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She was so out of place it wasn’t even funny.
She turned around, bringing the glass to her mouth, noticing several glances thrown her way. She fidgeted uncomfortably. Was it that obvious she didn’t belong? One could only take so much judgment even if she had marched in here determined to get some of her own back.
After observing yet another set of eyes flashing in her direction, she decided she’d had enough. This was absurd. What was she trying to prove? And why? She didn’t have to prove anything to anyone but herself, and she knew she was better off without Eddie. She hadn’t come in here so he’d drop to his knees and beg her to come back. Not that it wasn’t an appealing image if for no other reason she could kick him in the balls and tell him, Over my dead body.
An ache filtered into her chest. No, she’d simply come because she’d wanted him to know he was wrong. That she wasn’t a mousy, passionless woman. She could be beautiful. Even if none of it was real and was, instead, courtesy of her friends’ skill with hair and makeup. Not to mention the dress and shoes they’d outfitted her in. The way-too-form-fitting dress that outlined every single curve and dip of her body. A dress she would have never dared to wear before even if her friends forever despaired of her hiding what they called a “hot mama body.”
Whatever. They were her friends and they were entitled to be biased. But Evangeline knew the truth. Just as Eddie also knew the truth, and she was a fool to come here and think for a moment he’d change his mind and regret anything.
She was about to turn and place her drink back on the bar and then swiftly take her leave when she saw him from the corner of her eye.
Oh shit, oh shit!
She froze, not wanting to turn quickly to hide in case he’d already seen her, because she would not make it obvious that she was trying to hide. Instead she pretended interest in the dance floor through the wide soundproof double doors to her left as though she were just finishing up her drink before opting to make her way out onto it.
Maybe he hadn’t seen her. Maybe he was leaving.
Laughter sounded close. Too damn close.
Shit.
All her maybes went right out of the door. Where she wished Eddie had gone.
“What the hell are you doing here, Evangeline?” Eddie asked, amusement thick in his voice.
She slowly turned her cool gaze on him, purposely widening her eyes as if surprised to see him.
“Oh hello, Eddie,” she said. She nodded politely at the woman clinging like a burr to his arm. The woman who did not look pleased that Eddie was talking to Evangeline. “I would think it’s obvious what I’m doing here. What does anyone do here? They have a few drinks and dance. Which is precisely what I intend to do. If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading onto the floor. Good to see you. Hope y’all have a good night.”
She started to slip past Eddie, but his hand flew out and cut painfully into her arm. She whirled in shock, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Let go!” she said hoarsely. “Eddie, you’re hurting me!”
He laughed cruelly. “What’s your game, Evangeline? Come to find me? Beg me to come back to you? Want to go another round with me after I kicked you out of my bed? Come on, sweetheart. No one is that desperate. Sticking my dick in your cunt was like fucking a snowdrift.”
Evangeline was shocked by his coarse language and the fact that he was speaking loudly enough for the entire bar to hear. Her cheeks burned in mortification and she staggered as though he’d struck her.
“Let go of me,” she hissed.
But his grip only grew tighter, bruising her fair skin. She’d wear his fingerprints for days.
The woman at his side laughed, the sound tinkly and abrasive, like ice cubes dropping into a glass.
“Oh, this is the one you were telling me about,” she said in a silky voice.
She stared at Evangeline, fake pity in her eyes.
“Too bad you weren’t woman enough to keep him,” she purred. “But you can bet I’ll be woman enough to keep him satisfied.”
Evangeline was too shocked, too mortified to respond. She should have responded with cutting remarks of her own. Not showing either of them how much they’d ripped her apart. Her only triumph was that she managed—barely—to keep the tears that burned the edges of her eyes at bay because that was more humiliation than even she could bear. He’d made her cry once. Never again would she allow him to do it.
“What I think,” she said, proud of her calm, even tone, “is that you and your little prostitute should skitter on out of here and back to the alley where you belong. And if you don’t let go of my arm, I’ll press assault charges.”
