Read Online TROUBLE 1 by Kristina Weaver - Free Book Online Page A

this insulted in my entire life, and that’s saying something, considering my divorce fiasco. But what the hell else does he expect? I will not give him a show and start sobbing, or even revile him for this.
    No, I don’t expect a goddamned relationship, but being treated like a hooker…I want to laugh when I realize I’m worse off. All I got for his pleasure was dinner and a five second stay at his house.
    “Look, Greg.” I stress his name with relish and cock my head. “If you don’t mind, I can still make it home on time to go on a girls' night with Chrissie.”
    His face hardens, and I smile cheerily, ignoring the deep wound of shame that’s tearing at my insides.
    Well, let this be a lesson, Hannah Newman. When your mind tells you to run, fucking run.
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    “You’re kidding!” Chrissie yells, slamming a fist into the sofa cushion as I try to inhale a gallon of vanilla ice cream.
    “Nope. We ate, we fucked, he threw me out. End of story,” I say, throwing my head back to squeeze chocolate syrup into my mouth.
    I am not proud of being this hurt by his treatment. I’m even ashamed that my go-to at times like these is so much junk food my up till now sugar-free body will probably go into shock.
    I need it, okay? I feel worse than bubble gum under a fat person’s shoe. And Chrissie isn’t helping.
    “That piece of shit!” she yells, springing to her feet to pace.
    “Yup.”
    “That piece of sewer-processed rat shit!”
    “Yup.”
    “And you didn’t kick him in the balls?” she asks for the millionth time.
    I can understand her frustration, but seriously, he hasn’t just sex dumped her .
    “I told you what I said and did, Chris. There’s nothing more, nothing less,” I say around another spoon of chocolate-covered ice cream.
    “Well, this is just pathetic! Get up and go put on the dress I gave you. Now!”
    Whoa.
    “Why? I just want to sit here and stew a little bit before going into a sugar coma,” I say glumly.
    “I said, get your ass up and get dressed. There are a lot of other guys you could be doing right now who wouldn’t treat you like a venereal disease. We’re going out,” she says decisively.
    Oh crap.
    ***
    “Is this great or what!”
    I turn away from Joe…Something, I can’t quite remember, and smile brightly at where Chrissie is rubbing up against a conquest down the bar.
    Yup, this is pretty great, I think, downing my seventh tequila shooter as Joe eggs me on. I can’t believe I wanted to stay home and mope. I also can’t believe I’ve spent the last three years trying to turn myself into a robot when there’s so much more to life than asshole husbands. And recent sex partners who treat you like crap.
    No, there are genuinely nice guys like Joe, who want nothing more than a few good dates and some sex. I mean, I can do that. So what if Joe doesn’t have golden blonde locks that curl ever so sexily, or eyes the colour of smoky whisky.
    I like Joe. He makes me feel desirable and wanted, not cheap and degraded.
    “I mean, can you believe that, Joe?” I ask again, taking a slug of lukewarm beer.
    “No, baby, the guy’s an idiot. You stick with Joe and you’ll get the five star treatment,” he assures me, sliding a fresh beer my way.
    My stomach chooses that moment to heave precariously, and I swallow and wave as I dodge and weave my way to the bathroom. I am not used to drinking this much, and it’s showing as I fall into a stall and puke till my liver tickles my throat.
    “Oh, Gooooood.”
    “You okay, Han?”
    My moan of suffering makes her giggle, and I raise my head enough to shoot a mascara-smeared glare at her.
    “I think…need go…” I swallow convulsively and puke again. “Home.”
    “Well, come on then, lightweight, let’s get you home.” She laughs, and I allow her to sling my arm over her shoulder and walk me out into the fresh summer air.
    “You like Joe?”
    “Eh. He’s okay I guess,” I slur, falling into the cab.
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