She doesn’t offer the young woman a hand but she smiles warmer than usual.
The young woman clears her throat and moves out from behind Stefan, but only by an inch. “I’m Ruby. Uh,” she stutters, “Ru-Ruby Harris.”
The name is fitting. She has prominent freckles and deep auburn hair that complement her green eyes nicely.
“Soon-to-be Prescott,” Stefan interjects and wraps an arm around her waist. She’s standing at his side, rather than a step behind him, for the first time.
Ignoring him, Calypso keeps her gaze fixed on Ruby. “Well, I own the bakery in town if you ever need anything.”
“She doesn’t,” Stefan sneers and steps in front of her.
Ruby shrinks back and I can see the muscles in Calypso’s body tensing. Tentatively, I grab her hand and pull her back, realizing if one of us is ever going to be arrested for punching a man, it will be her. It’s kind of hot, but I’ll save that thought for later.
“Youare not welcome,” Calypso adds in a cold voice.
He lets out a deprecating laugh. “I’ll share the address with Ruby anyway.”
Ruby’s face falls when she looks up at him. Calypso must be a sensitive subject between them.
I can’t see her face, but her hand is still in mine, and she squeezeshard.Something about her expression makes him smirk, suddenly looking like a predator playing with its food. I’m about to pull her away from the line we’re standing in, but I hesitate. I don’t know if Calypso would want to run away or have the last word. Before she can make that decision for herself, he grabs Ruby’s hand and turns down the pier.
After a second, Calypso drops mine and meets my eye.
With her arms crossed and a hard stare, she says, “So, that’s my ex-husband.”
I nod, taking in her frustration. “He’s a prick.”
Her eyes move to me and the smallest of smiles cracks through. “Trust me, I know.”
There’s a few people in front of us, but no one else entered the line for agua frescas. In a quiet voice, I ask, “How long have you been divorced?”
She lets out a dry laugh. “It was five years at the end of March.”
Holding her eye contact, realization slowly washes over me. Amused, I ask, “Are you saying that I was just revenge?”
She shrugs, but her natural sassiness comes back as the tension melts from her. “You and the four men before you.”
Clutching my chest dramatically, I feign physical and emotional pain. “And here I thought I was special. At least tell me I was the best?”
Calypso shakes her head, but it’s not in denial. More like because I’m ridiculous, and possibly a little endearing.
“It’s okay,” I shrug and stuff my hands in my pockets. “My ego is big enough to know the truth.”
“You’re an idiot,” she says in a snarky tone. Calypso still has her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, but the coldness in her eyes is starting to melt with each breath she takes.
“I’ll be available next March,” I tease. “In case you need more assistance.”
“It wouldn’t really be a one-night stand if I did that.”
“No,” I agree. “But it would piss him off. You could even send him a picture of my O face.”
She’s fully fighting off a smile now, but it’s a sorry attempt. “Yours?”
We’re next in line. Before walking up to the register, I say, “Yeah, mine. He doesn’t deserve to see yours ever again… If he ever has.”
Calypso snickers, low and mischievous, but she doesn’t deny his lack of sexual prowess. It isn’t surprising to learn that he never made Calypso orgasm. Not around his cock or on his tongue—something I managed to do multiple times in one night.
After a moment, she adds, “You know, it was Mia’s idea.”
