Page 93 of River Wild

Ugh. Why did River have to be here?

He’s totally crapped on my day.

I was super happy with my new car, and now, him and his ciao-for-now Macy have spoiled it.

Angrily, I march over and dump my basket on the counter, not once looking at River.

“Red.”

I cast my eyes in his direction but don’t look directly at him. Like the sun.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “My name is Carrie.”

“Okay. Carrie.” His voice sounds quieter than normal. Less confident.

Good.

“Is this everything?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll ring it up for you then.”

“You do that.”

I turn my head to the side. Staring out the window, I fold my arms over my chest, resting them on the top of my bump, while he rings me up.

It feels like he’s taking forever.

I start tapping my foot with impatience.

I can see him putting my things into a paper bag for me. Almost done, and then I’m out of here.

“That’ll be thirty-seven forty, Re—Carrie.”

I dig my wallet out of my bag and pull out forty dollars, holding the bills to him.

I still haven’t looked at his face this whole time.

I’m currently staring at his chest.

He takes the money from my outstretched hand.

The brush of his fingers against mine surprises me. As does the flare of heat that shoots up my arm.

Pregnancy hormones. Just pregnancy hormones.

Nothing to do with him because he’s a big, stupid, mean jerk.

I hear him ring the money up and take my change out of the cash register.

“Here’s your change.”

I hold my palm out while he counts the money into it.

I don’t even bother putting the money back in my wallet. I drop it straight into my purse.

I grab the grocery bag off the counter and make for the door.

“Carrie.” His insistent tone makes me stop.

I finally look at his face for the first time since I stepped in here.

His eyes are searching my face. He looks … lost.

The ache starts up in my chest again.

I cast a blanket over my feelings and smooth my face to impassive.

“What?” I ask with just the right amount of impatience. Proud of myself for being so strong.

“Just …” He shakes his head. “Your receipt.” He holds it up. “Do you want it?”

“Nope. Put it in the trash.” You know,the same place you put our friendship—or non-friendship.

Then, I walk out of there, chin held high, and I don’t let it drop until I’m back in the safety of my car.