AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hand Catcher
As we step into the restaurant, the Saints’ wives and wife-nots immediately notice our arrival. All eyes converge on us and pierce like lasers. My heart pounds in my chest when Moey Dash locks eyes with me, only to tear her gaze away from mine and feign a smile toward Jasmine. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay clear of Jasmine tonight.
Monica, a wife and head of the Heartbeats, rises from her chair. Her warm greeting works hard for naught to dispel the unease that permeates the room. "Hi, Leslie, Jasmine! So glad you ladies could make it," she says, meeting us halfway.
Still a wife-not, Moey Dash, sneers at Monica’s kindness as if it’s disgusting. Her scrutinizing gaze sweeps over me from head to toe, causing my stomach to churn.
Okay, so I came in peace, but I was wrong. It wouldn’t be Jasmine that would wipe the floor with Moey Dash tonight. It would be me. I refuse to let her intimidate me in person, especially after she wrote all that shit about me on the blogs.
I hold my head high and steady my voice. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," I respond, determined to show my resilience.
Monica leads us to our seats, mercifully situated far away from Moey. I take my place beside a timid-looking woman, her fair complexion betraying her nervousness. Despite the pressure brewing inside of me, I offer a friendly nod. "Hello."
She introduces herself as Caitlyn, Mark's wife, her warm greeting a breath of fresh air amidst the tension.
"Nice to meet you, Caitlyn. I'm Leslie," I reply.
Caitlyn giggles softly. "We all know who you are. It was quite the announcement Wayne made on live television, letting everyone know you were his fiancée," she remarks, clearly amused.
As I admire how adorable Mark’s wife is, a bitter chuckle escapes Moey Dash's lips. Her eyes shoot daggers across the table as her voice cuts through the air loud enough to reach the ears of other patrons. "You're certainly dressed to impress," she mocks, her words dripping with disdain.
I offer her a serene smile, a flicker of satisfaction dancing in my eyes. Because no matter how she tries to spin it, I know I look good as hell. And I can tell from the hate in her eyes the way I look is eating her up on the inside. "Thank you. Considering this special occasion, I thought I'd make an effort," I say, standing and taking a spin.
“You look beautiful,” Caitlyn says genuinely.
“I love it. Looks good to me. I'm Terrica by the way. Didn't get to introduce myself,” a brown-skin woman says in a Southern accent. Then, she whispers for my ears only, "...cause they were being so rude at the other end of the table." I recognize her as Terrance King's girlfriend from the photos he has posted online, but she's even more beautiful in person.
Terrica is still a wife-not, but it won’t be for long. From the way he shows his love for her on social media and talks about her to Wayne, Terrance absolutely adores his high school sweetheart and would marry her before she could bat her eye. Besides, he went home to Alabama after the Super Bowl, and they have been inseparable since.
"Thank you," I say, acknowledging her compliment. "And nice to meet you."
"Same," Terrica beams.
“Darling, I can see why Wayne had to make sure the world knew you were his,” Monica adds. “We may have to hire you as our stylist,” she teases.
Moey Dash rolls her eyes in exasperation, visibly annoyed by their heaping compliments. She diverts her attention to the woman seated beside her and starts mumbling something to her.
When I get a good look at the woman seated by Moey, my heart rate increases. She’s unmistakably the same woman who had followed Wayne into the bathroom on our first night at the Zanga Bar. Ambrosia, I think, is her name.
Ambrosia—definitely a wife-not—bites down on her red painted lip and winks, sending me to another level in my mind. The level I hardly ever go to, but can definitely go if given a reason.
I expected Moey Dash and her dramatics, but the woman sitting beside her is still in danger of catching these hands. Seeking solace amidst the brewing storm, I turn to Jasmine and suggest, "Hey, do you want to grab a drink from the bar first?"
Recognizing the chaos flashing in my eyes, Jasmine says, "Sure, but first, let me give Moey Dash a piece of my mind. Then I'll meet you at the bar." Her fists clench in readiness.
I grasp her hand firmly, a mix of caution and resolve in my voice. "I think we need that drink before anything else," I urge, emphasizing the importance of keeping our composure in the face of adversity.
It isn’t easy, but we make it to the bar without initiating Royal Rumble on Moey and Ambrosia. "What will you have?" the bartender asks as we lean against the bar.
"I’ll take a vodka on the rocks,” I order. “I need something strong to get through this dinner.”
“That makes two of us. Give me a screwdriver,” Jasmine requests.
“Can you believe she brought her here?”
“Who?”
“That’s the woman that followed Wayne into the bathroom that night at the Zanga Bar and tried to force herself on him,” I bark, feeling like I’m on ten and about to be on twenty.
