James just met me, Leta,” I said, explaining just how wrong she was. “Ms. Florence was doing a bit of matchmaking, I do believe. Mr. James doesn’t know me and has absolutely no reason to get caught up in drama to the point of needing to fight over me.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he smirked, and when I looked over, the gorgeous man winked at me. If I didn’t die of embarrassment, Mr. Reggie James would make a great friend. He seemed like the shenanigans-type of friend. He seemed the type that would be sitting next to you in a jail cell after a night in Vegas.
Ignoring his flirty ways, I looked back at Leta. “As for your father, he’s just confused,” I told her. “He knows it’d be pointless to fight for me because he knows, deep down, he’d never win.” Her eyes flittered towards her father, then back to me. “Trust me when I tell you it’s nothing.”
Leta nodded, but then her eyes glanced over at Sayer. “What about Mr. Hayes?”
What about Mr. Hayes, indeed?
I told her the truth.
“Leta, Mr. Hayes is a young, good-looking man. He has enough options available to him that he doesn’t need to fight over a middle-aged divorcee.”
Her eyes widened sadly. “Mom-”
“Goddamn it, Monroe,” Sayer snapped. “You know-”
Ignoring and cutting him off, I turned towards Kerry. “Kerry, I appreciate that you were…uh, just trying to help, but in the future, please talk me to about…no one likes to be ambushed, Kerry.”
Her face turned red, but she nodded. “Sorry, Monroe.”
“Monroe-”
Still ignoring Sayer, I grabbed Leta by the hand. “How about we go make ourselves a plate of food?”
My daughter was far more perceptive than people gave her credit for. She knew something was going on between me and Sayer, but she chose having my back over her curiosity. “Sounds great, Mom.”
Hand-in-hand, we walked away from the foursome and made our way to mingle and eat some barbecue. My macaroni salad, spinach dip, and fried chicken had been brought out and set up earlier with the rest of the food, and the macaroni salad was Leta’s first go-to. It was one of her favorites out of all the dishes I made. With Leta already piling food on her plate, I reached for mine, but a strong, male hand latched onto my wrist before I could grab it.
I looked up and Sayer was scowling down at me. “We need to talk,” he bit out.
“No, we don’t,” I whisper-yelled. “Leave me alone, Sayer.”
“Monroe, it wasn’t what it looked like-”
“Do I look stupid?” I spat, before reining in my tone. “I’m not doing this in front of Leta.”
“Yeah, we are,” he disagreed.
A few people gathered around, and half-ass greetings were made. But having Sayer near was proving to be too much. I really did care for him, and even without that other woman, I was finding that I just didn’t have the patience for more bullshit in my life.
I didn’t want to be in a relationship where my boyfriend had to explain why another woman was in his arms.
No thanks.
I followed behind Leta in the food line, and was practically walking on top of her, when I felt Sayer’s heat on my back. “We need to talk,” he repeated, his words rushed out through clenched teeth.
“I’ve already told you to leave me alone, Sayer.”
Before he could reply, Leta’s voice joined in. “My mother would like you to leave her alone, Mr. Sayer,” she said. “I think you should respect that.”
My heart broke in two.
As if her father hadn’t been enough, she was witnessing another man break her mother’s heart.
Chapter 22
Sayer~
You have got to be kidding me.
Talk about underestimating just how fucked-up things could get. First Thomas, then me, then Daria, then Thomas, then Kerry and her fucking matchmaking, then Reggie being decent, then Thomas being an asshole, then Monroe, and now Leta.
Mother.
Fucker.
And I didn’t want to rush over a fifteen-year-old girl who was just trying to protect her mother from another asshole, but the odds were against me right now. I was the jerk who let Thomas get inside my head. I was the dick who had insulted and hurt Monroe. I was the idiot who hadn’t turned in a formal complaint against Daria from the beginning. I was the fool who hadn’t stalked Monroe thoroughly enough to know where Karma lived, because when I had left the firehouse yesterday, I’d had my face glue to my window for hours-fucking hours-before it had dawned on me that Leta