Until now.
Heart pounding with rage, I took out my phone and searched for a number for the IRS.
A quick search of the website showed no number to call. I couldn’t email to refer someone for an audit, either. Uncle Sam wanted paper. I found an official form called an “Information Referral” that would have to be printed, placed in an envelope, stamped, and sent.
Okay then.
Little Miss Petty would pretend it was 1994 and conduct her business old-school—as soon as she remembered where, other than the post office, she could buy some stamps.
Well, that and if she could coax her printer into actually working.
But this would be her last official act of pettiness.
If I’d learned anything these past few weeks, it was that I didn’t need to be in charge of meting out consequences, logical or otherwise. Collecting evidence? Absolutely. But I would have to effect change from the right side of the law—spirit or otherwise—from this point on.
Chapter 38
To say I didn’t want to have this conversation with Malone would be the understatement of the century, but it had to be done. In his case, it had been fun. It had been real. It had really, really been fun, but I couldn’t afford to get attached to him only to have him leave. My heart couldn’t take it.
When he came through the door, he said, “I thought about your headache. Champagne might not be the best thing, so I got ice cream.”
I froze.
Tears stung because here was ice cream to ruin yet another party, and it was all the worse because Malone was being thoughtful.
“You don’t like ice cream?” He frowned.
“No, it has nothing to do with the ice cream.”Even if ice cream keeps showing up on my crappiest days.I took a deep breath and said what had to be said: “Malone, this isn’t working for me.”
He leaned against the counter—why did the man have to be so good at leaning?—and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Listen, I’m not the kind of girl you take home to Mother, so—”
“Whoa, who said anything about that?”
Further proof that he considered me a fling.
“No one, but I think I’ve gotten more attached to you than I have to Brené Brown. Only, she’s stuck with me now, and you aren’t. I’m as shocked as anyone to discover that I, apparently, like strings.”
He nodded. “That’s fair.”
“You have ruined me for all other men when it comes to sex, but there’s more to a relationship than sex, right?”
Now even our beautiful moment on my dining room table was tainted by the image of Ken sitting outside with his camera.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but we have phones. They make planes.”
“So you said, but do you want to sign up for another long-distance relationship?”
“No,” he said, a little too quickly.
“Well, I think our situationship has run its course then. The benefits have been amazing, but one can’t live on pizza alone.”
“Right,” he said.
“Why don’t we just stop whatever this is before it hurts any more than it already does?”
Fight for me, please!
