Page 31 of Their Stormy Reunion

She took another sip of her coffee and studied me over the rim of her mug. “It’s helped in my personal life, too. I’ve learned to look beyond words and see what actions say about people. I wasn’t good at that when I was younger.”

The words hung heavy between us. A slight chill ran down my spine. “Interesting.” I couldn’t stop watching her—couldn’t stop wondering what she meant by “younger” Fallon.

“Yeah, isn’t it.” She smiled faintly, then reached for her half of the cinnamon roll. She broke off another piece and popped it into her mouth, leaving a glimmer of butter on her lips. I watched in pain as she licked her fingers again. Yup, she knew exactly what she was doing.

God help me.

Chapter Nine

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“I’m gonna need more to go on than you swearing,” Maddie said, her laugh muffled behind the rim of her glass.

“I told you what’s wrong,” I groused, pacing the length of her living room like a caged lion.

“No, you really didn’t.” She twirled her margarita glass like it was a magic wand. “All you’ve done is demand tequila, cuss a blue streak, and declare that Michael Rankin is an ass. Newsflash: I already knew that. But details? None.”

I stopped mid-prowl, took a long gulp of my drink, and flopped onto her ridiculously plush couch. It swallowed me whole, as if conspiring to smother my frustration.

“Fine. First, he’s an ass.”

“Wow. Groundbreaking. Did you also discover that water’s wet?” Her eyes sparkled with sarcasm as she rolled them skyward. “What else you got?”

“He’s telling the whole town I’m wonderful. Acting like he doesn’t hold a grudge about me leaving him at the altar.”

Her brows shot up. “Well, you are wonderful. And damn right he shouldn’t hold a grudge. You’re the one who should be pissed. Honestly, though, I like that he’s trying to sway the town’s opinion. Shows some class. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t castrate him with a rusty spoon all those years ago.”

“And second,” I continued, ignoring her commentary, “I think he wants to get back into my pants.”

“He has a penis, of course he wants in your pants. What else you got?” Maddie shrugged.

“I think he wants to get back together-together.”

Without a word, Maddie stood, marched into the kitchen, grabbed the tequila bottle, and brought it back with her. She didn’t bother with finesse this time, just filled her half-full margarita glass to the brim and thunked the bottle down on the coffee table.

“You know,” I said, watching her glass practically overflow, “I think that’s not a margarita anymore. That’s just tequila. Straight up.”

“I’m going to need it,” she muttered, returning to the couch and plopping down beside me. “Because I have a feeling you’re about to drop a third bomb.”

I sighed, bracing myself. “There is a third thing.”

Maddie took a bracing sip of her tequila—not margarita—and narrowed her eyes. “All right, hit me.”

“I’m beginning to suspect he didn’t cheat on me, I think it was a set-up.”.”

Her glass froze midair. Slowly, she set it down on the coffee table, her eyes drilling into mine like I’d just suggested the moon was made of cheese. “You’re delusional. How about that?”

“Nope,” I said, taking another defiant sip. “I think I’m right. Michael loved me. He wouldn’t have cheated.”

Her laugh was sharp enough to shatter her margarita glass. “Fallon, honey, you called me right after you saw him with Lindsay. You were hysterical. You saw what you saw.”

“Oh, I saw it, all right. He was on her front porch. He kissed her—ten seconds, max. Then he backed her into her house and shut the door. Believe me, that image is seared into my brain for eternity. But…”

Maddie’s brow furrowed. “But what?”

“She didn’t put her arms around him.”

She stared at me, slack-jawed. “What the ever-loving hell does that matter?”