“What?” I stared back at him, unblinking.
He moved closer, taking my face in his hands. “I love you, Evie. I look into the future, and the only thing I see clearly is you. Marry me.”
What’s an eighteen-year-old girl who was madly in love with her nineteen-year-old boyfriend say?
Of course, I said yes.
Twenty-four hours later, I married Adam Gunner at a Vegas chapel to the sounds of “Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi. Not the best omen. I get that now.
Then, exactly one week later, I left him. I walked out, leaving behind my wedding ring, annulment papers, and my heart, and he never knew why.
I haven’t seen him since. Not in ten long years.
Now, he’s here, standing before me. Looking at me with nothing but hurt and hatred in his eyes, he wants answers.
Answers I can’t give.
When I Was Yours
The shower’s running.
Not a good sign when you live alone. It can mean only one thing. I brought a hook-up back to the bungalow.
Fighting my eyes open against the morning light streaming into my bedroom, snapshot memories of last night begin to dance around my pounding head.
Max turned up at my office. Talked me into going out and drinking with him.
Shots. Way too many shots.
Then, two women came over to join us.
One was blonde, a natural, with long wavy hair. Petite body. She even had hazel eyes. Her face was pretty, not beautiful like Evie’s but pretty enough. Because of that, I couldn’t help myself. I had to have her. Not because she was hot—which, of course, she was—and not because I just wanted to get laid. No, it was none of those things.
I fucked the blonde because she looked exactly like Evie, my ex-wife.
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