The Bad Jokes #2: The Blonde

Chapter 9 (Gracie): Glock

***TW for stalker and violence***

Wyatt in my writing room announcing we were going to talk was just noise. Nothing I had to respond to, so I continued writing.

"My darling, I just wanted to tell you how wrong I was. You know that you're the one I want. I choose you, my sweet love."

"Really? Are you choosing me because she ditched your ass and now you're left with me?"

"No." He looked confused. "I choose you because I choose you."

"Did you choose me because you choose me or did you choose me because she didn't choose you so you felt you had to choose me?"

Hawk was looking baffled now. "I don't understand --"

"Well, maybe you'll understand THIS, you fucking dipshit asshole!" And she pulled out a flame thrower and aimed it at his --

"Weenie roast, anyone?" BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Her evil cackle filled the room as she watched

Delete delete delete

He'll take your words.

Well, wasn't that the truth? The stories that used to flow so freely from my head to my hands to my keyboard to the Word docs were no longer flowing. It was more like they were dammed up. Like, Hoover Dam size dammed up. Every single paragraph I wrote was filled with bitterness and hate...and some sort of horrible, violent end to the hero's dick.

I had a deadline coming up, and I could just picture my editor's face if I handed in what I'd been deleting.

"Thought I'd go in a new direction, Rae! A new genre of romance where the hero and heroine don't get a happy ending and, in fact, the heroine gets jail time while the hero's corpse rots in the basement of an abandoned house somewhere. Doesn't that scream best seller to you, too?"

"Gracie, please can we talk?"

Wyatt was standing at my elbow now, and the man still smelled as delicious as ever. His cologne was the best, and even though I couldn't pinpoint the notes in it, whenever it hit me, I had the same visceral reaction to it that I did to the scent of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. He made my mouth water. I wanted to lick him. I wanted to --

He spun my chair around and knelt in front of me, keeping his hands lightly on the arms of my chair. He was caging me in, but he was also making it very easy for me to get away. His face was level with mine, so it was hard to look away from him, but I forced myself to. Wyatt's eyes were gorgeous, disarming, and I was afraid if I looked into them, I'd cave and talk to the man.

"We need to talk, Gracie. There's so much I haven't explained to you, so many things I want you to know. I'm fucking miserable without you, and I don't think you're all that happy either. So please, can we try to work through this?"

Don't say anything. He doesn't exist.

"Gracie, are you happy with the way things are between us? I'm not. Not at all. Life doesn't feel right without you."

Guess that was my cue to snap. "Now that she's gone, you mean? Now that she's made her choice and it wasn't you again? Now I'm what you want? Now your life doesn't feel right? Well, sign me up for second place in your heart and mind, Wyatt! How can I resist being runner up for the rest of my life?"

"Never second place, Gracie. You never were, no matter what it seemed like. And she didn't want to leave; I told her to."

" You mean you told her to leave once you realized she was a lying, cheating bitch who would stoop to the lowest of lows to make you feel sorry for her and give her another chance? And I'm second place to a woman like that?"