The Second Worst Love Story Ever (+18)

1. Back To Old Habits

⚠ WARNING: This story contains graphic depictions of sexuality and strong language among other mature themes. Reader's discretion is advised.

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Let me tell you right now: I should never have gone inside that tattoo parlor. The moment I set foot inside that place and caught Valentina's sweet perfume, I was screwed; I was bound to get hurt again. But that's fine. It's what I get for thinking I could just see the only woman I ever loved and not be affected. That's me. I'm stupid.

"Ash Müller!"

"He's right there!"

I almost fell from my bike when I saw half a dozen people stationed in front of my parents' house. The fact that I'd been distracted by the memory of my ex also contributed to that. Like I said, stupid.

Lately, what seemed like easy, simple tasks -- such as opening the curtains in the morning without having a picture of me shirtless taken and put online -- were becoming near impossible. It all had gotten worse after I had starred in a rom-com half a year before.

I had to circle back and go around the block in order to lose the paparazzi. Once I was close to the house again, I turned the bike off and pushed it the rest of the way. I finally snuck my way to the back door, locking it behind me.

"What the fuck..." I peeked through the curtains of the back door window.

"You've been cursing a lot ever since you started dating that Italian girl."

I turned around with a startle to see my mother frantically mixing the ingredients of a cake. Hopefully, it was chocolate.

"Holy shit, mor!"

"See? My point exactly!"

I kissed my mom on the forehead and tried to dip my finger into the bowl. I was right; it was chocolate. She slapped my hand away from the batter, so I settled for an apple.

"So?" she insisted. "When am I going to meet her, by the way?"

I took a deep breath, letting the sweet vanilla scent she threw into the cake mix keep me centered, then I looked into her brown, inquisitive eyes.

"Never. We're not together anymore... Never were, actually."

"So you're telling me you flew all the way to Italy that time just to see... What? A fling?"

She'd never let me forget about Italy.

"She's my friend... A good friend. That's why I did it."

"That is no excuse. You say she is a friend. Why can't I meet this particular friend of yours then?"

"Because I don't wanna see her," I answered, deciding I was too tired to beat around the bush. "And I don't want to talk about her. End of discussion."

Right as I said that, my sister, Ada, came in to save the day.

"Hey, dork..." She gave me a peck on the cheek. "How's work?"

"Frantic, thank God. I've been traveling a lot to promote my last movie, but you know I like it."

"I know you can't stand still, because you're a five-year-old man. Any news on the show?"

"There's talk of canceling it," I told her, with a certain degree of satisfaction. "The negotiations are taking forever. I think I'll even let the Ireland apartment go and get my hair cut again."

"No! Not the hair! It's so pretty!"

"It's annoying, and it keeps falling on my face."

"But what if the show isn't canceled after all?"