“What’s wrong?” I glanced up at him; his face looked like stone.
“Sam?” A woman’s voice said from behind me. Turning, I watch as a statuesque blonde woman in a short, white dress and high heels makes a beeline for my man.
Okay. I shouldn’t say “my man,” because that’s still not clear, but it slipped out.
I think the only thing that eases my mind is that she’s also with a man. A tall, muscular man with dark hair and eyes. I’d say he was handsome except for the fact he looks rather cross.
“Amber” is Sam’s reply.
I watch as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug. Her fingers have found their way into his hair, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
When she releases him, she’s still got her hands on his arms. “How are you?”
“Fine.” His voice is flat.
“Oh,” she titters. “Let me introduce you two.” She reaches back and takes the hand of the guy who doesn’t seem to smile. “Sam.” She pulls the guy forward. He seems reluctant to engage. “This is Anton.”
Like a robot, Sam raises his hand for this guy, Anton, to shake. Anton is even more robotic. “Nice to finally meet you,” Anton says, but it’s obvious, to me anyway, that there’s not one iota of truth to his statement.
Sam says nothing in response.
He doesn’t even introduce me to whoever these people are. I should feel offended, except I can tell that Sam isn’t happy about this little encounter. So, instead of getting all butthurt that he’s left me out, I take a moment to really check these people out.
Let’s start with Anton. While, yes, he’s good-looking, he’s dressed sort of cheesy. He’s got on dark slacks and a blazer, but his shirt is covered in huge tropical flowers, and it’s open halfway down his chest, revealing lots of dark chest hair. It’s the same color as the stuff on his head, but the stuff on his head has lots of shiny product in it.
I shiver at the whole look.
Next, I turn my attention to the woman. Amber. She’s tall, with long blonde hair that I assume she’s styled with a flat iron. Nobody’s hair is that straight and smooth. She’s pretty.Reallypretty, with her big brown eyes and full lips that she’s painted cherry red. She’s wearing a white wrap dress that’s very low cut. She’s got a decent chest, probably made more so by the huge baby bump she’s sporting. She looks as though she could pop at any moment, poor thing. But she’s one of those lucky ones. She’s carrying that kid in her stomach and nowhere else. We Munsels carry our babies everywhere—our ass, face, thighs, boobs, and, of course, our stomachs. If I ever get pregnant, watch out. I’ll have to warn whoever fathers my kid what he’s in for.
I digress…
I scan down her long, thin legs. They’re shapely even though. And how she can wear four-inch heels when she’sthatpregnant, I’ll never know, because my kitten heels are more than I can handle. I gaze in disbelief at her ankles. Hell, she’s not even retaining water.
“It’s been nice to see you again, Sam.”
“Yep” is all he says in response. I feel myself being tugged away from the attractive couple. It catches me off guard, and I nearly trip on some uneven concrete. I guess Sam doesn’t notice, because he’s still pulling me along at a fast clip.
“Slow down.” I tug my arm out of his grip. He releases me, but he keeps right on moving toward his truck. The lights flash on the front of his pickup, letting me know he’s unlocked it. I watch him open the driver-side door and slide in.
He’s not going to help me up?
I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does.
Moving to my side, I try to open the door, but it’s locked. I wait a beat for him to disengage my side, but nothing. Reaching up, I knock on the window. I hear the lock click. As I pull open the door, the engine roars to life. I rush to get in, fearing he’s going to drive away before I’m fully inside.
Glancing up, I see his hands on the wheel, like he’s prepped to go.
And right then, it hits me.
I’m pissed.
It can’t be helped.
I’m a fiery redhead, after all.
And while that date was great, everything that happened from the second we stepped out the door of the restaurant has sucked. So, instead of sticking around and taking more of this bullshit, I slam the truck door shut and march right back toward the restaurant, wondering who to call to come get me.
Connie lives the closest, but she’d probably ask the most questions. Candy would be okay, except I think she’s out of town. By the time I reach the door, I’ve decided on my dad. He’ll be oblivious to my plight, and he’ll spend the whole time talking about some car he wants. Decision made, I reach into my bag and retrieve my phone just as a deep voice grumbles, “What the fuck are you doing?”
