With her hands still over her head, it gives me the chance to open the door so she can climb in, which is easier said than done because her shoes keep slipping off the running board.
“Do you need help?”
“No. I’ve got it.”
Doesn’t look like it. “Just let me?—”
“I said I’ve got it! I don’t need a man’s help. I am a perfectly capable, independent woman.”
All right…
By the time I’m settled in the driver’s seat, she’s finally in. The engine roars to life, and I throw the thing into reverse, backing out of the lot.
Being cooped up in here with her peaches ’n cream scent slowly assaulting my senses is a torture I hadn’t expected to endure tonight.
Time to turn on the radio and distract myself from the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.
Staring out the side window, she shoves her chaotic hair back from her face. “Why do men suck?”
“It’s one of life’s great mysteries.” From the corner of my eye, I catch Loren frowning up at the moon. “Boyfriend trouble?” I assume, even though it’s really none of my business.
“Yeah.” She tugs one shoe off, then the other, and tosses them on the floor with a huff. “Thetroubleis he’s notmyboyfriend. He’s someone else’s.”
No wonder she’s been drowning herself in alcohol.
I never understood cheating. If you don’t like someone enough to stay faithful, don’t call them your girlfriend. Say you want to keep it casual or don’t feel like being tied down.
It’s common fucking sense.
It sucks for Loren that her boyfriend was a cheating asshole, but it sounds like she’s better off—not that saying so aloud will help the situation. She needs to sit in the suck for a while before she sees it that way.
I tap my thumbs against the steering wheel, matching the beat of the Fleetwood Mac classic buzzing quietly from the radio. “How’d you find out?”
“I saw him plastered all over my boss’s Instagram. They’ve been dating for years.Years. I can’t believe I moved to Tennessee for the guy.”
What a slimy fucker. “Does he know that you know?”
“I texted him as soon as I found out. He tried to call me a bunch, but I turned off my phone.”
Half of me is worried he’ll be there when I pull into our parking lot. The other half is sorry that he isn’t because I want to call him a shithead to his face.
“I gave him till Friday to tell his girlfriend the truth,” Loren goes on, collecting her shoes and purse.
“He’s not going to tell her.” No way is a guy like that going to admit he did something wrong.
“He might.”
I may not know this dickwad from Adam, but I know men, and ninety-nine percent of them don’t come clean when they’re caught. They burrow deeper, like ticks. “The guy cheated on her. The last thing he’s going to do is admit it. He’ll wait until you do and then make it seem like you’re the psycho.”
Loren turns to me, her eyes wide as the full moon at her back. “What am I supposed to do? He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with treating her like that, but I don’t want her to hate me either.”
The thing about a shit situation is that there’s rarely a way around it without getting your shoes dirty.
Although she’s right. That asshole shouldn’t get away with it.
All she needs is someone to tell this woman the truth about her boyfriend. Her boss doesn’t necessarily need specifics. “I could always message your boss.”
The tiniest wrinkle appears between her shapely brows. “Out of the blue? Won’t that be weird?”
