No Prince

by Stevie J. Cole

“Who doesn’t drink milkshakes? You really are a psychopath.” “And you really are hot.”

“The first time I noticed you was two summers ago when you were washing some shit car in your drive. I told the guys you were off-limits.” He nudged me. “You’re welcome. Hendrix would have tried to screw you.”

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever given a shit about.” I grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of me. Her hands went to my face. “Good.” And then she kissed me.

Her hand brushed my shoulder before her arms wrapped around my waist, her chin pressing to my shoulder. And goddamn, that broke me. I buried my face in her neck. Monroe was making herself a lifeline, and I was fucked. “That’s shit, Zepp.” “It’s just life, Monroe.”

Then it hit me like an eighteen-wheeler barreling down a road: She was a stripper and a virgin. How messed up was that, that we lived the kind of life where she was rubbing her tits in men’s faces and straddling their laps when she hadn’t even had sex. Something about that was downright tragic. Monroe James wasn’t at all what I had thought she was—what anyone thought she was. And she was so much better than I deserved.

I had never given a shit about a girl before, and somehow, this girl had managed to break me apart without even trying. Because I was pretty damn sure I was in love with her.

He said he loved me, but he didn’t try to stop me from leaving. He had just let me go. He let me go…

“I meant it when I told you I would never love anyone the way I loved you. Because I won’t love anyone but you.”