Page 22 of Passing Notes
He looked beat down and exhausted. I decided to stay put.
Intrigued, I watched as a gorgeous, flashy brunette exited the vehicle. “Nicky, we have to talk. The kids want you to come to the wedding. They wouldn’t let up, so I agreed.” I didn’t like the way she said his name. It wasn’t an endearment. The way she said it was condescending, like she was trying to diminish him in order to get her way.
“That is the last thing I want to do. No thanks.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped away from her. He was now in my yard, on my turf. My hands hit my hips as I took in the snotty look on her face.
“That is neither here nor there.” She whipped an expensive-looking envelope from her Louis Vuitton Speedy and waved it in his face. “The kids want this to happen. So, here’s my personal invitation to you, hand delivered. Don’t disappoint them, okay?”
He snatched it, folded it roughly, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll think about it.”
She went on, dismissing his concerns with a roll of her eyes. “Feel free to bring a date, Nick. I mean, if you can get one, that is. How long has it been? You must be positively dying. How’s the hand?” She snickered.
Why wouldn’t he be able to get a date?
Was she nuts? Could she not see how sexy he was?
He was hotter than ever, and I remembered lusting after him extensively in high school.
I had sat behind him in history class during our senior year—when I was there anyway. He was the quarterback, and I was usually drunk under the bleachers with my friends, but it didn’t make me blind, for eff’s sake.
My eyes roved over his broad-shouldered, wide-chested form, noting the way his biceps were about to bulge right through the sleeves of the blue Green Valley High polo shirt he was wearing. It was tight around his pecs too, and don’t even get me started on his ass in those jeans.
Thank you very much, casual Friday.
Also, what a witch, talking down to him like that. The look on her face triggered me. I flashed back to my mom, waving her pointy finger in the air as she berated me and my sisters.
Nuh-uh. Nope. My protective hackles rose. Damn my constant compulsion to stick up for an underdog.
He heaved out a sigh. “I’m not currently dating anyone, Morgan. You know I’ve been busy working every hour I can get to afford the down payment on this place.”
“Nicky, my god,” she snapped and held up a hand. “You’re impossible.”
I watched, fascinated as he mentally and physically retreated at what had to be a familiar gesture from her. His eyes dimmed and he shrank back.
Hell no.
“Let’s not get this started again?—”
She wasn’t going to stop, I could tell. She was getting warmed up for a fight.
“You wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d taken the job with your stepfather after we got married like you said you were going to do.”
Ha! She wanted a fight. I knew it. What a cow.
“I never, not ever, said that. Not once. How you got that idea into your head is beyond me,” he protested. But it was half-hearted, like he was compelled to defend himself, but his first instinct was to walk away.
“Well, why you’d want to struggle like you do will always be beyond me, especially when you could have gone so much farther and made so much more out of your life.”
“That’s enough. I’m not discussing this with you anymore. We’re divorced, remember? I can do what I want now without your input.”
Her haughty huff was obnoxious as all get out. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Was she a gold digger? Maybe she’d found out about his stepdad and staked her claim on him back whenever they first got together.
I had to be right. She wasn’t even hiding it. It was blatant. She was dressed designer, head to toe. Her engagement ring had to be at least five carats, and her Range Rover was brand-new. I took a glance at her shoes—red soles. Louboutin. Yup.
Eff this and eff her. I stepped closer to Nick and slid my hand from his shoulder to the center of his chest.
Nick was more than good enough, for anyone. He was a teacher, for eff’s sake. It was the most noble profession of them all.
