Page 3 of Screwed
Aw, damn.
“Hey.”
She started, and her head jerked up at the male voice.
Her ex-husband’s best friend, Cash Hale, stood near her. “What’re you doing out here all by yourself when there’s a party going on in there?”
She blinked. “Kristy invited you?”
“Yeah.” He stepped closer. A big man, with the broad shoulders of the college football player he’d been, he still moved with athletic grace and confidence. “Wasn’t sure if I could make it, but…here I am.”
“Oh. Well, thanks.”
It was probably weird that her ex’s best friend was still friends with her. The things that had been hardest to divide up when she and Beau had separated were their friends. Callie had drifted away from some of their couple friends who’d still included Beau in get-togethers when Callie hadn’t wanted to see him. But Cash hadn’t let that happen.
She would’ve been sad if he had, because she’d always liked him. Well, maybe not always. When they’d first met, she’d thought he was a bossy, standoffish control freak who in turn thought she was a spoiled, superficial princess. Because he was Beau’s friend, she’d spent more time with Cash and gotten to know him better. He’d had the patience to teach her to play pool when Beau hadn’t, and she’d discovered that under his stony exterior he had a sense of humor and a surprising protective streak as wide as a football field. And over the years they’d become friends, too.
Cash pulled out a chair and sat. “I saw you come out here as I walked in. You okay, darlin’?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to?”
“I’m not crying.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
She swiped her fingertips beneath one eye. “Okay, just feeling a bit blue. Not really in a mood to celebrate.” She grimaced in an attempt to smile.
After a short silence, Cash said, “Do you still love him, Callie?”
“No.” She shook her head. “To be honest, I was thinking earlier that I’m not so sure I ever did love him.”
“’Course you did.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I guess I did, sort of. I don’t know. But over the last year…I’ve done a lot of thinking about stuff.”
“While you were in France. And Italy. And Greece.”
“Yeah.” She traced her index finger over the wrought-iron arm of the chair. “And since I’ve been back, too. I think I’m going to get a tattoo.”
“Jesus.” Cash frowned. “Are you drunk?”
“Uh…yeah. That’s what a divorce party is for, right?”
“Hell if I know.”
“My mama will freak if I get inked. Maybe I should get a piercing, too.” She tapped her chin. “Where would be a good place to get pierced?”
“Make sure you go somewhere reputable and clean—”
“No, I mean on my body. You know…like, my belly button? Or my nipples?”
“Christ.” Cash rubbed his face.
“And I need a new job. I need a whole new life.”
“Youaredrunk.”
