If We Were Perfect - Ana Huang Page 0,44

was partly her fault. She still carries a little torch for him, and the jerk keeps stringing her along by always calling her about stupid shit—whether she has one of his shirts, what the name of the restaurant they went to that one time was. Probably so he can have a backup once he’s done screwing his way through the city. Smug bastard thinks he can get her back with a snap of his fingers, and at this rate, he might be right.”

Olivia felt sick. “That’s horrible.” Kat was so sweet, and even though she barely knew the woman, she knew she didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

“We keep telling her to cut him off, but she won’t.” Donna looked glum. “She’s too damn nice. We—”

She fell silent as Kat returned to the table.

“Sorry about that,” the brunette said, cheeks flushed. “I’m back.”

“I hope you told him to shove his cock through a woodcutter.” Natalie shrugged at Kat’s frown. “What? A girl can hope.”

After a short, uneasy silence, the women resumed their conversation about their favorite and least favorite sexual acts, making a conscious effort not to mention Kat’s love life. Eventually, the tension disappeared, and they were laughing their asses off once more at Natalie’s increasingly outrageous statements.

By the time Olivia left the restaurant, she was several margaritas deep and grinning like a madwoman. The club met officially once a month, but she’d received a standing invitation to their weekly happy hours, where they met up just to chat and hang out—book discussions not required. Whoever made it, made it; there was no pressure to attend.

Olivia fully intended on joining, though she might scale back on the number of drinks.

Was drinking this much on a work night out of character and a bad idea? Yes.

Did she deserve a fun night out? Also yes.

Fuck it, she worked hard, and tonight was the first time in a year she’d vibed with other women who lived in the same city. She was still going to show up and kick ass in the office tomorrow. She’d just need a little more help than usual from aspirin.

With that reassurance in mind, Olivia tiptoed into the house, not wanting to wake Sammy up. He worked crazy hours, and she was never sure if he had a regular day the next day or if had to go into the bakery at unholy hours in the morning.

Quiet...quiet...quiet...

THUD!

She flinched as she knocked over the coat rack in the front hall. The heavy brass tree toppled to the floor and landed on her toes.

“Dammit!” Olivia let loose a string of colorful expletives as pain burst through her foot. She heaved the rack off and hopped on one leg while she raised her other foot and tried to massage away the throbbing ache. “Freakin’ tree. I will murder you. I don’t care if it’s bad for the environment,” she said, her drunk mind not processing the fact that it was a coat tree and not, in fact, an actual tree. “I will melt you down and use your brass for jewelry, which I’ll sell on Etsy for extra income, and I’ll get rich and buy all your sister and brother and cousin trees and melt them down too—”

“Olivia?”

The kitchen light flicked on, and she winced, blinking rapidly while her eyes adjusted to the new brightness level.

Sammy stood next to the counter with one eyebrow raised. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he was wearing those damn gray sweatpants again—the ones that hung so low on his hips they were in danger of falling off. No shirt.

His penchant for distracting shirtlessness was worse than Matthew McConaughey’s.

His eyes moved from Olivia’s frozen form—she was still clutching one foot in her hand—to the toppled coat rack and back again.

“I see there’s been an altercation in the entryway.” His mouth twitched with amusement.

“It’s your stupid tree.” She was technically the one at fault, but he didn’t need to know that. “It got in my way.”

“Ah.” Sammy walked over and righted the brass abomination. “I see the tree has gone rogue and attacked you while you were coming in. That’s unacceptable. I’ll give it a stern talking-to in the morning.”

“Good.” Olivia nodded, then narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Are you making fun of me?”

Sammy’s mouth twitched again. “I would never make fun of you.”

“Lies!” She released her foot and jabbed his chest with her finger. It was like poking a brick wall—a sexy brick wall. His skin was smooth and warm beneath her touch,