An Ex for Christmas(26)

He shrugs. “She still has a key.”

“You let your ex keep a key?”

Mark shrugs like it’s no big deal. “What, you’re allowed to make lunch for all your exes, but I can’t even have one of mine check on my dog?”

For one insane moment I want to tell him I’ll cancel my date with Doug and watch Rigby myself. But then I realize if Erika’s not here, she’ll be at the restaurant . . .

“Is she the reason you and Sheila broke up?” I blurt out.

His look is pure puzzled male. “Is who?”

“Erika,” I say, with what I think is impressive patience.

“Oh. No.” He glances at his watch. “Why?”

“Nothing.”

Look, it’s not that I don’t like Erika. She’s gorgeous and funny and smart, and sort of perfect for Mark in personality, horoscope, and their ridiculous good looks.

But of all of Mark’s ex-girlfriends, Erika Simmons is the one that was the friendliest to me (although I use the word loosely), the least threatened by our relationship, and . . . the one who came the closest to taking him away from me.

I mean, not really. We were still friends during the two years they dated, but it was different. It’s always a little different when one of us is in a relationship. We have boundaries, we respect our significant others. But with her it was, like, majorly different.

Like, me with Colin different.

She’s also the only ex he’s ever told about his sister, and though I was thrilled that he found someone to confide in, truly, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t taken me aback a bit.

“Okay, well, whatever,” I say, a little too quickly. “If he hasn’t pooped by the time I go on my date, I’ll drop him off at your place.”

“’K.”

He heads toward the door, then turns back. “Date?”

“What?”

“You said when you go on your date?”

“Yes. It’s when two people—”

“Which one?”

I don’t pretend to play dumb. “Doug.”

Mark swears under his breath. “You can’t be serious.”

I cross my arms. “You knew I was meeting up with all of my exes.”

“How does he qualify? You hooked up for, what, a few days?”

“We dated for three months,” I say. Although Mark’s description isn’t totally wrong. Doug and I were mostly . . . physical.

Mostly because we’d had nothing to talk about.

“Fine,” Mark mutters. “Have fun.”

“Bye,” I snap, my own voice a little testy. I’m used to the fact that Mark’s not exactly a chatty kind of best friend. In the same way he tolerates my occasional “woo-woo” tendencies and the fact that I get too worked up over the wishbone on Thanksgiving (I’ve had some seriously important stuff riding on that!), I return the favor by putting up with his quiet, brooding thing.

But his irritability the past few days is really pushing my limits.

Mark slams out the back door, then a second later slams back in again. He points upward without looking in the direction of his finger. “Really?”

I glance up at the mistletoe—with a bow. “I’m covering all my bases.”

“I take it Chad didn’t pass the mistletoe test?”

I snort. “Let’s just say that when I pointed it out to him—the one by the front door—he told me he was coming down with something.”

The corner of Mark’s mouth twitches. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Classic rejection. Although it’s just as well. By that point I was still sort of reeling from his recitation of my sins.”

“Well.” He clears his throat. “Better luck tonight, ’k?”

I lay a hand over my chest. “Is that . . . It feels a bit like an apology. For implying Doug was nothing but a booty call.”

Instead of answering, he glances up thoughtfully at the mistletoe. “How are you planning to coax Doug under one of these? He coming here, too?”

“Nah, we’re grabbing a drink at Weller’s,” I say, referring to one of the local taverns. It’s not quite a dive bar, but pretty darn close.

“They have mistletoe?” he asks skeptically.

I grin and give a little curtsey. “They do now. Actually, most of the establishments in town received a gift today.”

His eyes go flat. “How generous of you.”

“Don’t be grumpy. Cedar and Salt got one, too.”

Mark rolls his eyes to the ceiling and walks out the back door without another word.

I shrug. About what I expected.





December 18, Monday Night


Ugh.

You know that annoying feeling when you find out your friends were right and you were wrong?

Yeah, that. Doug Porter is . . . kind of a douchebag.

I’d like to think that maybe he wasn’t this way when we dated back in the day, but I have the sneaking suspicion that maybe he was. That maybe I was so numb following my breakup with Colin that I was blind to the fact that I was dating a jerk.

It’s not that he’s mean or cruel. He’s just self-absorbed as all heck.

That, and although the fact that we didn’t specifically deem tonight a date so much as a “catch-up,” it’s a little rude that he’s checking out every single female that walks by, right?