Pulling the curtain aside so roughly I might have torn it, I spotted my ex sitting on one of the long couches with his arm draped around a pretty brunette. What struck me first was the fact that the bastard had on a shirt I'd bought him for Valentine's Day a year ago. Seriously?

"Gaby," Brandon muttered with wide blue eyes.

I felt my ears start to heat up from how angry I was getting each second that passed by. "Brandon."

It was only when I felt Sacha's fingertips dip into the band of my jeans, brushing at the small of my back that I calmed down enough to think rationally.

In months past, I’d thought of a hundred messed-up things I would have loved to happen to Brandon. Everything from hooking up with a transvestite, to losing his dick from some kind of strange man-eating bacteria, had waged its war through my imagination. I didn't hate him, really, but he would always and forever have a spot on my Shit List. But when I felt my new friend tug on the back of my jeans, I realized that I wasn't the same person that I'd been a few months back. Even a month back.

Though the flesh and the flakes that comprised the shell of skin were the same, I felt stronger than before. I didn't need Brandon, and I really was better off without him. We'd had a good relationship but in hindsight, he wasn't the kind of man I wanted to be with forever. Our interests were too different and… I guess something had been missing. We didn’t have that easy camaraderie that came so naturally to my demons and I. Hell, even Sacha and I had instantly taken to each other’s humor. He'd loved me, I think, but it wasn't enough to erase the fact that I'd always been second—sometimes third or fourth—in his life after his shitty-ass band. It was just that our breakup had come out of the blue. I’d asked myself a thousand times if the signs had been there that things were falling apart, but no matter how much I over-analyzed it, there really hadn’t been a sign.

Really, it was okay. Whatever his reasons were, I didn’t care anymore. I cried, I grieved, and like every Barreto before me, I was going to move the hell on with my life. I was happy, regardless of whether I knew what I wanted to do with my life or not.

But more than ever, I wanted Brandon’s ass torn up by a dozen hung porn stars.

"Let's go outside," I told my ex in a voice so calm I didn't know I was capable of.

His eyebrows furrowed as his face went a little pink. "What?"

"Come outside with me, Bran," I said, indicating with my head toward the exit. "We should talk."

Those eyes that I'd once cared for narrowed in my direction. He knew me; he knew that even if I was calm, he'd crossed the fucking line calling Eli my nickname for him. Some things were unforgivable. His brunette girlfriend tugged at his hand as she shook her head.

I shot my brother a smirk; he was standing there with a flushed face and rigid jaw. All signs of the devil inside of him were visible, waiting to burst out and destroy. "Come on, Brandon. Let's go. I'll only take a minute."

"Baby," the girl whined softly.

I'd never been clingy with him and maybe that was my mistake, but I couldn't find it in me to bother wondering if that had been a factor in our split. If Brandon had wanted to talk to someone, talk to one of his fans, I'd never cared. I figured if he wanted to cheat on me he could do so any time he wanted and there was nothing I could do about it. But this bitch was going to learn that I definitely didn't want his pimple-butt ass. "I don't want his pickle dick." I glanced at Eli when I said it. "I just want to talk to him for a minute, and I don't want to embarrass him in front of everyone."

Sacha tugged at the back of my pants again, his fingers dipping deeper into the area between the denim and my panties. "Gaby," he warned.