Ave Michaels is an out-and-proud cynical romantic who never had her heart broken (considering she has to fall in love first.)
That is until, in order to get published, she has to prove she's a versatile writer by writing a romance novel.
Throw in a...
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"In Which Reality Is, Not in the Slightest, a Meet-Cute Moment"
(Pt. 3)
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Service Entrance, Encontrarse
3:10 PM
"You're just telling me that now?!" I exclaim, aiming for another kick to his shin.
This time, he swoops down and catches my foot before they can do any further damage.
I try to wrench myself away to no avail, his hold strong and unwavering.
I give up — at least until he loosens his grip.
Satisfied that he got my resentful attention, he starts to explain. "You told me we'll talk about it first thing in the morning. And then, you snuck away before I even woke up."
I grit my teeth, spewing every word like acid. "Now, you're telling me it's my fault?! Do you have any idea of what kind of shit I went through?"
"I can probably guess. About protection"—
I scream in frustration. "Forget the birds and the bees,* I have The Shot!* And, you'll bet your ass when I get a venereal disease, I'll be seeing you in court!"
"Same goes for you. And, don't think I won't include in my defense how you should've stuck close to your friend instead of attacking a man for his 'meat-stick'."— he finger-quotes — "I suppose everyone in the jury would agree that would've been the most common thing to do. But I guess common sense is not for everyone," he retorts in a condescendingly calm manner.
That's it, fuck his jawline that can cut through a diamond!
"Nobody told you to take me back to your place and have your way with me!" I vehemently point out, "You could've left me at a police station, for all I care! I had to listen to a sermon from all of my friends and beg them to drop a missing-persons search before anyone from my family finds out! What's more, I can't even exactly remember what happened that night!"
"If it helps, it was purely consensual," he offers as an afterthought to my — what he may have perceived as — incoherent rant.
"No, it does not," I disprove, resuming my helpless struggle to get my foot free.
"Listen here, I have no idea why"—
"Oh," I interrupt him again, "I think you do. Carrying a drunk person to your apartment and fucking her, doesn't make any you less bad than any drunken assholes from the club last nig"—
He suddenly drops my foot, making me stumble a bit before I can regain my balance.
