The Real(6)

“It was so beautiful. You know me, Abbie, and you know I’m a total sucker for scenery, but Scotland really is magical. And it wasn’t just the sex. It was being with him and just knowing. It was so . . . seamless. Like kismet or fate or destiny, all that shit you don’t believe in. I’d just had his perfect penis, and we were so disgusting, but he just looked at me and I said yes. He didn’t even have to ask. That’s how on another level we were.”

She was so happy; her eyes were literally shining.

“You know you can count on me for whatever you need, right? I’m so happy for you.”

She hooked an elated tear away with her finger. “I can’t do this life without him,” she swore. “I mean, I can, but I don’t want to. I’m marrying that man, Abbie.”

“Then let’s plan a wedding,” I said, as I clinked glasses with her. I had the sweet concoction halfway to my mouth when I saw him two chairs over.

I froze and looked again.

It couldn’t be him.

We were sitting close enough to where I could see his threatening dimples.

His dark hair styled back neatly, so debonair, and it looked like he was born for it. Old Hollywood was the perfect way to describe him.

Cameron wore a black tailored suit and wine-colored tie that closely matched the color of my dress. His presence in the bar had to be a coincidence; it was evident in the surprise that shone in his features when he saw me.

His lips twitched, and his eyes drank me in from hair to boots. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair before he trailed a single finger down the leather as if he were tracing it over where his eyes roamed along my neck and chest. It was a seconds-long seduction that had my lips parting and my thighs squeezing together.

“God damn,” I whispered under my breath while a blush crept up my neck.

Staggering effect.

Too bad he liked to clip his victim’s toenails and make necklaces out of them.

My phobia jolted me back to attention.

Thanks to my ex, it was a new character flaw that had led to some scary nights alone at home. Nights where Bree met me at my front door, teeth bared, at two in the morning because I’d made myself a little paranoid. Okay, a lot paranoid. I’d gotten better. And I hadn’t watched that creepy Ted Bundy movie in six months. But for the record, that slow-motion scene with the beachy music where he goes from nice guy to you’re next . . . well, if you haven’t seen it, don’t watch it. I’m convinced that actor killed someone to get into character.

See? Paranoid.

Not all serial killers had the looks and charm of our fair Ted, but the man staring at me now with illicit promise in his eyes could easily seduce any woman. Case in point, me.

Cameron was speaking to someone I couldn’t see. It was definitely another man because I could see slacks and black dress shoes. I might have let out a tiny breath of relief.

“Who are you staring at?” Bree asked, twisting in her seat to look in Cameron’s direction.

Discreetly, I held my palms up in my lap. “Don’t look . . . You’re looking and that’s exactly what I told you not to do,” I whisper-yelled. “Stop looking. You’re still looking. Damn it, Bree. And now he sees you looking, and do you see those damned dimples?”

“Damn,” she said as she looked over at me. “You know him?”

I shrugged. “Kind of. His name’s Cameron and he AirDropped me at Sunny Side on Saturday.”

“AirDropped?”

“When you have a Mac, you can find and message other Macs around you and share files and stuff.”

“Oh,” she said with her typical indifference to technology. She wasn’t much of a fan. I was sure if she wasn’t a nurse, her wanderlust would have her living in a treetop somewhere.

“Anyway, he asked me if I wanted to have coffee and I said no.”

Her eyes bulged. “You snubbed that hot-ass man?”

“Yeah,” I said as I glanced his way again. He was engaged in conversation as I held my glass close to me like it would shield me.

“Nuh-uh, sister, you need to put that down and let him enjoy the view.”

“Would you keep your voice down?” I snapped. “Yes, I turned him down. You know what happens when I hook up with strange men.”

Bree paused. “Not everyone is Luke,” she said softly, for what was probably the hundredth time. I shrugged.

“Besides. He’s not a very hard worker. He took my ‘no’ for an answer the first time.”

“That’s because you’re scary,” she said with a grin, back to her playful self. I curled my lip at her. “You are. Your resting bitch face is pretty but scary. And in the last year, it’s gotten worse. Your bitch face reads ‘Abandon all hope. You can’t stick your penis here.’ But, by the way, he just looked at you. I think it’s safe to say he gives no shits. He wants to put his penis into your vagina.”

“Bree,” I scolded through gritted teeth.

“It’s been a year. A year,” she stressed in a whisper. “That’s too long, Abbie. I know what happened with Luke freaked you out, but you can’t let him win.”

I shook my head to keep the conversation short. It was the last thing I wanted to think about right now.

“I’m good. I promise. I even told him—Cameron,” I whispered, “that I was sorry for turning him down.”