4. Monroe

FOUR

MONROE

"Fuuuuckkkkk," I groan as I upload my resume to CareerMonster. The last thing I want to do is look for a new job, but with the boutique closing in just over a week, I don't really have a choice. As much as I'm sure my parents would love to have me back home as the model daughter and future trophy wife to Conrad, that's not happening. So I'll apply for every marketing-related position that pops up. Hopefully I can find something that pays well enough to ensure that I won't have to make any more sacrifices than the ones I've already chosen to make by moving away from home.

I hit submit just as my phone rings, and my day immediately goes even further down the shitter when I see the name flashing across the screen. I inwardly curse my best friend for giving her family my number "in case of an emergency" when we were on our girls' camping trip last summer

Not today, Satan.

I ice the call, tossing my phone onto the couch beside me before reaching for the pint of half-melted Chunky Monkey on the coffee table. But I only get a single bite before the phone rings again.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what?! " I spit. No idea why I even answered. Nothing good ever comes from an interaction with Riggs Valentine.

"Wow, Mayhem. What did I do to deserve such a warm greeting?" he says flatly. "I see you're still a bitch."

I scoff. "And I see you're still five years old. What do you want, Riggs?"

"I need your help," he says, clearly pained to be asking. I'm kind of enjoying the indignation in his tone, but I also wish he would fall off a cliff and never speak to me again.

"No," I reply.

He chokes on his surprise. "What do you mean, no ? I haven't even told you what it is yet."

"Doesn't matter," I say, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. "You could be on fire, and I wouldn't piss on you to put you out."

"C'mon," he coaxes. "It's the least you can do after you fucking walked out on me without saying goodbye, then somehow ruined my life even more by becoming best friends with my sister."

He did not just bring that up. That shit was over two years ago. I told him I only wanted sex and he agreed. So, the fact that he's bent out of shape about me not saying anything before I snuck out that morning is ridiculous. Besides, what good would it have done for us to go another round? He would have asked a bunch of questions, I would have felt obligated to answer in some way, and he would have pushed me and all of my baggage right out the door .

Even if I wanted to spend more time with Riggs back then, I certainly wasn't in a place to do so. I had just left home and was set on living my life the way I wanted to, so even a situationship would've derailed all of that for me. I did what I had to do that morning. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly forthcoming with me, either.

"Funny how you get your panties in a wad about me leaving, when you literally lied about who you were ," I scoff.

He groans in response. "I didn't lie. Val is my nickname. I do live in Florida and was in Boston for work that night. So tell me, Monroe, where did I lie?"

Oh my God. This man is the literal devil. I don't understand how he's such a dickbag while his parents and sister are the sweetest people I've ever met. Even his best friend Tanner is caring and thoughtful. How did he end up so far from that?

"The fact that you're even asking me that right now tells me everything I need to know about your character, Val ," I say, spitting out his stupid nickname like it's the worst tasting thing that's ever rolled across my tongue. Sadly, I know from personal experience that it's the only part of him that isn't delicious. "So, no. I won't help you. Bye."

I hang up the phone, tossing it onto the couch and looking into the carton of melted ice cream. It's basically soup at this point, thanks to Riggs and his colossal waste of my time, but I refuse to let him ruin my night.

"Fuck it," I say, lifting the pint to my lips and drinking the cold mush. It's not ideal, but it's still ice cream, so it's not a total loss.

I'll admit that I'm a little curious to know why he called me out of the blue asking for my help. What could I possibly have to offer that he couldn't get from the one million other sexual partners he's had? Because that's really all I am to him. Just another hole he stuck his dick in. And I mean that in the best way possible…at least for myself.

Before that night, I had never done anything even close to what I did with Riggs. When he sat next to me at the bar and offered to buy me a drink, I immediately fell into those deep brown eyes. He was absolutely beautiful, with his strong jaw, medium length chestnut hair that curled at the base of his thick neck, and the fullest, poutiest lips I'd ever seen on a man. We kept our conversation fairly surface level, but it all came so easily. When he asked me to go back to his room to keep the evening going, it was a no-brainer. Riggs Valentine was built for a night of sin, and that's exactly what we did. I've never been fucked that way in my life, and I'm certain I never will be again. I've tried to find something even close to it in the time since, but unfortunately, it must be exclusive to lying fuckboy manwhores, because it continues to elude me. And that , my friends, is a shitting shame. Because even though I can't stand the sight of him, I've fantasized about the way Riggs took me so many times that I should probably be ashamed of myself.

I'm not…but I should be .

"Whatever," I mumble, pushing away all thoughts of Lucifer himself and whatever he was trying to ask me for so I can focus on the rest of the incoming shitstorm that is my life.