AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I give a tiny little heartbroken sigh, my face that just-right combination of sad-but-not-too-sad. “He’s in love, apparently.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine anyone picking Lucie overyou.”
Jackpot.
I blow on my latte, pouting as I take a small sip. “You don’t like her?”
He laughs. “I’m not into needy girls, thanks.”
There’s a tickle of delight in my chest. Caleb hates weakness. This is getting better and better. “Needy?”
He tips his chair back, not seeming to care that he’s hitting the woman behind him. “You haven’t heard? They had this big merger in the works, and he backed out of it because of her and the kids. I think she was bitching about the hours he worked or something.”
I wince. It’s a tiny splinter edging its way into my heart, the fact that Caleb was willing to do this for Lucie and her kids but not for me and our daughter. Then again, maybe it’s a lesson he learned from our failure: that if you commit to a family, you need to put them first. I just wish he’d learned that lesson a little sooner. “To be fair, it doesn’t sound like that’s necessarily needy. I’m guessing any woman he was dating would want him to work fewer hours.”
“Oh she’s needy, believe me.” His chair lands on its front legs again as he leans forward. “I heard she also made Caleb fire the receptionist yesterday. Some bullshit about Kayleigh being rude to her, but everyone says it’s just that Kayleigh’s hot and Lucie was jealous.”
I fight a smile. If this was vaudeville, I’d be rubbing my hands gleefully beneath the table. “I think I remember her. Kayleigh Spencer?”
“Hutton,” he corrects. He reaches across the table and slides a finger along the outside of my hand. “I guess it’s no secret that I’m a little biased toward you, though. We should get drinks tomorrow. You never know—I might be able to make it worth your while.”
What kind of fucking asshole asks an addict out for drinks?
I keep the thought to myself in case I need Wyatt down the road. “I’m just not ready yet. It’s all happened so fast.”
“I’m happy to wait,” he says. “And my offer still stands if you want something less serious.” His gaze drifts below the table.
Ugh. I should have let Caleb kick your ass when I had the chance. If he’d heard the offer you made me last time, he’d really have let loose.
It’s only as I’m leaving the coffee shop that I remember it wasn’t Caleb who wanted to kick Wyatt’s ass at that holiday party.
It was Beck.
7
KATE
Thanks to social media and the second fake profile I created on Instagram (Nobu_girl_657), I know plenty about Kayleigh Hutton. I know she photographs every fucking thing that happens to her and manages to make it sound enviable, even if it’s just a walk to work or a veggie bowl from Chipotle. I know she’s the type to post a quote about kindness, then make fun of a celebrity’s sudden weight gain five minutes later. And I know that every evening, after she leaves her new job, she heads to yoga on Main Street. #Namaste #GoodForTheSoul #GoodForTheAss.
Girls like Kayleigh want to sell you a story. They want to convince you they love yoga and treasure a pretty cappuccino and didn’t take twenty selfies before they got a decent one to post. They think you’ll envy them, and you probably will, but they also think your envy will make you like them more, and I’m not sure that’s true.
Yes, I envy Kayleigh’s veggie bowl and her yoga habit and those pretty cappuccinos sparkling in the morning light, but my envy doesn’t leave me wanting to be her friend—it leaves me eager to watch her fall from grace.
I refuse to contemplate the fact that this moron with her duck-faced selfies appears to have a fuller life than I do. I go, instead, to Lucie’s profile. She’s accepted my request at last, and I’d expected a thousand photos of her showing off those D cups, but instead her feed is full ofthem. Her twins. Two tow-headed little kids living their best lives, playing on Caleb’s dock, sitting on Caleb’s boat. Of course he loves them. How could he not?
I slam the phone face down, swallowing hard. The itch in my chest, the one that started with Kayleigh, is now an ugly, raw wound.
I wish I could numb it. I am clinging to a windowsill in mid-air, and I’m so fucking tired of clinging.
I pace the room. I should probably call Ann, but I’d have to describe the meetings I’ve attended and claim I’ve found a local sponsor. I’m too goddamn frustrated right now to tell that many lies.
Which leaves Beck. Beck, whomustwant me gone. All the cleaning and cooking in the world won’t change that. And he sure as fuck doesn’t want to be hearing from me while he’s at work, but he’s all I’ve got.
“Fuck it,” I sigh, snatching up my cell phone as I open up my texts.
I’m bored.
Beck
