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  He stopped and turned back around as I stood in the door frame of my condo. “Don’t you get it? I faked everything with you because you’re hot.”

  And then he left.

  I watched as the door clicked and then I crumpled to the wood floor, more tears sliding down my face as my heart broke in my chest. How was this happening? Why was this happening? A part of me felt as though it was my fault. I’d waited so long to try and settle down. My twenties were for me and my career, and I’d hoped my thirties were for me to start a family.

  I was wrong.

  Given that it was close to midnight, I crawled in the shower and cried some more. My tears mixed with the soap and water as they all went down the drain and out of my life.

  Just like Corey.

  After my self-loathing, I threw on my pajamas and cried myself to sleep.

  When I woke the next morning, my green eyes were puffy, red, and swollen from all the salty tears and heartache I’d endured the night before. I still couldn’t believe that Corey had broken up with me, or that he’d told me he was just using me because I was good looking.

  I fucking hated him.

  While my coffee dripped into my mug, I went to the front door and grabbed the morning paper. Even though today was Saturday and I wasn’t working, I still had to keep up with everything going on in the world. I had to live and breathe news. As I glanced at the front page, a part of me expected to see a headline that read:

  Breaking News: Ashtyn Valor and Corey Pritchett have called it quits.

  But, of course, breakups didn’t make the morning news unless you were famous and I wasn’t. Except in Chicago, I guess, but I was just a local news anchor. In fact, I never spoke much about my dating life in public. I even went to last year’s Chicago/Midwest Emmy Awards alone because he had to work. Or at least that was what he’d told me. Now after everything he said to me, he was probably with another woman.

  After my second cup of coffee, my phone buzzed with a text from Corey:

  Corey: I was called in to cover for someone this morning. I’ll come over around eight to get my things.

  I didn’t text him back.

  Instead, I changed into workout clothes, went down to the gym in my building, and ran for thirty minutes straight trying to run my anger out.

  At 7:48 that evening, I was showered, dressed in my nicest pair of jeans that Corey always said my ass looked great in, and a black sweater that hung off my shoulder. I wanted him to think I was okay when, in reality, I wasn’t sure if I ever would be. I loved Corey …

  Or at least I thought I had.

  Could I fall out of love that quickly? It was easier to think so given how angry I was, but at the same time, my heart still hurt.

  At 7:55, I went in search of wine. I thought that maybe Corey had drunk the rest at some point, but sitting on my counter was half a bottle. I took out a glass and poured myself a full glass of the burgundy liquid.

  At 7:58, I finished the glass and poured myself the remaining wine, this time sipping it as I browsed the internet, staying current with the world news.

  At 8:09, there was a knock at my door. Corey still had a key, and I expected him to come in on his own like he always had. I needed to remember to get it from him.

  I walked to the door, the wine making me dizzy for a split second, and opened the door to see his handsome face. I mean, his douche of a face. I needed to keep telling myself that he was an asshole. God, I loved his face though. I loved the way his short beard would tickle me between my legs. How I would tug on his blonde hair, moaning as I came. And how his hazel eyes would sparkle in the morning light when he smiled his dimpled smile every Saturday morning.

  No! You stop that right now, Ashtyn! I scolded myself inwardly.

  “Hi,” he greeted as though nothing had happened the night before.

  “Hi?” I narrowed my eyes. “You think I’m happy to see you?”

  “I texted you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Let me get my things, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Give me my key first.”

  He dug into his pocket and pulled his keys out. After he took one off the ring, he handed it to me. I tested it in the lock to make sure it was the correct key, and then I reached down and picked up the box I had packed for him. I shoved it into his chest. “Here you go. Goodbye.”

  I started to shut the door, but he stopped me. “One last fuck for the road?”

  A snort escaped my chest. “Yeah, I’ll give you one last fuck.” I swung my leg back and then forward, hitting him square in the balls. “Fuck you!”

  His eyes widened before he dropped the box of his belongings. Some of the contents fell out, so I shoved them out of the way and finally slammed the door. I don’t know how long he groaned outside my door, but at 8:34 I left to go to the liquor store for more wine.

  The air seeped into the denim of my jeans. I definitely needed more wine. Enough to numb the pain and the cold. It was late October and at least in the low fifties. And as luck would have it, it was raining. I had no idea the sky had mimicked my crying heart as if it too were heartbroken. It was only fitting that I had left my umbrella in my condo. I was too upset and hurt to care, so I started to walk down the city street in search of the closest liquor store. I walked along the buildings trying to stay under the eaves and out of the rain until I came upon a bar that was a few blocks away from my condo. Since the bar was closer than the liquor store, I changed my mind and decided to go there instead.

  What I didn’t know was that decision was going to change my life.

  I stared as Bridgette moaned, her hips rocking and her dark brown hair cascading down her back. She had a nice back. Hell, she had a nice ass.

  I was going to miss that ass.

  She moaned again, her back arching as some dude’s dick thrust up into her. It wasn’t my cock, and I wasn’t the one making her moan. Nope, some guy was in my bed, fucking my girlfriend as I stood in the doorway of my bedroom. Whenever I’d seen this scenario play out on TV or in movies, there was a thought in my head that told me I’d go nuclear and murder the dude if it ever happened to me. However, as I stared at the live porn in front of me, I wasn’t mad or angry. I was—amused.

