When a text message pinged on my phone, I clicked on the link included without thinking. I didn’t bother reading the contents of the text or the link description; knowing it was from my best friend, Quinn, was enough of a reason to absentmindedly click for me. Usually she sent me links to things she thought I should see that involved our friends, coworkers, or her boyfriend. This link, however, had nothing to do with any of her usual subjects, and when I realized that, my heart stopped.
The video appeared grainy at first as the cell phone camera adjusted to the strobe lighting in the club. My boyfriend, Colin, suddenly appeared in the frame, a smile plastered on his face as his eyes focused on someone or something not in the picture. He raised a hand, waving someone over toward him, his grin growing more mischievous.
My brain screamed at me to stop watching. Something inside begged me to look away, turn it off, throw my smart phone across the room, but I couldn’t. It was obviously bad enough for Quinn to send to me, so I had to keep watching.
No matter how much it was going to hurt.
An overly busty blonde sauntered into view, showing more skin than clothes, dancing seductively as she made her way toward my boyfriend. He reached for her waist and pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, her legs wrapping around his very private area in very plain sight.
Who does that?
The blonde’s skirt rode up, revealing her bare ass, and Colin’s hands were suddenly there, squeezing it, slapping it, lifting her skirt higher. As she leaned her head toward his face, I honestly thought for a second he’d come to his senses. Maybe he wouldn’t kiss her. Maybe he’d toss her off his lap, tell her to go to hell, and rush out of the club, humiliated. Then again, that type of thing only happened in the books I read and the movies I starred in. Most guys weren’t anywhere near as well-behaved as we women wanted them to be.
As if reading my mind, Colin fisted a handful of her hair, and I watched as he yanked her head back, causing the rest of her hair to spill provocatively behind her. His lips pressed against her neck as he licked his way up to her mouth. She laughed, and then he kissed her. It was a mess of tongues and body parts grinding, with hands roaming in places hands shouldn’t be roaming in public.
I’d seen more than enough, so I stopped the video and tried to remind myself how to breathe, my heart pounding as if I were on a treadmill. If anything came after that spectacle—no pun intended—I didn’t need to see it.
Pushing off from the couch, I walked to my window and glanced down toward the street, noticing the swarm of paparazzi already beginning to form.
This wasn’t the first time claims of infidelity like this had been leveled against my pop-star boyfriend, Colin McGuire, but it was the first time pictures had accompanied the accusations. If a picture spoke a thousand words, this horrendous video and the photos that accompanied it screamed a million. Colin could never talk his way out of my seeing his tongue being buried in that woman’s throat, seeing him grab her ass and grinding on her for all to see.
Falling back on the couch, I tried to unsee what I’d just watched. I couldn’t believe Colin was so blatant and stupid. Most celebrities knew if they were going to cheat, they should do it where people couldn’t watch them or take photos for proof. Apparently the VIP section of a club in London was not that place. Maybe he wanted to get caught? But why not just break up with me first?
TO BE CONTINUED.....
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