
Sleeping withwith aa Spanish Guitarist inin Mallorca
I land in Palma, initially, to rejuvenate and find myself again after a tough breakup, but leave with a sore pussy and a situationship.
The story begins when Michael, my boyfriend at the time, hops in the shower without bringing his phone in with him. He does normally, which is odd – who showers with their phone? So reaching over to his bedside table, I grab it, do some scrolling, and my stomach, already sour from all the alcohol consumed yesterday, implodes when I tap onto Facebook Messenger to see that back and forth text messages to a certain Isabella have been going on for almost a year.
The attached photo messages have me hurling on the floor.
“Holly, you OK?” Out comes Mr Cheater himself, a look of concern impaled across his face that deepens when he glimpses his phone in my hand.
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