Aced by K. Bromberg Page B

bad?”
    “The public loves their celebrity sex tapes,” he says, sarcasm thick in his voice and the look I’ve learned to hate on his face. The one I’ve seen so many times during our fertility journey that says there’s nothing he can do to make it better besides put one foot in front of the other and try to put this all behind us. And that’s not what I want to see right now. This is the last thing I need.
    I want to dig my heels in instead of putting one foot in front of the other.
    His eyes, usually so full of life, are deadly serious. I just shake my head back and forth as he starts to speak because I don’t want to listen any more and yet need to hear everything.
    “I have our lawyers on this, Ry. We’ll find out—”
    “Does it matter, Colton? Does it?” I throw my hands up, my body vibrating with anger, my soul hiding in embarrassment. “It’s not like CJ is going to be able to get it taken down from the Internet. Because that’s what you’re not telling me, right? That’s why you won’t answer me when I ask how bad it is because you’re afraid to say that a video of us having sex is being uploaded left and right to computers all over the goddamn place and there’s not a fucking thing we can do about it.”
    I feel violated in so many ways right now, and not just because I’m naked. But more so because someone took an intimate, meaningful moment between him and me and exploited it. Demeaned it. Made it sleazy.
    Made us sleazy.
    This is not some sex scandal. It. Is. Us . A married couple. We’re not cheating on each other. We’re not into some weird taboo sex. Loving each other to the point where the outside world faded away and we became caught up in each other was our only fault.
    “Please calm down, Ry. It’s not good for the baby.”
    “Calm down? Are you kidding me? THIS isn’t good for the baby. Not in the goddamn least,” I say as I try to control the anger that’s raging out of control. “You’re the revered playboy who has lived your life in the public eye. Shit like this is good for your popularity, right? I mean this may elevate you to rock-star status with your groupies. But. Not. Me !” I scream as the shock finally gives way to anger. And I know I’m being mean and irrational but I don’t care because this isn’t fair.
    “Ry . . . C’mon. That’s not—”
    “Not fair?” I yell, finishing his words that mirror my thoughts. “You want to know what’s not fair, Colton? What this is going to do to me. I’m the good girl who works for a non-profit with little boys who look up to me. How am I going to explain this to them? Fuck . I’m the face of a company who asks for donations to fund our projects. So when you want to talk about fair, think about how in the hell this is going to affect me.”
    I have to move to abate my anger, the fire in my veins reflected in the aimless and erratic direction of my feet as I move from the doorway to the railing and then back to the doorway. Colton stands there watching me without saying a word. “Oh look, Bob, let’s give money to Rylee Donavan. She’s the class act who spread her legs and taped it for the world to see. Maybe we can ask her to do a video for us while she’s at it because that’d sure as fuck raise some money for the organization.”
    “Rylee!” Colton barks out my name, trying to get me to stop my misplaced rage, but I don’t care because it’s not his professionalism at stake. It’s mine . One I’ve built with years of hard work and sweat and tears. “How will anyone ever look at me again without seeing the look on my face when I come with my legs spread wide?”
    We stare at each other now, but I can’t hold back the spite in my tone or the accusation in my glare any longer as the detailed visual of that night fills my mind. The one of him standing before me with his pants unzipped and every other part of him completely clothed while I looked up at him from the hood of the car, my dress bunched up