Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)(39)

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud ping from across the counter. With a frown, I glanced at the origin of the sound as it went off again.

Tim's phone, left downstairs next to his half-drunk beer from his late-night arrival. Blinking in the semi-darkness, I reached for it to find the volume switch, and then went totally still has my blood chilled in my veins.

There, lit up across the screen of his phone, was a photo of a pair of nude, perky tits.

Tits that were decidedly not mine.

The room went silent around me as I felt my pulse pound in my ears.

The phone pinged again, this time a text popping up on the screen:

Hey honny, thought u were cuming ovr last nite.



What. The. Fuck.

My face went leaden and hard, coldly emotionless, and I felt as though the wind was slowly going out of my sails. There was a tightening, like a knot, in the pit of my stomach, and for a minute I almost felt like I was going to throw up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

My face felt numb as I hissed it into the empty kitchen.

The real shitty part was, I wasn’t even surprised. Part of me could have almost guessed this was going to happen. I didn’t think Tim stepping out had started until after the job loss, and since then, it’s almost like he hadn't even been trying too hard to hide it. That and the fact that he’d barely touched me at all in months had made it something I was almost expecting to happen.

It hurt — a lot — the first time I’d smelled perfume on his shirt, or found a phone number scrawled on a bar napkin in his pocket. But it was always something passing, something that could probably just be explained away, even if I knew deep down what was going on. So instead, I guess I’d just internalized it, as if never talking about it made it something that was just in my head.

But, this text message — yeah, there wasn’t really any denying this.

I glanced back at the phone on the counter, paused, and then reached down to unlock his screen, bringing up his messages. I looked at text again — at her tits — and felt the rage searing up inside. I tried to picture the little tramp attached to those breasts who was texting my fiancé at this hour.

I frowned at the message:

thought u were cuming over.



Were. So, he'd planned to, but hadn't? I furrowed my brow at the message.

Goddammit, I was so tired of being such a fucking pushover about everything! I knew — I knew — I should confront Tim about this, but something kept stopping me. Even now, I was figuring out how to push it to the back of my mind, with evidence right in my face!

The phone dinged again and I looked down and gasped.

The view was wider now, and clearly a selfie being taken in a bathroom mirror. The girl was topless, her tits pushed out as she struck a sexy pose for the camera in her hand. I could see the lips puckering on her face, though nothing above except for long tendrils of blond hair. She had her thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties, and had them pulled down enough to almost see her trampy little pussy.

It was the message that followed next that hit me in the gut.

dont u wanna fuck me like last time ;) ;) ;) ??



The anger welled fast inside of me. I felt betrayal, dismissal, shame. There was no denying it to myself anymore, it was right there staring me in the face. My fiancé was fucking somebody else.

I put my face in my hands, elbows on the counter, as I exhaled slowly. In a way, I felt relieved. No more second guessing myself, no more bullshit, no more thinking I was just being that woman; paranoid and accusing.

I looked down at the picture on Tim’s phone again and shook my head, shaking.

I wondered briefly where they’d met.

The phone went off again. This time I didn’t even look at it before I snatched it up and slammed it back face down on the counter.

I needed to get out of the house and clear my head.





2





Samantha




Twenty minutes later, I was racing towards the beach — the one place where I could just escape it all and clear my head of all this.

After throwing Tim’s phone down and gritting my teeth, I’d pretty much just gone upstairs, tossed on my bikini and stomped out the door, slamming it behind me. We lived barely a mile from the beach, but right then, I wanted to feel the wind in my hair and the power of acceleration. So, I’d also snagged the keys to the Tim’s new convertible on the way out — the new, ridiculously expensive car that he’d insisted on getting, despite his total lack of job. “It’s part of the image, babe,” he’d said. “Gotta look the part.”

Right.

I squealed the tires loudly as I ripped out of our driveway.



I felt better out on the road, but I was still screaming inside about the skank my fiancé was very apparently cheating on me with. I wanted to think of her as this little home-wrecking slut, but then, who knew what story Tim had told her. In my mind though, she totally knew he was taken. In the terrible daydream in my head, the fact that he was stepping out on me was even part of their illicit affair; something they joked about or incorporated into their romps in cheap motel rooms, or wherever it was he was fucking her.

I gripped the wheel tightly and slammed on the gas, letting the wind rip through my hair and over my bare skin, classic rock blaring out of the car speakers as I raced towards the beach.