Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4), Sarah Brooks [urban books to read .txt] 📗

shot, ensuring we couldn’t become parents, and she had played the disappointment card convincingly every month when she took another test that came up negative. I’d console her as the tears dripped artfully down her cheeks. I’d hold her as she sobbed in my arms, thinking that maybe having a son or daughter wasn’t meant to be.

All the while, she was sleeping with most of the men in the neighborhood—excluding old Mr. Winston, who at eighty-six could barely walk. Though I honestly wouldn’t have put it past Chelsea to give it the good ol’ college try.

The worst part was that I hadn’t been particularly surprised. I had been angry, sure, but any hurt I would have felt faded along with any semblance of genuine affection I had for her. Deep down, I had always known what sort of woman I had married. Even when she played the part of dutiful wife and loving partner, I had seen through the facade. I had just gotten entirely too adept at ignoring my better judgment because a huge part of me had held onto the dream of two point four kids and the white picket fence all the while she spent my money and made me look like the world’s most idiotic husband.

It was my own fault for being so stubbornly blind to her many faults. I should have known better—hell, I did know better—but I had been told my entire life that I only saw the best in people. It was one of my more annoying traits. But that ship had sailed when it came to Chelsea. There wasn’t much good about the woman I had sworn to love for better or for worse.

I climbed off the bed and pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms I had thrown on the floor that morning. I hadn’t planned to screw my manipulative wife when I woke up. I was irritated with myself for how easily I fell back into self-destructive patterns where she was concerned.

She had shown up just as I was leaving for work, saying she wanted to talk with tears in her eyes and her full lower lip jutting out in a miserable pout.

I shouldn’t have let her in. I should have told her to call instead of simply showing up at my doorstep.

I had to stop listening to my dick. He was the biggest dumbass on the planet.

“You need to leave, Chels. I’m late for work, and I have a meeting in thirty minutes.” I couldn’t look at her, mostly because after the sex haze had dissipated, the sight of her turned my stomach.

Chelsea got up on her knees, crawling across the bed until she was in front of me. She slithered her hand into my pants, gripping me tightly. I was mortified by the automatic twinge that signified the beginning of a hard-on. “Don’t be like that, baby. Call in sick, come back to bed. I can make it worth your while.” She kissed my chest, sliding her tongue downward before taking the hem of my pants between her teeth and giving them a tug.

I gripped her upper arms and pulled her upright, gently pushing her away from me. She landed on her bottom, her eyes widening in surprise. She wasn’t used to being denied anything. “You need to go, Chelsea. This was a mistake that definitely won’t happen again. Call it a lapse in judgment. If you want to get your rocks off, go call Eddie, or Miles, or whatever other poor, pitiful schmuck you’ve seduced into your bed this week.”

I turned away from her and headed to the walk-in closet, pulling a new shirt and trousers off hangers now that the ones I had been wearing were in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Of course, she didn’t leave. That would require her to do something thoughtful for someone else, which was simply not coded into her DNA.

I heard her follow me into the closet and tensed when she snaked her arms around my waist, pressing the length of her naked body against me. “Adam, don’t be like this. I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

I moved deftly out of her embrace, recoiling at the touch of her skin on mine. I turned to face her, glaring into her large, blue eyes that were the result of contacts, not genetics. Everything about her was carefully manufactured. From her thin, straight nose, to her sculpted chin. She had hacked and tucked so much that it was hard to remember what she had looked like before.

“I’d like to go back in time and stop myself from ever leaving the Homecoming dance with you in the first place,” I spat at her hatefully, meaning every single word.

A normal person would have been hurt by my deliberate low blow. Not Chelsea. It slid off her like water off a duck’s back. She was never bothered by the emotions or feelings of other people. She was the kind that got by on looks alone. I was infinitely disappointed in myself at how easily I fell into her void, how I thought having mind-blowing sex was all it took to create a lasting relationship. It was a classic example of teenage decision-making at its worst.

Inexperienced lust was a very dangerous thing.

“Don’t be so testy, Adam. I know you miss me.” She rubbed me through the thin material of my pajamas, cupping my balls. Stroking me with expert fingers. And damned if a part of me didn’t want to give in. To bend her over and bury myself deep inside her, I was a guy after all. And my healthy sex drive was proving cumbersome at the moment.

Like I said, fucking was the easy part.

It was the bullshit that came afterward that I wasn’t prepared to deal with any longer.

I moved away from her, forcing her to release me. “Leave, Chelsea. If you have something you need to talk about, text me. Don’t stop by for unannounced visits. Better yet, if you