Fuck. Me. Hard.

Last night was Saturday. My first thought is, “Dee screwed another guy last night,” and I almost double over from the sheer agony of it. And the rage.

I know, technically, we weren’t together. We were broken up. I can’t get mad.

Fuck that—I’m going to lose it.

I’ll forgive her. I’ll get over it . . . after I smash something into a thousand pieces and pound on the walls like a gorilla on crack cocaine.

I sit down on the bed. “What’d you do? Whatever it is I’ll . . . f**k, just tell me what it is.”

And then she does the strangest thing. She smiles. And unbuttons her own pants, sliding them down her legs as she talks. “I thought all week about what you said. How I was scared, how I didn’t want to take a chance . . .”

“I was angry when I said that, Delores.”

“But you were also right. So I wanted to do something, to show you, to prove that I do trust you. That I want this, and you—permanently.”

She slips her panties off, and I’m momentarily hypnotized by the sight of her stunningly smooth pu**y. Until I notice the white bandage covering a small patch of skin below her pelvic bone.

She peels it off, revealing the bright blue tattoo emblazoned on her skin underneath. A tattoo of my name.

MATTHEW

I’m speechless—can only stare. Then I drop to my knees in front of her and kiss the soft, still-tender flesh beside my name.

“I f**king love it. I love you.” I dust my fingers over it, very gently. “Now you’re really stuck with me.”

Delores tilts my face up and runs her hands through my hair. “Yeah, I really am.”

I stand, swing her around, and toss her on the bed. Then I jump in after her.

Chapter 20

Later, when the sun has gone down and the sheets on my bed are fantastically rumpled, after fevered “I love you”s and “I missed you”s and “Don’t ever leave me”s are whispered between desperate touches and gratified moans, I force myself to get up.

It’s not easy. Dee lays naked in my bed, her lips swollen and well used, her hair alluringly tousled. I stand for a moment—pants in hand—just looking at her.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

This time, she smiles. And I know it’s because she believes me.

She reaches out her hand. “Then don’t go. Come back to bed, Matthew.”

I groan—’cause getting back in bed is all I really want to do. But I shake my head. “I won’t be gone long. I just have to check on Drew real quick—it’s a guy-code thing. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure he hasn’t hung himself in his walk-in closet?”

“The kind who wants to make the world a better place.”

Then she spots my camera on the bedside table. She turns it over in her hands, biting her lip. “I guess I’ll just have to occupy myself . . . by taking X-rated selfies on your camera. We can develop them together when you get back.”

I take a second to enjoy the images that pop into my head—that hopefully will be showing up on my camera.

Then I hand her two extra rolls of film.

I take my time kissing her good-bye before I compel my legs to move to the door. Just before I walk out, Dee calls, “Matthew?”

I stop and turn to her.

“I love you.”

And just like every other time she’s said it today, a goofy, ridiculously happy grin appears on my lips. I walk back to the bed and kiss her yet again.

“For the record? I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.”

She smiles contentedly. “Hurry back.”

And I end up running the whole way to my bike—so I can do just that.

Outside Drew’s apartment door, it’s the same old same old. I pound on it and I call, but the only response I get is one bump of a baseball thrown against the door when I ask him if he’s still breathing.

I sigh and rest my hand on the door.

It’s time for some tough love. Well past the time for it, if you want to know the truth.

“Dude, you gotta man up. Whatever happened between you and Kate—however badly you f**ked up—it’s not gonna get any better if you don’t come out and deal with it.”

No response.

I try taunting him. “In all the years we’ve known each other, I never would’ve guessed you were capable of being such a gigantic pu**y. You realize you’re completely wrecking my image of you, right?”

Still nothing.

“Come on, Drew. Open the door. Remember how I was after Rosaline? You were there for me . . . let me return the favor.”

Third strike, and I’m out.

I tap the door, the way I’d tap Drew’s fist if these were better days. “Okay, man, have it your way. I’ll be back tomorrow, all right?”

Bam.

The door vibrates from the impact of the ball on the other side, and I know he’s heard me.

I shake my head as I walk back to the elevator. Because tomorrow, when I come back, I won’t be alone. I really didn’t want to have to do this—but it’s been a frigging week. He’s left me no choice.

It’s time to go nuclear.

I exit the lobby of the building, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Then I take my phone out and dial.

She picks up after two rings, greeting me by name.

“Hey, Alexandra. Listen, I need your help . . . it’s about Drew.”

And the rest, as they say, is history.