a firm shake of her head.
“Yes, I really do,” I reply firmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but honestly, I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Of course I care,” she cries. “How could you think I don’t? I’ve been fucking you for the past three months!”
I sigh because this is all it comes down to—sex.
“Did you know I was once engaged?” I question, watching the shock pass over Juliet’s face.
“No, I did not,” she confesses, her composure slipping.
“Did you know that I’ve loved the Yankees since my father took me to my first game when I was eight years old?”
She lowers her eyes, and shakes her head.
“Does that answer your question?” I ask. “But to be fair, there are things about you that I should know, but don’t. And that’s because I never asked you. And that’s because—”
“You never cared,” she finishes for me, completely in step with what I’m saying.
“Juliet—” but she cuts me off.
“Forget it, Dixon. I get it. I don’t need you canoodling me, or giving me some pep talk. I’m fine. It was fun, but we’re done. I get it,” she spits, straightening her shoulders and staring me straight in the eye. “Goodbye. It was nice knowing you.” She storms forward, cocking her head, silently telling me to move.
I could try and smooth things over, but what would be the point? I have no intention of ever seeing her again, and it wasn’t like I ever had feelings for her. So with that thought in mind, I step aside and she yanks the door open, making sure to slam it shut behind her.
Well, that was a little dramatic, but I never expected anything less from her.
Letting out a deep breath, I walk to the kitchen, desperate for a much-needed scotch to deal with Hurricane Juliet.
I’m not sorry this has happened; quite frankly, I’m relieved. I know that probably makes me a heartless bastard, but dragging this on for a second longer would make me a fucking heartless bastard. I down the contents of my drink, and just as I pour myself another, there’s a knock at my door.
Silently cursing, I throw back my scotch, knowing I will probably need another hit. When the knock sounds once again, I groan, because if Juliet is standing behind my door, I just might slam it shut in her face. Madison will be here any minute, and I really don’t want Juliet to be standing in my apartment, half nude, when she arrives.
“What?” I bark, opening the door with force.
“Fuck you, too,” Hunter says, looking totally bored as he leans against the doorjamb, looking at his watch. “What took you so long? Are you baking brownies and listening to Michael Bolton while you get ready for your slumber party?” he says, pushing off the doorframe and shoving past me.
“Hi, Hunter. Please, won’t you come inside,” I sarcastically quip, shutting the door behind me. “What are you doing here?” I ask, following him as he walks into my kitchen and helps himself to a beer.
“I was bored,” he replies with a shrug. “All my friends are supposedly busy, so I thought, what the hell, I’ll go annoy my best friend.”
“That’s a lovely story,” I say, “but Madison will be here any minute now. So how ’bout you go annoy Finch?”
“Hell no,” Hunter scoffs, taking a sip of beer. “I predict here will be a lot more fun than over at the Millers’. And besides, I wanna meet Cherry Pie.”
When I roll my eyes, Hunter faux gasps. “What? Are you ashamed of me?” He bites his knuckle, pretending to cry.
Scoffing at his melodramatics, I press. “Hunt, I’m serious, you gotta go.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re right, I am ashamed of you,” I reply with a grin.
Hunter mockingly laughs at my comment, but doesn’t take offense as he boosts himself up and takes a seat on my kitchen counter, happily sipping his beer. I know he’s not going to leave without some form of bribery, so I rack my brain, wondering what I can use to entice him.
“Debbie Does Dallas,” I spit out, hoping like hell this works.
It’s like dangling a carrot in front of a very horny donkey and Hunter stops mid-sip, lowering the bottle with a smirk.