Deeper

4. Date Gone Wrong

The second I saw her—Monica Madison—I moved without thinking, wrapping my arm protectively around Brooklyn’s waist like a shield. Her presence was toxic, and I wasn’t about to let her spew venom unchecked.

“Monica,” I said tightly, forcing a polite smile. “Not exactly a pleasure.”

Her smirk was all gloss and manipulation, the same look I’d once been blind to. “Oh, Josh. Don’t pretend you’re not thrilled to see me.”

I wasn’t. Not in the slightest. Monica and I had history, sure—complicated and regrettable. We were pushed together by expectation, but it had never been love. The moment I realized that, I walked away.

She didn’t.

What began as a breakup turned into a series of public appearances, “accidental” run-ins, and emotionally loaded phone calls I never returned. She’s been clinging to something I let go of a long time ago.

And now she was here, standing inches from Brooklyn, aiming to destroy the first bit of peace I’ve felt in years.

“I was just clearing out your little toy,” she said sweetly, venom laced in every word. “Now that I’m back, you don’t need to entertain this kind of trash. Wouldn’t want you catching something from it.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Brooklyn stepped forward first—shoulders squared, chin high, unshaken.

“Excuse me?” she said. “Trash? STD? You’ve got a lot of nerve. Everyone in town knows Monica Madison’s name is practically printed on the clinic walls. You should be the one hoping you’re clean before spreading anything to the next poor guy who doesn’t know better.”

God, she was fierce. I felt her fire down to my bones. I couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Monica's eyes flared with fury, but she backed up half a step. “So feisty,” I heard her mutter, mostly to herself.

**••••••••Brooklyn••••••••**

What a piece of work.

Just because she once had something with Josh, she walks in here like she still owns him. Like I’m just some extra on the set of *her* show.

She approached me earlier, the moment Josh stepped into the manager’s office, and wasted no time cutting deep: said I was nothing but a fling, that Josh would never care for me. Said he was just “getting it out of his system.”

It hurt. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. But her smugness made it easier to block out. I haven’t known Josh long, but I *know* she’s lying. She’s bitter. Jealous. Desperate.

I glared at her now, arms folded, standing tall.

“Oh, honey,” she hissed, flashing me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t try to compete with me. You’ll lose.”

I was ready to smack that look off her face when Josh suddenly pulled me back—and kissed me.

His lips pressed firmly against mine, completely catching me off guard. Around us, the restaurant went still. A collective gasp swirled through the air like a scene from a soap opera.

Monica’s jaw dropped. She blinked, fuming, then spun on her heel and stormed out.

When Josh finally pulled away, his expression was unreadable. “It’s the only way she would leave.”

I didn’t say a word. My heart pounded. My skin tingled. But I didn’t step away either—I just reached for his hand instead.

I wasn’t mad.

I was confused... flustered... but not mad.

We walked out together, hand in hand. The attention faded quickly, the crowd turning back to their meals like nothing had happened.

Outside, the night air wrapped around us as we followed the red carpet to the car. But Monica wasn’t done.

She was waiting.

She stepped forward from behind a black limousine like a villain from a movie—hair perfect, eyes sharp, that same cruel grin on her face.

She moved right into my space and jabbed a finger against my chest.

“I’m not finished with you,” she whispered. “And when this little game is over, he’ll be mine. No one—not even a cheap stand-in like you—can stop that. I had him once. I’ll have him again.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She spun around, climbed into her car, and disappeared into the night.

Josh stayed silent for a long beat, then finally said, “Don’t let her get in your head. If she crosses the line again... I’ll handle it.”

He opened the car door for me and I slid in, still feeling the heat of that kiss, the venom of her words, the tension in his hands.

As we drove off, I leaned back into the leather seat, the radio humming low in the background.

I’m not even his girlfriend… and my life already feels flipped upside down.

But do I like it?

Do I like *him*?

Yes.

Absolutely yes.

But is it just adrenaline? Or something more?

The question clung to me as I slowly drifted off to sleep.