  Should I clap when they finish?

  Should I whistle?

  Should I pay them for the show?

  I should do all three.

  Before I could do anything—like stop watching—Bridgette screamed. A scream I knew so well. A scream that meant she’d come. The guy thrust some more and then grunted his release.

  I started to clap. “And Female Performer of the Year goes to … Bridgette Walters.”

  She turned around, scrambling off the rod that was lodged inside her, bringing the sheet up to cover herself. Covering a body that I’d seen naked every day for the past two years. “Rhys,” she gasped. “You’re home early.”

  Yes, I was home early. The game I was covering was canceled due to the ice not being suitable for playing conditions. It was a rare situation. We didn’t have all the details, but it had to do with a concert that was held the night before. In my time, I’d only heard of it happening once, and that was a pre-season game in Arizona. After my crew and I went live and told the public that the game would be rescheduled between the Chicago Blackhawks and San Jose Sharks, I went home.

  I chuckled and looked over at the dude as he covered his junk with my pillow. “Should I nominate you for Male Performer of the Year?”

  “What are you talking about?” Bridgette asked.

  “I mean I’ve never seen live porn before,” I chuckled and waved my index finger between the two of them, “but that performance was pretty good. I’m sure you two could win something at the porn awards in Vegas.”

  “Porn awards?” she snorted.

  “I should go,” the dude said.

  “Nah, man. Stay. Eat my food. Use my shower. Hell, you want to take some of my money ‘cause you’ve already taken my girlfriend in my bed?”
I was bitter. Maybe I wasn’t fully amused at the situation.

  He stared at me, not responding. Did that mean he knew Bridgette had a boyfriend? Did he know this was my condo? Ah, who the fuck cared? She wasn’t my girlfriend any longer.

  I turned to leave but then turned back around to say my final goodbye to Bridgette. “Get your shit and get the fuck out. If you’re here when I get back, I’m calling the cops.”

  I grabbed my keys from the dining room table where I’d thrown them just moments ago. I’d been a sports anchor and reporter for a local network for eight years. My job was to cover the Blackhawks, and I loved it. Sports were my life growing up, and since I didn’t get a chance to play in the National Hockey League because I was never drafted, I decided I wanted to talk sports for a living. I obtained my journalism degree and made it my passion, my life. My job was to do pre and postgame shows as well as intermission coverage. It was early in the season, and while I typically wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning, tonight I decided to take my work home and study the stats. However, that wasn’t what I’d checked off on my to-do list.

  Find out my girlfriend is a cheating whore – Check.

  Realize my mother was right when she told me I needed to keep an extra set of sheets in the hall closet – Check, though I didn’t think she’d meant for this specific reason.

  Decide to drink my dinner tonight – Double check.

  I walked out of my condo, choosing to forget about work and whores, and walked a few blocks in the rain until I came upon a bar I frequented a few times a week. Bridgette would usually come with me, and we’d party with each of our friends, dance a little by our table if the mood felt right, and drink beers until closing, but tonight would be different.

  Tonight I needed more than beer.

  I walked into the dry bar, my body instantly warming, and walked straight to the wood bar top. It was slightly early for a Saturday night, so I was able to get a seat at the bar. A seat I wasn’t going to leave until last call.

  The bartender caught my eye and walked over to me. “Your usual?”

  I smiled. “Not tonight, Tommy. Tonight I need something strong. Let me get a seven and seven on the rocks.”

  Tommy nodded slightly then turned to make my drink as I got my phone out of my pocket and started to delete all the pictures of Bridgette and me. Fuck that bitch. After deleting a few, the bartender slid my drink in front of me and I handed him my credit card. “Keep it open.”

  He bobbed his head again and then left to help other customers. I returned to my phone deleting picture after picture between sips of my whiskey drink. Then out of nowhere, a hand grasped my arm, startling me.

  “This is my boyfriend, sorry.”

  I looked up from the hand touching me, and into the green eyes of a woman I recognized: Ashtyn Valor from one of Chicago’s nightly news stations. You couldn’t live in Chicago and have a dick and not know who Ashtyn Valor was. I was certain people watched her nightly news broadcast just to see her in her tight dresses. She was gorgeous. And she was touching me.

  Did she say I was her boyfriend?

  Her smoky green eyes widened, begging me to play along. “Yeah,” I agreed as I stood and draped my arm over her slender shoulder.

  The mystery man blinked and stared at my arm for a few moments and then back to Ashtyn. “You’re dating Rhys Cole?” He asked the question as though he couldn’t believe that two news people would be dating. “Really?”

  Ashtyn looked up at me and smiled. “Really.”

  I grinned down at her. “It’s been what …?” I trailed off trying to think of a timeframe that would be believable given we weren’t dating and had never been in the public eye together before. Granted who really cared about the love life of the local news people? I didn’t. Though, as I stared down into her dark green eyes with exotic black flecks, I instantly cared who she was really dating. Maybe she was married? But if she were, she could have just flashed her ring to this dude. However, we were acting as though we were a couple so that meant she wasn’t. Right?

