I turn to leave but think better of it. How many times in my life have I just let people talk to me like that?
A million and one. That’s how many. And every time it happens, I walk away and think of a million and two things I should have said in rebuttal. Then I usually cry.
Not this time.
Nope. This time, I’m going to say my piece. (Then, I’ll cry.)
Looking down at Chasen, I say, “You’re a dick. And don’t ever call your penis a ‘club’ again—that’s just gross.”
Tiffany giggles.
I turn to her. “And I have no idea what your problem is, Tiff, but I just feel sorry for you.”
Suddenly, she’s the one that looks affronted.
She shouldn’t be shocked. It’s the truth. Why does someone as pretty as her need to put other women down? She’s seemingly got it all.
She has Lucky, for crying out loud.
My eyes go to Lucky next. He’s no longer glaring at Chasen. He’s looking right at me. We stare at one another for several seconds. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Perhaps I’d like to see him push Tiff onto the floor and wrap me up in his arms and kiss me.
Instead, I get nothing.
With that knowledge, I turn and stomp through the crowd and out the front door. The more I stomp, the angrier I get.
Which is pretty darned angry. I’m Irish, after all.
I make it down to the end of the street to the corner, and just as I’m about to turn left, I hear my name. I know who it is instantly, so I pick up the pace. He had his chance to say something back at the inn, but he didn’t say a word.
“Becklyn. Wait.”
I don’t. Instead, I stomp double time.
“Come on, Becklyn.”
He’s getting closer, thanks to his stupidly long legs. Heck, he’s probably not even trying that hard. I feel his hand wrap around my upper arm. I whip around to face him, hoping it dislodges his hand. It does. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Crossing my arms in front of me, I can’t help noticing his eyes flick down to my top. Ignoring that, I answer in as bitchy a tone as I can muster, “I’m fine. Perfect, actually. Couldn’t be better. Thanks for asking.” I raise my hand and point in the direction we both just came. “Now, go back to your mean girl girlfriend.”
“Becklyn,” Lucky growls.
No.Hedoesn’t get to sound angry.
Ido.
With my own growl, I turn away from Lucky and just as I’m about to march, his hand wraps around my upper arm again. “Becklyn, wait.”
“What!” I spin so fast I nearly lose my balance. The only thing that saves me is Lucky. He reaches out and ends up with one hand on each of my shoulders to stop my momentum. “Just…” I don’t even know what to say. I certainly don’t want to recap what just happened at the bar. Remembering it suddenly overwhelms my emotions. I’m so sick of people and their ability to bring me to my proverbial knees with their stupid, ugly words. I know I won’t be able to hide my emotions, not from him. So, I don’t bother. I feel the tears just on the surface, but I fight them off. “Lucky, I just want to be alone.”
“Baby girl…”
Why does he keep calling me that?
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to go home.”
“Becklyn.” Lucky’s voice is but a whisper.
