Under His Spell. Kathy Lyons

the time he made it to the first floor, she’d located her phone and was paging through messages. At least she’d stopped cursing, though he could hardly call it an improvement. Now her lips were pursed tight and her back was visibly hunched over her phone.

      “Nicky …” he began. “I really want to talk to you …” He let his voice trail away. She wasn’t even looking at him but down at her phone. He’d faded from her conscious mind, her attention fixed on more important matters. Boy, did he remember this feeling. Ignored. Unimportant. How many times had he stood in the background watching her as she did something with someone else?

      Well, he wasn’t that pathetic high school kid anymore. He wasn’t the school nerd with braces and acne. And he damn well was a decade beyond mooning after the hot volleyball player. With a snort of disgust, he turned his back on her and went into his bathroom. So maybe it was peevish of him to slam the door, but the resounding bang felt good.

      This time he liked his reflection in the mirror. He looked strong and adult. All traces of adolescent yearning were erased from his body. Then he heard the front door open and close, and he sighed, accepting the truth. He’d had his shot at Nicky, and he’d failed. But that was it for him. A man could only take so much humiliation.

      “Goodbye, Nicky.”