cat in his arms. “I’m not sure what’s more insulting, the reference to excrement or the fact that you’re pairing your inferior food with mine.”
“Go piss up a rope.”
“You have frosting in your hair.”
My mouth pops open, eyes blinking too rapidly. Mostly because, well, he’s likely right. I usually have frosting, flour, powdered sugar, or something on me. I mean, it’s not exactly uncommon for chocolate chips to fall out of my bra at night when I’m getting in the shower.
But still. I can’t stand him, his smoldery assholery, or the fact that he’s still holding that damn adorable kitten.
I can’t do it anymore. Blindly, I turn and push past the people still lingering in the room. My vision is a red haze of exasperation and helplessness. What he said was true. He could probably shut me down with no more than a snap of his fingers, and I’ll have no power against him.
I’m on the sidewalk and halfway down the block before Bethany catches up with me. I’m so steaming mad I almost forgot about our dinner plans. I feel like I could angry-walk all the way across the Williamsburg Bridge. It’s around here somewhere, I’m sure of it.
“Scarlett! Slow down!” She catches up to me, panting to keep up. “I have your sweater.” She hands me the garment and I shrug it on, shoving my hands into the holes with more force than necessary.
“What happened with that guy, Guy?” She snorts. “Guy, guy. Ugh what an awful name. But he is kinda hot, he’s got that whole sexy glower thing going on. It’s not really my bag, I much prefer hunky footballer types, but you know that.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, and we stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “You want to talk about it?”
I take a deep breath to try and lower my blood pressure. There might be actual flames coming out of my ears.
“It’s a long story.”
“Good. You can tell me at dinner because it’s literally right here.” She stops in front of a small storefront with a red awning.
We walk into the narrow restaurant space—hardly big enough for the counter and two small tables with rickety chairs. Bethany orders us enough dumplings, spring rolls, sesame pancakes, and soup to feed half of Manhattan but I don’t say anything.
I grab us some waters, napkins, plastic forks, and chopsticks from a counter to the side. I take a few deep breaths, regret my life decisions, and think of all the things I should have said to Guy when I had the chance while simultaneously hoping I never see him again.
When we take our seats, my aim is distraction. “So, how’s work? Has Mr. Crawford really retired or is he still poking around being obnoxious?”
Bethany gives me the side-eye. “My soon-to-be father-in-law has mellowed in the manipulative ass-face department, however that is not the topic at hand. Yet.” She points at me. “Time to spill. What was up with all that intense staring and tension? I couldn’t tell if you were going to rip off his head or his clothes, but since you were running down the sidewalk like the hounds of hell were after you, I’m presuming it’s the latter.”
I huff out a laugh. “The head coming off, yes, the clothes, not likely. I’d rather sleep with an ornery porcupine than Guy Chapman. It would be less likely to stab me multiple times.”
Except every time I’m around him I want to make out with him, but that’s beside the point and irrelevant now. The fact that he’s a giant turd helps make him less attractive. Sort of.
She laughs. “That’s cute, but not cute enough to get you out of this conversation. You already avoided me once at the gala when you saw him, and I knew I should have pushed you harder then. Let’s start at the beginning. How do you know him? And why have I not heard about this?”
Because I don’t like telling everyone my embarrassing moments when they’ll likely witness it for themselves eventually?
But this is Bethany. She’s the least judgmental person I know. And so I tell her. “You know how Gwen and I were in Page Seven that one time?”
She nods. “Yeah, when that piece of crap date tried to roofie you and Gwen saw it and you guys totally got him arrested like a couple of badass bitches? I remember.”
“Shortly after all that, Guy was doing interviews for a new restaurant. They are notoriously hard to even