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“There you are, sexy girl. Been looking for you.”
Jesus. Fuck.
Betty spied Mick Valenti leaning against a picnic table a few feet away and she realized she needed to pass him to cut through to the street. He took a long drink from his beer can and then raised it in the air. A toast? Really? He was flanked by Billy Owens and Nate Parsons.
Some things never change.
“Dressed in white are you?” Mick said with a laugh. “That’s a bit of a stretch isn’t it?” He pushed off from the picnic table and studied her with eyes that said he’d had too much to drink.
Mick was a good looking man with his thick sandy hair, perfect jaw and dark eyes. He was tall, athletic—had been a superb hockey player back in the day—but he was also an arrogant bully with a low opinion of women who shouldn’t drink, and the sight of him made Betty’s stomach clench.
“Thought you were in New York with your wife?” She said instead.
He crushed the can in his hands and shrugged. “We’re taking a bit of a break these days. Bitch needs to find herself or some kind of bullshit. I’m home for the next few months while I consider my options. Staying with the old man.”
Did he think she gave a rat’s ass?
He smiled, though it never really made it to his eyes. “How bout we get together? You know…for old time’s sake?”
Billy and Nate pushed each other and laughed, stepping up beside Mick.
“A walk down memory lane isn’t gonna happen,” she retorted moving to the side so that she could scoot by.
“Says who?” Mick said as he mimicked her and took another step forward blocking her escape.
Betty froze. The air seemed thicker. Full of dark things.
She trembled and hated the smug smile that crossed Mick’s face as he leaned toward her. The smell of beer and cigarettes wafted in the air between them, and revulsion made her gag.
“Come on,” he said. “You know you want it.” His eyes narrowed. “You always do…eventually.”
That cold place inside her—the one she kept for moments like these—spread across her skin like tiny fingers and she lifted her chin, the haughty bitch everyone knew so well reflected in her eyes.
“What I want, asshole,” she said carefully, moving another inch to the right. “Is to go home.”
His hand snuck out and grabbed her wrist.
For a moment silence fell into her ears and she heard nothing.
Betty was aware that she breathed, small, jerky breaths. She knew that behind her the music pulsed into the hot, sweaty, night and that a few feet away Nate and Billy watched her with eyes that spoke of dirty things. Dirty, mean, things.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice tipping low and hitting a timber that was all too familiar. “Not really.” He glanced at his friends and grinned. “That’s the problem with women. They never know what they really want.”
He leaned in close. “That night?” He yanked on her wrist, but she dug in and refused to budge, instead shooting daggers at him with her eyes. God. If only she was as strong as a man, she’d smash her fist into his nose and--
His grip tightened. “You remember the one I’m talking about?”
Nausea roiled inside her, but Betty pushed it back. She shrugged, acting as nonchalant as she could. “There were a lot of nights, Mick. You can’t expect me to remember all of them.”
His eyes narrowed and for a second the cool façade Betty sported, cracked a little, and a sliver of fear ran through her as he bent even closer.
“That was the hottest night of my life. You. Me.” His grin widened. “Billy and Nate. What do you say we have a do-over?”
She shook her head and looked down at her wrist, still imprisoned in his large hand. “Not interested. Not gonna happen.”
His fingers tightened. “Maybe you should think about it for a minute.”
“Maybe you should let go of the lady.” A voice slid from the dark at them.
