“Don’t do that,” she snaps.
“What?”
“Make that face.”
“I’m not making a face.”
“You don’t think I can tell when you’re letting your stupid insecurities creep into your head?”
“Hey!” I shout. “My insecurities aren’t stupid.” They’re real as hell.
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat,” Bella snaps. “You’re womanly.”
A snort escapes. She’s always saying ridiculous shit like that. “If you tell me I’ve got childbearing hips, I’m going to slap you.”
She laughs. “We both have childbearing hips.”
“I’ve got hips to birth triplets. You, not so much.”
“Stop.” She holds up her hand. “Let’s go back. How the hell did that happen? Where did you meet him? What’s his name? Where’s he from?”
My turn to hold up my hand. “One question at a time, Katie Couric.”
“Fine.” She sighs, exasperated. Holding up her pointer finger, she says, “One. What’s his name?”
“Fl—Chase Ryder.”
“Sounds fake.”
“Right?” It fits him, though.
“Two.” She’s holding up two fingers. “Where’s he from?”
That’s a good question. “No idea. I assume a big city.”
“You shouldn’t assume.” She shakes those fingers at me. “But why do you think that?”
“Dress slacks, shirt, and shiny shoes.”
“So?”
“To a construction site.”
“Ah. Good point. I recall he was wearing a suit jacket this morning, which did make him stand out like a sore thumb.”
“Yep.”
“I think you answered number three. You met him at the house?”
“He showed up last night. Scared the shit out of me.” Boy, did he. “He startled me and ended up with stain all over his fancy-ass shirt.”
“Oh.” Bella places her hand over her mouth. “That’s a meet-cute.”
“A meet-what?”
