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I know that I wouldn’t stay with a cheating asshole. I can’t imagine being married and then finding out that my husband is having an affair.
Before Sam can say anything else, the hostess comes out of the back with an alarming number of containers in her hands, and I steel myself against the crowd of tonight.
Sure, there are only seven of us, if everyone who usually comes makes an appearance, but crowds and I aren’t friends. The constant squish of bodies along with the peopling is more than I want to deal with most of the time. Being an introvert, it’s hard for me to get out of my shell long enough to enjoy myself before I’m dying for the solitude of my house and the quiet that comes with it.
“That’s a lot of food,” I say, while Samantha hands over her credit card. “It’s just the normal crowd tonight, right?”
“Yep.” She nods. “I just ordered more so we’d have some leftovers because I haven’t been in the mood to cook with work so busy the last few days.”
“Makes sense.”
I grab a stack of the containers and help Sam lug them back to her car before climbing into my own and following her to her house.
There are four cars parked in front of Sam’s house, and I contemplate just driving off, but Gran’s voice is in my head admonishing me not to be rude. I turn off the car and flip my visor mirror open so the light comes on. My makeup is still mostly in place from the day, and a quick scrape of my hands through my hair makes it lie smoother.
And that’s about as good as it’s gonna get.
I meet Sam at her minivan and wait for her to open the back.
Once our arms are loaded down, she starts toward the front door.
Light filters onto the dark porch as the door opens and Sam says, “Look who I found!” As if we didn’t make plans to meet up at the Italian place.
Why is she being weird?
I follow Sam into the house and don’t have time to look around before the velvet voice of Satan himself says, “Well. Fancy seeing you here, Imp.”
Leaning against the doorway to the kitchen is the bane of my existence with a cocky hipshot stance, arms crossed over his chest. I pray drool doesn’t drip down my chin at the hot image of him smirking at me.
“Stop calling me that. My name is Chip. What the hell are you doing here?” I can’t keep the offense out of my tone.
We live in a small enough town that dodging him on a daily basis should be an Olympic sport. Why is he shoehorning in on my game night?
“I was invited. Gunnar’s my best friend.”
Fuck.
I knew that. I’ve seen him and Gunnar around town enough, plus Sam told me that their friendship goes back to high school, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
I’d never seen him here before though, so I became complacent in my belief that he wouldn’t show up.
Sam pops her head out of the kitchen. “I’m so excited we have an even number. We can play team games! You two don’t mind teaming up, right?”
Well fuck me running.
CHAPTER 3
Warrick
After my long as hell day, running into Imp at game night is a shock. The first chance I get, I corner Gunnar by his wet bar in the den where he’s in the process of pouring himself some whiskey.
“You didn’t tell me that she was going to be here,” I accuse.
He smirks at me. The fucker.
“I didn’t mention that she’s usually here for game nights?”
“No, you sure didn’t. How long has this been going on?”
