F*ck Marriage(7)

“Okay, Wendy,” he says carefully. “See you.”

“See you,” I echo back.

I turn with purpose for the door and walk out, making sure I don’t look back. On the sidewalk outside of the bar, a jogger nearly runs me over. I take my first deep breath of the night, the fumes of the city hitting the back of my throat. That went better than expected. At least I hadn’t cried. No, I think. Of course you didn’t cry, you’re not a crier anymore. I think of Pearl—wherever she is—the phone pressed to her ear as she dialed Woods. There once was a time when I’d been phoning Woods and he’d been with her. How the tables have turned. Pearl stole a married man, and now I am going to make sure their marriage never happens. Woods is mine.





Chapter Five





“Billie!” I hear my name being called from somewhere behind me. I stop, scanning the crowd. There are throngs of people everywhere. I forgot how crowded the city is in the summer. It may not be me they were calling—Billie is a fairly common male name, especially in a huge city like New York. I feel silly for even stopping. Turning back around, I hear it again, and this time there’s something about the tone that lets me know it’s for me. It’s through the middle of a cluster of teenage girls that a familiar face emerges: wide shoulders, hair pitch dark, and two dimples emerging from scruffy cheeks. My face immediately breaks into a smile.

“Satcher,” I say.

He’s slightly winded when he reaches me and I see that he’s wearing running gear.

“I was on my run when I saw you two blocks up, had to sprint to catch up with you.”

“My, my,” I say, not even trying to suppress my grin. “I must be the first girl you’ve had to actually chase since middle school.”

Satcher’s grin is contagious as he embraces me. I notice that he doesn’t even smell like sweat after a run in ninety-degree weather. I fan myself self-consciously when he lets me go.

“Did I get you wet?” he asks.

“Wha-what?” I clamp my thighs together.

“I’m sweaty.” One corner of his mouth turns up in a loaded grin.

“I’m not wet,” I say loudly.

Satcher laughs. “You’re making me feel like a failure here, Billie.”

“Oh God…”

“Wanna grab a beer? A really, really cold beer?”

I glance at him, flustered. I need something to cool me off, and it’s not just the heat that has me sweating at this point. I hold up the small bag of groceries.

“We can drop it off on the way,” he says, taking the bag from me. “How far are you from here?”

“Just a block.”

He nods and we fall into step. I notice how many women stop what they’re doing to glance at him. Their eyes are furtive, unsure of what they’re seeing. Satcher has always garnered this type of female attention. He’s not oblivious to it, but he doesn’t seem to overly care about it either. One, because he’s beautiful, but more so (and this is all personal opinion) it’s his presence. I’m not into hippie mumbo jumbo despite inhabiting the Pacific Northwest for half my life, but if I believed in auras, I’d say Satcher has a really catching one: possibly made from moonlight, and champagne, and money—all things that make a woman feel warm, and fuzzy, and romantic.

“Woods mentioned you were back.”

“What else did he mention?” I ask, casting him a sideways glance.

“That you look great.”

“Really?” I inwardly berate myself for the way I perk up.

“Yes. Yes, though now that I’m seeing you myself, that was an understatement.”

I feel the heat creep into my cheeks.

“Stop flirting with me, Satcher. I’ve blushed three times in the last five minutes.”

“Look at that,” he says. “I’ve made you wet and made you blush. Maybe I still have it.”

I stop dead in my tracks to stare at him, and he laughs. When we start moving again I swat at him playfully and he dances away from me.

“Woods said you rented out the loft.”

“Yup.” I look at my feet.

“And that you need a job.”

“Ugh. First of all, I don’t need a job,” I tell him. I pull to a stop in front of my building. “And furthermore, who the hell does he—”

“—He didn’t really say that.”

I stare at Satcher, who’s grinning.

“I was hoping you’d need a job, and then I could talk you into coming back to Rhubarb.”

I turn toward the door so he can’t see my face. “Satcher, are you hearing what you’re saying? You want me to come back to Rhubarb with both Woods and Pearl there?”

“Yes, why not? They’re professionals. They can keep their feelings in check for the greater good of the blog.”

I whip around, my keycard in the swiper. “Are you kidding me? They couldn’t keep their feelings in check when they started fucking behind my back.”

We step into the foyer of my building.

“Billie, I’m not going to lie to you. When you left, the blog took a blow. It’s taken two years to build back our readership.”

“So why do you need me? Sounds like you have things under control.” I step through the door and Satcher follows behind me, holding my bag of groceries.