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Not the One
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Three reasons why rebound s-e-x with my hot neighbour is a very bad idea.
1. My life is already complicated enough
I know that’s more than three. But it still didn’t stop me.
On paper, we’re the worst kind of match.
Disclaimer: This is not (just) a story about accidental pregnancy. It’s a story about accidental love.
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I do not wish women to have the power over men; but over themselves
~ Mary Shelley
One brilliant cut two-carat diamond engagement ring with a platinum band.
Worn for only three months before finding out my fiancé was a cheating, whoring scumbag, and my best friend a slut.
When he said he’d put a ring on it, it wasn’t quite what I had in mind.
His . . . yeah . . . that. In her. . . yeah . . . that.
Starting bid is pretty low, just like my self-esteem . . .
My fingers retract from the keyboard as I contemplate my half-finished, half-joking, yet half-deadly serious ad on FleaBay. I’m not normally so impulsive, but I might’ve said yes before he’d fully gotten down on one knee. We’d only been dating three months at that point. Three months dating, three months engaged, three months living together, and now three months after our breakup, and I’m beginning to emerge from the other side. The pain is no longer a physical thing, but that’s not to say I’m over the experience.
But I am over him.
Betrayal. It’s the worst of words.
And no fiancé is better than one who lies to you when he says he’s going straight from work to the gym because he wants to look good for your honeymoon. And he did develop the most amazing abs; it’s just a shame his workout was over Tamara, my former best friend.
Duplicitous. Another vile word.
But I force myself to count my blessings every day, and I believe a person should be aware of both their faults and their assets, and at the top of my list of failings has been to follow my heart.
Deceitful. Another that should be banished from the English language.
The bottom line is, it’s time to move on, and I don’t mean physically. I already did that the day I walked in on them. There was no way I was sleeping in that bed ever again. The apartment was his, and as moving back home permanently wasn’t a very appealing option, I’ve been working for a pet-sitting agency ever since. It’s not a forever thing, just something to help me save for my own place, but I’m tired of living out of a suitcase, so the ring has to go. Not that I’ve held on to it out of some sense of misplaced sentimentality. It might be worth thousands in monetary terms, but as far as symbols of love and fidelity go, it’s worthless. I’m just not sure where I stand legally. According to Cameron’s increasingly frantic texts, a broken engagement means, as it’s a family heirloom, the ring is rightfully his. And according to my text responses, he can go forth and multiply. Yep, he can fuck right off. But I don’t want to end up in court. I also don’t feel like finding myself in front of a lawyer right now, asking for advice while explaining where I’ve gone wrong in my life.
Maybe I should just hit load and send him the FleaBay link and be done with it.
It would serve him right.
It’s one kind of payback, I suppose.
As the typical sounds of the office begin to return to my ears, I lower my fingers to the keyboard again. It’s ironic that I’d find myself working at a dating site start-up in the midst of my heartbreak. But then, I could hardly stay in my old job. Not when she works there.
‘Coffee?’ Heather, my younger cousin, reaches across my desk for my empty mug without waiting for an answer. She’d recently begun a summer internship here at E-Volve before she leaves for university. Four years younger than me, we’ve never really been close until recently when she stepped into the role of friend.
‘I don’t think I could face another cup of crappy.’ It’s so unfair. Not only did Tamara steal my fiancé, but she also got to keep the fancy city office and its even fancier coffee machine.
‘I could pop to the bakery and get you a cappuccino?’
‘Thanks, babe, but I’m okay.’
‘How about happy hour cocktails after work?’
I shake my head. ‘What would be the point? I currently have the knack of making happy hour anything but happy.’ It’s entirely possible to be bored with your own company. Why should I choose to inflict that on others?
‘Come on, two-for-one cocktails makes everyone fun.’
I opt for a distraction, so I hook my index finger under my computer screen and turn it so Heather can see.
Her eyes widen slightly before flicking my way. ‘Drinks are on you, then?’
‘I haven’t listed it yet.’ I drop my attention back to my screen as I turn it back to face me again. I don’t really want her to read the ridiculous verbiage.
‘But you’re going to, aren’t you? It’s about time you did,’ she adds darkly.