  Ashtyn answered for me. “Four months tomorrow.”

  “Right,” I agreed, my smile widening at just the thought. Bridgette who?

  Ashtyn and I both turned our heads to look back at the dude with short, light-brown hair, though I noticed Ashtyn didn’t want to make eye contact with him. “My mistake.”

  He left, and Ashtyn’s body instantly relaxed under my arm that was still around her. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  I sat back down on the barstool, turning my body to face her. “Dudes hit on you often?” I mean, I assumed they did. Look at her. Straight blonde hair, stunning green eyes, slim shoulders that I was certain led to a flat belly. Her breasts were just big enough for my hand to cup and I wasn’t too sure about her ass, but the way the denim was hugging her thighs made me hard. If I were single—wait, I was single—I could hit on her, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know Ashtyn Valor.

  “No.” She gave a tight smile. “I’m not usually alone in a bar on a Saturday night. Or any night for that matter.”

  “Neither am I.” I laughed. “What’s the special occasion?”

  She reached for her wine glass and finished it off. “Broke up with the real boyfriend.”

  “Ouch.” I grabbed my chest as though I’d been wounded. “I’m not sure I like that you’re insinuating I’m your fake boyfriend.”

  Ashtyn laughed. “Well … I mean …”

  I smiled. “I know. You just want to use me.”

  She grinned. “Sorry about that, but thank you. I wasn’t ready to talk to some random guy.”

  “Like me,” I deadpanned.

  “Luckily I know who you are.”

  I nodded. “Just like I know who you are too.”

  “The price we pay for being on TV.”

  “We’re famous in these parts,” I joked.

  “If you say so.”

  We both laughed. “Let me buy you another drink. At least to keep up my front as your boyfriend.”

  Ashtyn turned to look at her empty glass. “Sure. One more.”

  I raised my arm and motioned for the bartender. As Tommy poured her drink, I said to Ashtyn, “If it makes you feel any better, I just broke up with my girlfriend too.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied and reached for her glass.

  I took a sip of my whiskey drink. “Did you walk in on him cheating on you too?”

  Ashtyn choked on the dark red liquid. “What? You walked in on your girlfriend screwing another guy?”

  I nodded and took another sip of my drink, finishing it off. “In my fucking bed.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wow.”

  “I know.” I flagged Tommy again. I was the one who needed another round this time. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight until I can buy new sheets tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have a spare set?”

  “I’m a guy. I only need one set.”

  “Clearly you need two.”

  I laughed and nudged her shoulder with my hand. “Okay, Mom. You were right.”

  Ashtyn let out a loud laugh. “She sounds smart.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell her that Ashtyn Valor thinks she’s smart. She’ll die.”

  “Oh please. You’re just as famous as me. She won’t care.”

  “You have to have more Emmys than I do.” There were various Emmys to be won for Ashtyn: Outstanding Coverage of a Breaking News Story, Outstanding Continuing Coverage of a News Story, Outstanding Feature Story, Outstanding Investigative Journalism, and Outstanding Business and Economic Reporting.

  “We’re going to compare them?”

  “Only one way to find out who’s better.”

  She chuckled. “I have five.”

  I smiled. “So do I.”

  Her grin widened. “Then we’re in the same boat.”

  We took a few more sips of our drinks and then I asked, “You want to talk about it?”

  She scrunched her eyebrows. “Y
ou want to talk about why I was dumped?”

  “Honestly, I’m curious as to why some fuck nut would ever do such a thing. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

  Pink tinted her cheeks as she swirled her finger around the lip of her glass. “I think the wine is getting to my head because I could have sworn you were just hitting on me.”

  I took a swallow of my drink. “What if I was?”

  “Are you?”

  I shrugged. “We’re both single, Ashtyn.”

  “Newly single,” she clarified. “I’m not looking for another real boyfriend.”

  I smiled. “And I’m not looking for another real girlfriend.”

  “How long were you with her?”

  I sighed. I wasn’t necessarily heartbroken, but shit happens. “Two years.”

  “And you want to jump into,” she waved her handed between us, “whatever this might be.”

  “Let’s be real here. It’s different for girls than it is guys. We don’t think with the same head.”

  “But I’m a girl, and I can’t just place a Band-Aid over my heart.”

  I took another sip. “Why not? To get over someone you need to get under someone else, or whatever the saying is.”

  “I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.” She laughed.

  I smirked. “We can fix that.” I raised my arm again to flag over Tommy. “Two shots of Fireball.”

  Ashtyn snorted. “Wow.”

  “Look, Ashtyn. I’m just messing around with you, but if you did want to go back to your place, I’d be all for it.”

  She stared at me for a beat. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t or you won’t?”

  Ashtyn sighed. “Both.”

  “Okay, well,” I slid her a shot glass of the cinnamon whiskey, “here’s to new friends.” We clinked the glasses together and then downed the fiery goodness.

  We fell into a brief silence before she spoke again. “We were together a little less than a year.”

  I nodded. “Sucks, huh?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, but can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you want to get married?”