Alone with You Read Online Aly Martinez

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Aly Martinez Advertisement1

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It would probably set off an alarm.

The cops would show. More than likely arrest me.

But I’d be sitting in that booth when they did.

Worth it. So fucking worth it.

I backed up, prepared to put my foot through the glass—consequences be damned—when a pair of brown eyes suddenly saved me.

Again.

Gwen

Type.

Delete.

Type.

Delete.

I squirmed in my chair, my damn bra suffocating me. When would I ever learn not to shop online? Nothing ever fit right. Mediums were either extra-smalls or extra-larges. But if I ordered an extra-large aiming for a medium, I’d end up with a Barbie dress. Meanwhile, if I went the other direction and purchased the extra-small, it would swallow me. It made absolutely no sense.

And forget about returning stuff! I mean, seriously, who had time for that? I had multiple packages of misfit clothing in the back of my car that just toured around town with me until the return windows closed. I made the best of it though. Some of my favorite summer dresses were supposed to be shirts.

That bra was a next-level torture device. Yet it was still the most comfortable part of my current situation. Sitting in the shoebox-sized office at the restaurant, I was composing the perfect gag-inducing text to my ex-husband. I hated asking that dickhead for help, but despite my best efforts, I had not yet unlocked the science to clone myself.

The demo crew I’d hired to help me gut the restaurant had canceled on me not once, but twice. Luckily, I had been able to find another team on short notice. Unluckily, the only time they had available was on the same day my son had to stay after school for math tutoring.

Math tutoring my ex had said our son did not need despite his plummeting grades.

Math tutoring that my ex had refused to help pay for.

Math tutoring that my ex would no doubt allow Nate to skip if he had to be even mildly inconvenienced with picking him up.

So, once again, I had to get creative.

The thing with communicating with a narcissist is that, no matter what you’re saying, you’re always stupid. They, of course, are smarter. Truly, an expert in all fields from child rearing to classifying the color of the sky. It was wild. Even when they were wrong, they were still right, and the mental gymnastics and abuse used to make sure you understood that they were superior to you in every facet was utterly impressive—and totally fucked up.

It took years for me to see through Jeff’s constant cycle of love bombing, manipulating, and gaslighting to recognize that I wasn’t always the problem in our relationship. I wasn’t stupid or naïve. I didn’t enjoy drama. And his yes did not hold more weight than my no. But, after having been married to him for over a decade, I’d learned a few lessons in manipulating the manipulator.

Jeff loved to be the hero. His ability to save the day fed his ego and gave him something to lord over me should he ever need an ace up his sleeve to play against me.

At the current moment, I didn’t give one single shit how many aces he had. We were divorced. The game was over. I had my own deck of cards now.

So there I was, typing my text:

Hey, Jeff. I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this restaurant.

It was total bullshit, but it would give him satisfaction to think I was struggling without him.

I know, I know. You were right.

I dry heaved just typing that.

Can you do me a huge favor and pick Nate up from tutoring tomorrow? If not, no worries. I can always ask Dylan.

A little competition with my best friend, who he hated with a passion, never hurt.

With my finger hovering over the begging emoji to really sell it, I jumped when a loud banging sounded at the front of the restaurant.

I grabbed the mace connected to my keys. Belton was about as low crime as a suburb got, but as a single woman who spent a lot of nights working alone, I was ready to protect myself if need be. My pulse spiked as I listened. The rattling and banging continued. I figured it was a diner who hadn’t read the sign, and they would go away soon enough, but as I waited, the noises got louder.

Shit. Was I being robbed? I didn’t even have a cash register yet. With my luck, it was a former customer of The Grille there for redemption after being given a life-threatening case of food poisoning.

Dammit. Why hadn’t I prioritized the new security system?

Oh, right. The budget.

I inched toward the office doorway, my lungs burning as I held my breath. A million what-ifs ravaged my nervous system. And then suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he chanted.


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