25
“You’re a f*****g cunt!”
I stare blankly at him.
“You liked me!” He is in my face—invading my personal space, breathing on me with minty-fresh rage.
Can he really be this angry because I don’t want to f**k him again?
“Who told you that?” I ask.
“We had s*x, Jessica.” Garrett towers above me, his arm outstretched, pressing on the concrete behind me.
“We did. What’s your point?”
He hisses something unintelligible.
“Just let it go, okay?”
“What did I do wrong?” Now, Garrett’s tone is more plaintive-puppy than Pit-bull.
“Listen, it’s not you.” I stop myself from offering up the second half of the cliché. “I have too much going on to complicate my life. I just wanna stay sober.”
“I’m not getting in the way of your sobriety.”
“Right now, you are. I’m trying to get into the meetin
