Page 20 of Finding Storm

I’m staring at her, trying to will her name from the deepest recesses of my mind, but it’s pointless. Even if I had asked for her name all those years ago, I wouldn’t have remembered it a second after she told me.

So, I do the only thing a guy can do in this situation.

Go for broke.

“Sarah, right?”

Her eyes narrow until they’re like pissholes in snow.

“No. Right. Mandy then? Stephanie? Becky? Claire?”

I’m throwing names out there like they’re a damn life raft.

She makes this noise in the back of her throat, cutting me off. It sounds like she just swallowed a rock.

I’m so dead.

“Asshole.”

She turns away from me and picks up a menu from the shelf behind her. Turns back to me. Her face is a total mask. Not a shred of emotion on it.

She’s going to kill me.

This is how I’ll go.

Death by psycho.

“Your dad would never have treated a woman like this. He was a gentleman. You’re an asshole,” she hisses.

You couldn’t be more wrong, lady. I didn’t know Jonny because he did treat women exactly like this.

And I’m behaving just the same as him.

Well, if that isn’t a sobering thought, nothing is.

“Let me show you to your table, Asshole.” Her voice is scarily high. “Mr. Marsh is already here.”

She storms off through the restaurant. Her heels click aggressively against the tiled floor.

I follow behind her. What else can I do?

I know for sure she’s going to poison my food. Or at the very least, spit in my coffee.

This chick should be a warning to me to be more careful where I put my dick. Obviously, I didn’t learn the first time, but I will now.

I swear, if I make it through this brunch, I’ll stop screwing random women. Or at least, I’ll write down their fucking names.

I approach the table, and the guy I figure to be Jasper Marsh rises from his seat. He looks to be in his mid- to late-forties. Shorter than me. Thickset around the middle. Thinning black hair.

“Storm, thanks for coming.”

He puts his hand out, and I shake it, noting how clammy his palm is.

“No problem. Sorry I’m late,” I tell him.

“You’re hardly late.” He waves me off before sitting back down.

I take my seat across from him and surreptitiously wipe my hand on my thigh.