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“Son of a bitch.”
Katie glanced up at his snarled words and followed the line of his glare. Scott had his hand on Andie’s and Andie wasn’t pulling away. The snake’s eyes met Mason’s briefly. A smile slithered into place on Scott’s face—one obviously directed at Mason, not his beautiful ex.
“Slimy little fucker.” Where was the bartender with his tab? He scribbled on the bill when it arrived, snagged his card, stormed toward the door. “She deserves better than a snooty, uptight little jackhole who doesn’t appreciate her.”
“I agree,” Katie said, trotting to keep up with him. “But you chose to let her go, and now you have to, you know, let her go.”
He paused for a last look before pushing through the door. Andie was laughing with her son, wearing a smile of pure happiness. Because he was a selfish bastard, Mason stared until she sensed the weight of it and looked his way. He expected her face to change when she saw him—hostility, indifference—maybe both, maybe worse.
And it did change. For a few seconds her eyes lit up, the smile changing to one just for him. How the hell was he supposed to let go of that?
Chapter Seventeen
ANDIE
Scott parked his Mercedes rather than let it idle. “I’d like to come in for a few minutes—there’s something I need to discuss with you.”
She’d had about all she could take of Scott’s advances and assumptions tonight. Now he wanted to come in and talk? Dylan hung half in and half out of the backseat, waiting for her answer. She nodded. The best she could do, and only for Dylan’s sake. Thank god she had wine.
“I’m really tired, Scott.” Particularly, of him. She waited for the click of Dylan’s door closing upstairs. “Your three minutes start now.”
“Mind if I pour myself a drink?”
“Yes, I mind very much. Go home and drink. Go anywhere, for that matter.” She was being cruel, but she couldn’t stop. “I don’t want you here. Not tonight, not next week, not five years from now. We. Are. Over.”
“I’m having a Glenfiddich—join me?”
Unbelievable. She gaped as he helped himself to a tulip glass and the bottle of eighteen-year-old single malt scotch. Marked as to-do—reorganize the cupboards before Scott’s next visit.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Three fingers’ worth of amber flowed into the glass. He swirled and sniffed, savoring, disregarding her time limit completely. Entirely out of character, he tossed the entire contents back in two swallows. “You look ready to blow a gasket. Good. You won’t have to work up to it when I say what I came in to say.”
She threw her hands up. Honestly, what more could there be?
“I’m responsible for your breakup with Dr. Lang.”
Okay, that. “What?” She waved him off when he started to speak. “No, let me guess. You told Mason how I’m still subconsciously in love with you and he agreed to dump me so you and I could find our way back to each other.”
“You’re in the ballpark.”
“I don’t believe you. Mason wouldn’t fall for a load of crap like that.”
“Because you frequently badmouthed me?”
“No, but maybe I should have.” She snatched the bottle off the island before he could pour another. He absolutely wasnotcrashing on her couch, nor was he leaving his car in the driveway overnight. “Go home, Scott.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Too bad—I am.” Bottle in hand, she marched away, only to have Scott spin her around before making it out of the kitchen. The shock of such a spontaneous, physical response from her passionless former husband left her momentarily speechless.
“I provoked him, I admit. Easy to do with a man whose heart is on his sleeve. He was so straightforward about his intentions—I didn’t like it. You weremywife for seventeen years. So I goaded him some more, convinced him that you’re having a midlife crisis. I kept chipping away until I could see him doubting the depth of your feelings, and then…” He released her, his arms falling to his sides. “I’m ashamed of what happened next.”
For Scott to feel ashamed, more so, to admit it…acid churned in her stomach. “Why? What did youdo?”
“He wants a future with you, including children—he said as much. So I told him about your miscarriages. I led him to believe you’re incapable of fulfilling that desire.”
Sweat beaded along her hairline. Her armpits were sticky and damp, yet goose bumps popped out all over her arms.
“You…you…” There weren’t words to adequately describe the hatred and disgust roiling inside her right now.
