Page 13 of Made Over by Meredith

She patted his shoulder as she passed him, stepping into the bar, her gaze sweeping around the place until it landed on me in the corner. Then she smiled and strode to me, her mile-long legs carrying her swiftly to the booth. On her way, some guy blocked her way.

It was loud in here, with the chatter of people and Pat Benatar playing from the speakers, but this guy’s voice may as well have been a starter pistol. “Hey, Barbie.”

My muscles tensed, and I stood up before I consciously thought about it.

Meredith stepped to the side. “Name’s not Barbie, but nice try.”

This douchebag stopped her again. With one hand in his pocket and the other around a pint, he didn’t appear like he planned on touching her, but I didn’t like the way Meredith’s eyes crinkled and narrowed, searching for a way out. And the human male species were not to be trusted. I knew well enough how bad some of us could be.

I cut across the room in time to interrupt his offer to buy her a drink. “She’s with me,” I said, sliding my hand across her shoulders. “I got her covered.”

Meredith relaxed against my side, and I tugged her away from the guy, not thinking about it when I brushed my mouth along her temple. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” She gently pushed me away, smiling. But it was tight. As if she could pretend she wasn’t bothered by what happened. I knew she was.

“It’s okay to admit it if you’re not, you know.”

“Seriously,” she mumbled, folding herself into the booth, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s fine.”

I held my hands up as I sat across from her, then gestured to the drink I’d bought her.

“Thank you.” She downed about half of her whiskey soda as I stared at her, waiting.

It didn’t take long.

She rolled her eyes and then began, “Fine, yes, it’s…” She flapped her hand. “I need to find a new bar, but Jimmy loves this place. I don’t know why. It’s crawling with divorced men looking for quick lays.”

“You’re not looking for quick lays?”

“Yeah, I mean…” She huffed. “Most of them were served the papers because they’re shit partners and fathers and even shittier in bed. I know because they like to complain about their ex-wives after they’ve asked me if I’ve come.” She thumped her glass down, shaking her head. “I don’t understand what’s so hard for them to get. All they have to do is look and listen. If we don’t dead bug while calling out to God, we didn’t orgasm.”

I swallowed my sip of beer. “Dead bug?”

“Yeah, like…” She cocked her head to the side, bending her arms and hands at odd angles. “When it’s so good we can’t control what our muscles do and we, just, ya know…dead bug it up.”

I sputtered a laugh. “Got it. Dead bug is good.”

“Only in bed,” she said, aiming her index finger at me. Then she softened, smiling her genuine smile. “What’s been going on with you? How was your week?”

I lifted a shoulder. “Fine. Same as always.”

“All numbers, numbers, numbers, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

She set her chin on her palm, leaning in. “We’ve had a stomach virus terrorizing the school. It’s been a literal mess.”

I winced. “How’re you feeling?”

“Great. I’ve got a strong constitution.” As if to prove it, she took a big gulp of her drink. Holding her glass between her slender fingers with those dagger fingernails, she licked her lips. And I had to blink a few times, ignoring the sudden image lodged in my brain of her pink and shiny mouth wrapped around my dick.

I waved to her hand. “I don’t know how you do anything with those.”

She fluttered her fingers. “You get used to them. Typing is a bit hard, but other than that, not much is different.”

“Poke an eye out with those things.”

She pressed her lips tight together as if not wanting to laugh before tapping her talons on the table. “You might like them. Give good tickles.”

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