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“Why would you think I’m lying?” he practically yelled, sounding completely affronted.
“Because of Laura Prentiss,” she yelled back, shocking herself by raising her voice.
“Fuck,” she heard him swear, the word low and vehement. “Lally doesn’t count. At all.”
“What? Why not?”
“Jesus.” She saw him lift his left hand to the back of his neck and massage his nape. “Because she and I . . .”
“Oh my God,” Lia breathed, interrupting him. Feeling like blinders had been ripped from her eyes. “Oh my God! You’re in love with her, aren’t you? You don’t consider what you do with her in such base terms because it’s more special.”
“What the fuck?” Complete disbelief in his voice. “Lia, are you shitting me with this? Where do you come up with this bullshit?”
“It’s true, isn’t it? How could you do all those things with me when you’re in love with someone else?”
“I’m not in love with Lally, for fuck’s sake! Stop saying that. Lally and I aren’t even together . . .”
“We’re here,” she interrupted him frostily as she pulled the car into a vacant spot outside the orthopedist’s office. “You’d better get in there or you’ll be late for your appointment.”
“We’re not done talking about this,” he insisted, and she released the steering wheel to pin him with what she hoped was a completely indifferent look.
“I think we are. I’m going to get some lunch. Text me when you’re done.” She pulled the key from the ignition and tossed it into his lap. “Lock the car, please. See you later.”
She left before he could say another word and walked brusquely toward the city center to find a restaurant. She didn’t have an appetite but needed to process what had just happened. If Brand really had feelings for Laura Prentiss, then Lia was doing the unthinkable—she was placing herself squarely in the middle of a possibly redeemable relationship.
Combined with the nickname and the obvious reluctance to discuss her and his supposed breakup with the woman, Lia should have seen this coming a mile away. Lia had offered to be his rebound girl, but if he loved the woman, there was so much more at stake. If he stood any chance of getting back with her before, Lia could quite possibly have ruined it by getting involved with him.
Sam stared dispassionately at his skinny, pale right arm. It looked completely alien to him and smelled pretty funky as well. It had healed enough over the last six weeks for the doctor to feel comfortable about not recasting the limb. The genteel older man had bombarded Sam with a list of aftercare instructions and had recommended a few good physiotherapists in the area for rehab.
Sam sent Lia a text to let her know he was done. He thought about their earlier conversation . . . or was that an argument? He didn’t know how to categorize that particular exchange of words, because it had been so fucking peculiar. Lia had a penchant for seeing things a certain way and then stating them as fact without anything to back up her words. The stuff about Daisy and Mason’s future kids had been cute, but this shit about Lally and Sam was so far out there, he wasn’t sure how to respond to her words. Or even if he wanted to respond. It was probably Sam’s fault for fostering the belief that he and Lally were involved in the first place, but nothing he had ever said or done had hinted at him being in love with Lally.
He waited in the doctor’s reception area, ignoring the flirtatious glances the receptionist was casting his way, keeping his eyes glued to the huge plate-glass window. When he saw Lia walking toward the doctor’s office, he felt an odd, twisting sensation in his chest. The feeling was unfamiliar and freaked him out a little, but he knew it had something to do with Lia and the way she was dressed—pretty and fresh in a plain turquoise knee-length A-line summer dress. And the way she walked—shoulders back, chin up, hips swaying gently with each step. And definitely the way she looked—sweet and wholesome with her sun-kissed freckled nose, her glossy brown hair, worn in a loose ponytail, and her earnest gray eyes, so luminous and expressive a man could lose himself in them.
She was lovely.
Lovely wasn’t a word Sam typically used. But it perfectly described Dahlia McGregor.
So fucking lovely.
He was absently rubbing his chest, trying to ease the crazy, unfamiliar flutter, watching as every step brought her closer to him. She looked pensive and remained unaware of his scrutiny until he exited the doctor’s office to meet her at the door. She stopped and lifted her eyes to his. Sam’s breath stalled. He felt nervous . . . he wasn’t sure why.
Her eyes moved over his face and then down to his arm, and a genuinely happy smile lit up her face.
