Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,54

my eye. Her leftovers. She’d forgotten to take them with her.

Maybe I had another shot. I could at least give her that goodnight kiss I seemed to want so badly.

Why my blood was running hot over the thought of just kissing a woman, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to waste more time on that line of thinking. I grabbed the bag and went back to her building.

The front door was locked. There was a call button, but before I could press it, someone came out. They paused and held the door for me.

“Thanks,” I said with a tip of my head.

I didn’t see an elevator, but there were stairs at the end of a narrow hallway.

The third floor hall was empty. A slight musty smell hung in the air and the carpet was faded almost beyond recognition.

I heard a muffled crash, followed by the start of a woman’s scream. The sound abruptly cut off, but adrenaline burst through my veins.

Sophie.

Another crash. Damn it, sugar, you didn’t trip over your own furniture, did you? I raced to apartment 311, and the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. Sophie hadn’t tripped. She stood like she was frozen, her back to the door, her hand covering her mouth.

Oh shit.

“Where are you?” a man’s voice bellowed from her bedroom. “Brenda? Where the fuck are you?”

I dropped the bag of leftovers and rushed to get in front of Sophie. I was about to back her out the door into the hall when the man barreled out of the room.

“Brenda, I know you’re here. Where is he? I’ll kill that motherfucker.”

His beard was streaked with gray and a beer gut strained his shirt. He was stocky and wide and seriously pissed off. Bloodshot eyes locked on me and his hands clenched into fists.

“You!”

Keeping Sophie behind me, I held my hands up. “Whoa, man. You’re in the wrong place.”

“Where is she?” he yelled. “Where’s Brenda? I know she’s here.”

“She’s not here. You have the wrong apartment.”

His head swung around in an exaggerated arc. The guy was drunk off his ass. “Brenda!”

“Buddy, she’s not here,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even.

“Is it you? Are you the one fucking my wife?”

I kept my hands up. “No, my friend. This isn’t my apartment. Look around. A man doesn’t live here.”

He looked around again. Sophie stayed behind me, her hands resting on my back.

“I live here,” she said, peeking around me. “My name’s Sophie and this is my apartment. And I’m definitely not sleeping with your wife.”

For some reason, that seemed to make him angrier. He roared and pushed over a bookshelf, sending the contents toppling to the floor.

Sophie let out a little shriek and ducked behind me again.

Fuck this guy.

My hand already clenching into a fist, I marched right up to him and hit him square in the face. Hard.

Pain exploded across my knuckles, but I didn’t give two shits. His head swiveled wildly and he flailed his arms to keep his balance. I grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the wall.

“Maybe your wife ain’t home because you’re a belligerent drunk asshole. Sober the fuck up. And if you get anywhere near my girl again, I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Got it?”

His cloudy eyes seemed to focus for the first time and he blinked at me. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit. You’re lucky I don’t knock your ass out for fuckin’ up my girl’s apartment.”

He sagged back against the wall, almost going limp. I let go.

A middle-aged man in a sweater and slacks appeared in the doorway with a cop at his side. “Miss Abbott? We heard a disturbance. Is everything—”

He stopped, taking in the scene.

“He broke into my apartment,” Sophie said, pointing at the drunk guy. “I think he’s intoxicated and looking for his wife. Obviously she’s not here.” She gestured toward me. “He’s with me.”

“Let’s go, buddy.” The cop came in and grabbed the drunk guy, then turned to Sophie. “I’ll get him out of here, then I’ll need to come back to get your contact information.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Fucking Brenda,” the guy muttered as the cop led him out.

“Are you okay, Miss Abbott?” the other man asked.

“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Miller. He didn’t hurt me.”

He inspected the cracked wood on the door frame. Looked like the guy had kicked the door in. “I’ll get Ed up here to fix this. Do you want any help with the mess?”

She glanced around and the forlorn look on her face