“Did I tell you I needed a coat?”
“No, but?—”
“Did someone say I needed a coat? Did Lauren mention I needed a coat?”
“No, but?—”
“Then why did you buy me a coat?”
“MacKenzie. You’ve got to know?—”
“Know what?” She smiles sweetly at me. It’s a setup. I can feel it in my bones. She’s standing rigid as a statue. Her tiny fists are clenched at her sides.
“Um, you had to know your coat is in bad shape.”
“I do. I do know that. But here’s the thing, Sam, Ilikemy coat.”
Shit. Despite the obvious danger I’m putting myself in, I trudge ahead. “Sweetheart, you can’t wear that old coat?—”
MacKenzie cuts in. “Yes, I can. No one cares what I wear.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I say, a little annoyed. “You can’t wear that old coat when we go out.”
I watch as the pink turns into red blotches on her neck that rise to her face. Again, I underestimate the danger I’m in.
MacKenzie smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach her cold eyes. “And… why would it matter what coat I wear? I always take it off as soon as I walk into a place.”
“Not always,” I say under my breath, and try again to reason with her. “Babe, now that you’re with me, I can afford to buy you nicer things, starting with this coat.”
“Now. That. I’m. With. You. Is that what you said?” Her hand is resting flat against her chest.
“Yeah.”
“Who said I was ‘with you’?” She makes little air quotes.
“If you go with me to dinner, you’re with me.” That’s all I meant. Is this hard for her to understand?
“Is my dress okay? I mean, is it good enough?”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine? It’s justfine?” Her voice rises an octave on that secondfine.
“It’s okay. Nice. You look pretty.” Holy hell, what were the three rules from her hipster douche gay friend? Oh yeah. I grin. “But you don’t look fat.”
I did it wrong—I can see it on her face. Jesus, I used to be so smooth with the ladies. Why am I not smooth with this woman? I smile hopefully. “Babe?”
“You know what, Sam? Come to think of it, I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m coming down with something.”
“I was, too, but—” She holds up her hand to stop me.
“Hang on one second.” She moves into the bedroom. It’s at least five minutes before she comes out. When she does, she is wearing the tightest leggings things I’ve ever seen and an old Chicago Bears sweatshirt that is miles too big for her and slouches off one bare shoulder. My dick twitches in my pants at the sight, but why did she change? Her hair is still up, but the lipstick is gone—obviously wiped away.
“You changed?”
“I’m not going.” MacKenzie places the lid back on the box. The coat looks just like the one she had. Has. Except the new one is Burberry and it’s cashmere. It has matching gloves and a hat. Jesus, how the hell did I screw this up? She can’t possibly want the old coat when she can have this one. Right?
She hands me the box. “No, thank you, Sam. I appreciate it, but no thanks. And here.” She slaps down a small rectangular piece of paper on top. A check.
