Page 30 of Accidentally Engaged
Jared gulps, then gasps as my hand tightens on the semi-hard bulge forming. “I’m driving.”
“I’m just warming up.”
WE’RE IN PINE RIDGEwhen I feel it in my stomach. My stomach is grumbling again, even though we stopped and ate a late dinner at a cute pub in Binghamton, but this isn’t a hungry pain. It’s a premonition pain.
My pulse spikes. My hands sweat. Jared’s singing along to something on the radio, and his pleasant voice easily spans the range between tenor and baritone, but it’s suddenly white noise to me.
Something is wrong. Something is bad.
I feel the banshee’s deathly howl welling up in my chest, and I’m relieved when we reach the stop sign on Pine Crest Avenue. “I have to get out,” I screech.
“Huh? Chloe?”
I bolt out of the car and run toward my apartment, hands over my mouth like I can hold in vomit.
I’m running blindly when I smack into something—a white Prius trying to free itself from where it’s jammed nose-first into the alley.
“What the fuck are you thinking, bitch?” the driver leans out of the window and shouts.
The bad feeling in my gut resolves in a way I’ve never felt before. When I look at the car and hear the voice, I just see pain. Agonizing heartbreak. It’s not death or misfortune for her, it’s like... she causes it.
“This isn’t a throughway. This is an alley for residential use,” I gasp, rubbing my hip and glad the lady was only going five miles an hour in a fairly small car.
“I don’t care, I’m reversing in the dark with my lights on! Pedestrians don’t have the right-of-way when cars are reversing! It’s in the New York penal code! Look it up!”
I don’t think it is. I also don’t think it’s worth arguing about. As I try to walk around her, I notice that she’s got one of my recycling bins jammed under her car, and she’s dragging it down the alley with its lid under her front tire. “Go slowly. You’ve got my bin there.” I point.
“You obstructed the alley and ruined the right of way for a private vehicle! That’s a misdemeanor. If my car even has a scratch on it, you’re looking at a hefty fine—maybe jail time! It’s in the New York penal code!”
“Lady, are you out of your mind?” I finally burst.
She glares and swings the car door open directly into the red brick of Mad Hatter Music.
If she tells me that putting a building this close to the alley is a violation of the bloody New York penal code, I will consider performing an entire aria, enough to leave her limp as a dishrag for weeks.
Jared’s car eases to a stop along the street even though there’s parking behind the buildings. “Chloe, are you okay?” he demands, jumping from the car.
“I’m fine, I just—”
“Jared. There you are. Don’t you ever answer your phone?”
My head whips around between the woman in the white car and Jared. His face is ashen, and the spike in my gut is back, a beacon for all of my betrothed’s pain.
“Patsy.” Jared nods jerkily, confirming what I’d already realized.
Patsy wears a chic black dress, too much eyeliner, and has her hair done in deep, vibrant red curls. But the face is hard, and the lips always sneer. I don’t know why she married a soft, lovable man like Jared—I’d be tempted to fix her up with a block of concrete.
“I called you for hours. Thought you might have kicked the bucket. I should be so lucky,” she laughs, her voice as snide as her smirk.
“Witch,” I whisper.Sorry Farrah. Madge. Tessa.I know I just offended everyone in the Pine Ridge Coven, but I hope none of them heard it. This woman makes me think of heartlessness and evil, just in the way she talks and moves, like a poisonous spider spotting a tasty fly.
“Shut up, lady. You’ll get your trashcan back as soon as my dumbass ex signs the papersI’ve tried to fax him three times!”
Jared steps up, and I run to him, putting my arms around him possessively, sighing inside when I feel his arm wrap across my shoulders.
“You tried to fax me three times? To what number?”
“The one you’ve always had!”
