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But damn it, he kept provoking her into reacting. He kept making her feel things, which wasn’t fair at all when she couldn’t trust him to keep her heart safe if she handed it to him. Why didn’t the man understand she’d dumped his sorry ass? Kicked it to the curb, because he wasn’t what she and the Wombat needed. So long, Jamie Callahan. Nice knowing you.
But there were the texts he’d been sending her. The e-mails. The phone calls. The messages on Twitter about how much he missed her, how beautiful she was, how much he admired her wit and her strength and her zest for life. If she weren’t pregnant and marooned on this stupid couch, she’d be out there right now, forcibly removing him from her lawn. He could admire her zest for life while she kicked him in his perfect butt.
Everyone was conspiring against her. Nana got a huge kick out of playing romantic broker, Katie thought Jamie was so hot that Carly must be out of her mind not to take him back, and Ellen loved her brother and wanted both of them to be happy. Traitors, the whole lot of them.
“Testing, testing. Sing a song of sixpence. Cool. This works.”
Jamie’s smooth, sexy voice came through the microphone and crossed the airwaves and sank right into her skin. The W
ombat kicked. Her heart beat too hard.
“Somebody go out there and cut the power, or I’ll do it myself.”
“Can’t,” Katie replied. “Caleb’s standing guard over the extension cords.”
“Killer’s on his side, too?” God, this kept getting more and more unfair. Why wasn’t anyone with her on this?
“Is that some kind of army nickname?” Ellen asked.
Katie frowned. “It’s Carly’s stupid nickname.”
“It’s not stupid,” Carly said, peeved. “Clark’s been a lady killer since the day he was born.”
Katie shot her an eat-shit-and-die look, and Carly realized belatedly this wasn’t maybe the smartest topic of conversation”.
Nana came to the rescue. “Caleb is a lovely boy. I’ve never understood why you insist on calling him ‘Killer.’ It doesn’t suit him at all.”
“Exactly,” Katie said. “He’s a great guy. You always make him sound like some kind of womanizing creep.”
Carly rolled her eyes. “I do not.”
Ellen piped up. “You said he went through women like Chiclets.”
“Chiclets?” Katie asked. “What a horrible thing to say! Ellen, I’m sorry, I know I’m a perfect stranger and all, but you have to believe me when I tell you this: Carly is totally full of shit. My brother does not go through women like Chiclets. Carly’s just bitter because she kicked out the love of her life and now she refuses to admit she made a mistake.”
“What’s a Chiclet?” Nana asked.
“It’s a kind of gum,” Katie answered.
Jamie Callahan wasn’t the love of her life. He was irresponsible, flighty, impulsive, immature, gorgeous, tender, attentive, and unbelievably good in bed.
Crap. She needed to work on that. It happened every time she tried to list his bad points.
“Caleb had, like, four million girlfriends in high school,” she said. “I’m completely justified in calling him ‘Killer.’ ”
“C’mon, Carly, that was fifteen years ago. He’s grown up, you know.”
She snorted but didn’t respond. It was no good arguing with Katie about her brother. She would defend Clark with her dying breath. Also, she maybe had a point. Girls had started throwing themselves at Caleb from the moment he hit puberty, and back in high school he’d been happy enough to catch them. But now that she thought about it, when was the last time she’d heard about him going out on a date?
She couldn’t remember.
“Whatever,” she said, hating to make the concession.
Music began to play outside, throbbing loud enough to vibrate the windows.
“Ooh, he’s starting!” Nana shouted from her post in the window seat. “Can you see, Carly? Want me to help you move closer?”
“I’m not watching,” Carly insisted.
