Paige
When a text message pinged on my phone, I clicked
on the link included without thinking. I didn’t bother reading the contents of
the text or the link description; knowing it was from my best friend, Quinn,
was enough of a reason to absentmindedly click for me. Usually she sent me
links to things she thought I should see that involved our friends, coworkers,
or her boyfriend. This link, however, had nothing to do with any of her usual
subjects, and when I realized that, my heart stopped.
The video appeared grainy at first as the cell phone camera
adjusted to the strobe lighting in the club. My boyfriend, Colin, suddenly
appeared in the frame, a smile plastered on his face as his eyes focused on
someone or something not in the picture. He raised a hand, waving someone over
toward him, his grin growing more mischievous.
My brain screamed at me to stop watching. Something inside
begged me to look away, turn it off, throw my smart phone across the room, but
I couldn’t. It was obviously bad enough for Quinn to send to me, so I had to
keep watching.
No matter how much it was going to hurt.
An overly busty blonde sauntered
into view, showing more skin than clothes, dancing seductively as she made her
way toward my boyfriend. He reached for her waist and pulled her onto his lap.
She straddled him, her legs wrapping around his very private area in very plain
sight.
Who
does that?
The blonde’s skirt rode up,
revealing her bare ass, and Colin’s hands were suddenly there, squeezing it,
slapping it, lifting her skirt higher. As she leaned her head toward his face,
I honestly thought for a second he’d come to his senses. Maybe he wouldn’t kiss
her. Maybe he’d toss her off his lap, tell her to go to hell, and rush out of
the club, humiliated. Then again, that type of thing only happened in the books
I read and the movies I starred in. Most guys weren’t anywhere near as
well-behaved as we women wanted them to be.
As if reading my mind, Colin fisted
a handful of her hair, and I watched as he yanked her head back, causing the
rest of her hair to spill provocatively behind her. His lips pressed against
her neck as he licked his way up to her mouth. She laughed, and then he kissed
her. It was a mess of tongues and body parts grinding, with hands roaming in
places hands shouldn’t be roaming in public.
I’d seen more than enough, so I
stopped the video and tried to remind myself how to breathe, my heart pounding
as if I were on a treadmill. If anything came after that spectacle—no pun
intended—I didn’t need to see it.
Pushing off from the couch, I walked
to my window and glanced down toward the street, noticing the swarm of
paparazzi already beginning to form.
They’re
quick.
This wasn’t the first time claims of
infidelity like this had been leveled against my pop-star boyfriend, Colin
McGuire, but it was the first time pictures had accompanied the accusations. If
a picture spoke a thousand words, this horrendous video and the photos that
accompanied it screamed a million. Colin could never talk his way out of my
seeing his tongue being buried in that woman’s throat, seeing him grab her ass
and grinding on her for all to see.
Falling back on the couch, I tried
to unsee what I’d just watched. I couldn’t believe Colin was so blatant and
stupid. Most celebrities knew if they were going to cheat, they should do it
where people couldn’t watch them or take photos for proof. Apparently the VIP
section of a club in London was not that place. Maybe he wanted to get caught?
But why not just break up with me first?
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ReplyDeletethank you Karrie! grrrrrrrrr :)
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