Page 8 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
Not because I felt jealous of Juniper’s place on Roderick’s arm. Of coursenot. But because…it hurt to see two people living the dream I’d held onto for so long. I’d wanted that with Brendon. Begged for it, really. Had our life planned out like it was a spreadsheet on Excel.
And look where I was now.
Boyfriend-less.
Stuck in a job I’d worked my ass off for that wasn’t what I wanted anymore. Stuck trying to keep my mom proud even though I’d kept her at arm’s length for years. Stuck working every goddamn day with my cheating ex-boyfriend. Stuck half a country away from my family—and for what?
Because I didn’t want Mom to stop smiling and introducing me to her friends as her “big city son”.
“So youcanspeak,” Mr. Armani said, as though he was pleased and not annoyed by my interrogation. Oddly enough, his interruption was welcome. As effective as the swipe of Mr. Pickle’s claws had been when I’d opened Roderick’s invitation.
“Of course I can speak,” I snapped, waspish.
“My bad. I assumed, given the fact you ran off without so much as a thank you, that you couldn’t.”
“Well, I can.”
“Ah. So you werechoosingto be rude, then?”
“Rude?” I scoffed. “Says thestalker.”
He laughed.
It was a nice laugh.
A fact that made me even angrier than his smirk had.
“To answer your many dramatic questions—”Dramatic? I was not being dramatic.All my questions had been perfectly valid. My eyes narrowed, but he remained unintimidated. “No, I’m not stalking you. Just observant. Your name is embroidered on your backpack.”
Shit.
He was right.
I deflated.
The embroidery on my backpack—embroidery I’d genuinely forgotten was there—mocked me as I plopped into my seat with an embarrassed sigh. It said George, not “Georgie”. But…hell.
Mr. Armani cocked his head to the side with a wicked grin. He twisted to face me better, his thigh bumping mine. “Besides, if Iwasa stalker, I’d be an awful one, don’t you think? Considering I approached you openly.”
My cheeks felt hot all over again.
“And to answer your third question: no, I am not about to murder you in the middle of the airport in broad daylight. That would be poor planning.”
He winked.
Winked!
And I…wilted.
Now I was the one acting like an ass.
“Oh,” I said dumbly. “I…suppose all of that makes sense.”
“Now thatthat’sout of the way…” he trailed off with a thoughtful hum. “I’m curious. You don’t look like the kind of man who travels with a…” I watched his lips begin to form the word dildo, and I panicked, waving my hands to shut him up. His lips softened into a naughty smirk, dimples flickering.
Of course that was the first thing he’d ask me. A totally invasive question about something that wasprivate.
“WhatdoI look like?” I asked, even though I probably shouldn’t have humored him.
