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“What about her?” I ask, my heart beating a mile a minute.
“She’s back in town,” he says. “She just started at the hospital this week. She’s a nurse I guess.”
“Really?” The word comes out a squeak. That’s … convenient.
“Yeah, and get this. She doesn’t have six kids. She and Hudson what’s-his-face separated. Remember him?”
Barely. Like I noticed any other hot guys in school. I was too busy drooling over Alec. And of course Carlina doesn’t have six kids. I just made that up. I didn’t think he’d actually believe me. In fact, I figured he knew more about her than I did.
“Fascinating,” I say. “Sounds like you two have been catching up.”
“Yeah. A little. That’s why I wanted to bring it up … she wants to meet up after work sometime and catch up.”
Heat rages through me. I’m going to be sick and this time it’s not from the life I’m growing inside me. Exes don’t just meet up with their former flames to “catch up” unless there’s an ulterior motive.
“Why?” I ask. “What’s the point?”
He tilts his head.
“What do you mean, why? I told you why. To catch up.” He lets out a stilted laugh. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
Yes, dummy. This is like the beginning verse of every country song where the woman gets wronged.
“Of course not.” I don’t meet his eyes because I’m sure he’ll see the lie in mine.
Obviously he doesn’t believe it, because he studies me carefully. “Stassi. If I wanted to do something behind your back, I wouldn’t have told you.”
“I know,” I snap, immediately feeling childish for copping an attitude. “It’s fine. Have fun catching up with your ex-girlfriend while your pregnant girlfriend sits at home eating eggplant pizza.”
He leans in and kisses me. “I won’t go.”
“Why not?”
“You’re obviously bothered and I don’t want you to worry.” He shrugs like it’s not big deal.
I think for a moment. There really is no reason to worry, is there? He did tell me about it. And so what if she’s probably more gorgeous and alluring than ever, and I’m becoming a blueberry-shaped bloated creature whose body’s being slowly inhabited by a tiny alien? So what if they were once the hottest couple in Sapphire Shores and they were in love?
He loves me now, doesn’t he?
He even told me that he loved me, then.
That he’s always loved me. Not her.
There’s nothing sexy about being insecure, and Alec has done nothing but demonstrate how crazy he is about me in the time he’s been back.
So I say, “Fine. Go. But bring me back some olives. Pimento please. And a brownie sundae. Thank you.”
He grins. “Deal.”
“Shouldn’t you start getting ready?” I ask after he doesn’t budge.
“I’m not going tonight,” he chuffs. “I just mean, sometime.”
Great—I was hoping to get all my worrying over and done in one night, now we get to stretch it out until whenever their schedules align.
Alec pulls me closer, his breath warm on the top of my head.
“I love you,” he tells me, as if I’ve forgotten since he last reminded me an hour ago.
“I love you too,” I tell him. “Don’t make me regret it though.”
“Regret what? Loving me?”
“Yeah.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
32
Alec
Rossi’s Diner used to be the big hangout after hockey practice. It’s loud, smells like bacon grease, and it isn’t romantic in the least. It’s a good place to meet. A safe place.
At least, I thought it was, until Carlina walked in.
She’s wearing a barely-there red dress that hugs her curves and shows too much skin, her hair piled up loose on her head. Her lips are red, her eyes smoky. I remember those lips, wrapped around my cock, that night. She never was sedate or mild-mannered, as that unassuming nurse’s uniform would suggest. Now, she looks every bit like the woman I knew her to be—a regular femme fatale.
She ignores every male eye on her as she scans the place, looking for me. I have the momentary urge to sink down in the booth and slink out the back door, but then she locks eyes with me and smiles.
Shit.
She can cause a five-alarm blaze with the friction of those hips, swinging the way they are. She’s wearing high heels and has a sexy little pout on her face, ensuring she makes her way into the fantasies of every man in the room.
Not me. I refuse.
Stassi’s my Kryptonite, not Carlina.
I made a point to dress down tonight, faded jeans and an old t-shirt, not wanting her to assume this was anything remotely like a date. She runs a disapproving eye over me as I slip out of the booth to give her a hug, but she says nothing, squeezing me so tight her perfume rubs off on me.
Stassi’s going to love that …
She throws her clutch down on the table and slips in. “Interesting choice for a dinner date.”
