I promised myself I’d be cool around this woman. I stood in the mirror and gave myself a pep talk, and I only do that when I’m drunk and convincing myself to sober up. But I’ve been telling myself to give her the benefit of the doubt, to not judge her, to not be jealous of her, and here I am doing all of those things.
“Alright. Well, that’ll do it,” I announce, clapping my hands.
She blinks innocently, but there’s a pleased curve to her mouth. Every word she picked was carefully crafted to get under my skin. And I let her. What can I say? I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve type of gal.
“What will do it?”
I give her the fakest smile I can muster as I turn to walk away. “I’m not in hell yet, lady. Don’t need to spend my time hanging out with the devil.”
A small scoffing sound erupts behind me, but I don’t stop. I stride across the field, ignoring the looks I’m garnering as I try to keep a serene expression on my face. I have a feeling I’m giving major serial killer vibes at this current juncture.
The way my hands have curled into fists might also be a dead giveaway.
When I step into the house, the screen door crashes shut behind me with a rattle and my confidence shakes in perfect time. The bridge of my nose burns, and I shake my head to clear away the tears that are springing up in my eyes.
It’s the middle of the afternoon at a child’s birthday party, and I need a fucking drink so I can process what that she-devil just told me. Or forget it entirely.
I pull a bottle of white wine from the freezer. It slips in my clammy palm when the screen door slams again. I keep my head down, setting the bottle on the counter and pulling the tinfoil wrapper off the top.
“What are you doing?” Cade’s voice is concerned. He’s so big that he blocks out a chunk of the light filtering into the kitchen.
“Having a drink,” I mutter.
I don’t have to look directly at him to know that he’s just crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance.
“Why?”
“Because I need one.”
“Willa. Look at me.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so I plant my hands on the countertop and stare back at him. “Good. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“That’s why I need a drink.”
Cade’s tongue swipes across his teeth as he regards me. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll pour you a drink myself.”
“Your wife just told me she got pregnant on purpose,” I blurt. “I think her words were birth control, no birth control, who’s to say?” My voice is shrill and panicked.
And then this man really sends me for a loop, because he fucking laughs. “Ex-wife.”
“Why the fuck are you laughing? I just told you that the smoking hot viper bitch in your backyard tricked you into knocking her up.”
His shoulders shake, and one heavily veined hand props up against his forehead to cover his eyes. “Of course, she did.” He sounds amused, flabbergasted.
“Is this funny? Aren’t you mad? She just admitted to being an atrocious person and you’re suddenly Mr. Giggles? She said you were robbing the cradle with me!”
He laughs harder, wheezing out, “Mr. Giggles?”
“Ugh!” I growl in frustration, too worked up to sit here and laugh about her baby daddy entrapment scandal.
“And you had to be married to someone who looks like a Victoria’s Secret model,” I rave as I rummage the drawers to find a wine opener. “And she’s got that stupid, breathy voice that I’ve only ever heard in porn.”
Another drawer. No corkscrew. I spin on Cade, who is giving me his full attention now. “I swear to God if she lays her shiny manicured claws on you one more time, I’m going to cut her hands clean off.”
“You’re so vicious, Red,” he says with a stupid glint in his eye, like this is all just hilarious to him. “Are you jealous, baby?”
I turn away again, not wanting to look at how hot he is and see her with him. I am having a full-on meltdown, and I hate everything about this situation. I’ve never felt like this before, and it’s fucking confusing.
“Yes, I’m jealous. She’s had everything with you and I’m just the fucking nanny.” God, I hate the way those words sound coming out of my mouth. Heat sears my chest. Embarrassment fuses with a heavy dose of envy.
I pull a drawer open and rifle through it to busy my shaking hands.
My fingers run up against something silky in the drawer full of scissors, elastics, clips, and Post-it notes. I grab and pull and peer down into my palm.