Charming as Puck(26)

But it’s nothing compared to the disgust curling her lip as she backs away, rubbing her hand again. “Do. Not. Kiss. Me.”

“I—” I stammer.

But I stop.

Because her chin is wobbling, her eyes are going shiny, and the disgust is giving way to pain.

Something sears my chest and leaves a hollow ache behind as she turns on her heel and marches back down the hallway. I trail after her in a daze, and even watching her march up to Ares, tap him on the shoulder, and whisper something doesn’t immediately snap me out of it.

Ares leaps to his feet. Felicity whips her head around until she finds me, her eyes going first round, then narrowing into such narrow slits that half the guys at the table squirm.

I’m pretty much a dead man.

And I don’t care.





Fifteen





Kami



I turn onto my street a while later, my veins still buzzing and the taste of Nick still lingering on my lips.

Why does he have to be such a good kisser? And so overprotective? And so—so—so Nick?

He didn’t kiss me because he loves me. Or because he ever sees me being the love of his life, or because he wants to settle down and have babies with me.

He kissed me because it’s always gotten him what he wants.

And that’s me.

Hiding in a hallway where no one else can see.

His dirty little secret.

I pull to the curb in front of my house and realize Maren and Alina aren’t the only ones waiting for me.

“This cow eat my vines!” Mr. Varga, my neighbor on the other side, is pointing angrily at Sugarbear, who Maren is holding on her leash, when I step out of my car. “Ten years! Growing ten years, gone in hour by cow!”

“I’m so sorry,” I sputter out. “She’s just a puppy. She didn’t know any better.”

Maren and Alina share a look under the street lamp.

“I’ll pay for the damage,” I add. I have no idea how much it’s going to cost me or how I’m going to pay for it, but I will.

“Pruning is good for grape vines,” Maren tells Mr. Varga. “It promotes new, fresh growth. We’ll give you some of the dog’s poop to fertilize them, and you’ll have the best grape crop of the century next summer. Organic fertilizer. Can’t beat it.”

“And it eat my trellees!” he shrieks.

“Art,” Alina declares. “I have a photographer friend. She’ll do a photoshoot of your trellis with the co—dog, and we’ll get you in Virginia Vineyards. You subscribe, right?”

“She just pooped,” Maren whispers to me while Alina works her charm on my irate neighbor. “Maybe we should take her inside for a little bit?”

I take the leash with a resigned nod. “Sugarbear, want a treat?” I ask.

She barks.

Mr. Varga scowls at me, because her bark still sounds like a moo, and I take the puppy into my house, fully aware that he’s probably ten seconds from calling animal control.

Alina joins us a few minutes later with Muffy in tow.

“I talked him down,” Alina tells me. “But you probably need to find a better place for her. Like yesterday.”

“I have an idea!” Muffy announces.

“I’m not talking to you,” I inform her from my recliner, where all three of my dogs have piled on top of me, though Tiger keeps dashing over to lick Sugarbear’s face on the couch before coming back to lick me on the face too. My phone’s plugged in next to me.

It’s a sign I have a problem that I have phone chargers in every room of my house.

Muffy holds her hands up. “He registered as Douglas Dobermeister, not Doug Dobey. I swear I didn’t know. Also, do you happen to have any lawyer friends? He’s threatening to sue me for false advertising or something.”

“Ares will take care of it,” Felicity says, poking her head into my house too. “Holy shit, that’s a cow on your couch.”

Muffy glances back at Felicity. “How many more of your ex-boyfriends do I need to avoid? I’ll need a list,” Muffy says to her.

“Forget it. I’m done,” I tell them all. “I’m going online and hitting all the dating apps.”

Alina, Maren, and Felicity all seem relieved, but Muffy’s face falls, and my guilt ratchets up to new highs to battle with the utter fury I’m feeling toward Nick tonight. Dixie licks my sore hand, and Tiger bolts to climb all over Sugarbear on the couch again.

“You know the odds of me accidentally setting you up with any more of your friends’ former stalkers is approximately 483,000 to one,” Muffy says quickly. “Even lower if you widen the geographic area around Copper Valley to include the farthest suburbs.”

“The odds are much higher than that,” Maren argues. “You can’t use the whole male population in Copper Valley, because they’re not all looking for love, and they’re not all your clients.”

“I’m just saying, even if I did a random sampling of men who aren’t my clients, the odds are seriously stacked against this happening again.”

While they argue math, Alina carries in a full wine glass and hands it to me before settling on the floor and rubbing Pancake’s ears.

And that’s when Maren turns to me and says the last thing I ever expected Maren to say. “There’s a speed dating event at Wreck’n’Roll next Tuesday.”