Page 2 of The Square Up

I cringe at the banshee wail. “What’s going on with you? Have you been drinking?”

“Drinking?” she screeches. “No, I haven’t been drinking! For your information, my so-called boyfriend dumped me about an hour ago! By text!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles. “Once again, I’ll be the laughing stock of the annual Roberts family reunion.” She sniffles. “I thought this year was going to be different…I really did.”

“Laughing stock? Since when would anyone dare laugh at you? You’re the barracuda, for crying out loud.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth…as soon as her glacial gaze scrapes across my face…as soon as her unspoken wrath slices through me like a blade of molten steel…I realize I’m in trouble.

“Barracuda?” She clenches her fists and takes a step towards me.

“Wait…” I throw my hand in the air.

“You call me Barracuda?” Heat blasts from her eyes.

“Only because you’re the best agent there is,” I squeak.

“A barracuda is ugly with a big, huge jaw and razor-sharp teeth,” she spits out. “Oh. My. God. You think I’m a hideous man-eating fish, don’t you?” She gasps.

“No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

“You do,” she sits down on the sofa, clutching a hand over her mouth.

Then the worst possible thing in the world happens…

Abigail Robinson bursts into tears. Soul-scorching, sad, horrible tears. It’s awful.

And it’s all my fault.

“Hey,” I crouch down in front of her, “I’m a six-foot-seven, two-hundred-thirty-five-pound moron.”

More sobs pour out of her.

I jump up, run into the kitchen, and grab a handful of napkins. “Don’t cry,” I dab at her face. “You are not ugly, Abigail. Not by a longshot.”

“You’re just saying that 'cause I’m crying,” she hiccups.

“No. I’m saying it because it’s true. All the guys think you’re a knockout.”

“They do?” She takes a napkin from my hand to wipe her swollen nose.

“They do.”

“Then why can’t I keep a boyfriend?”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one.”

“Whatever,” she sighs. “Maybe I’ll get a T-shirt with Barracuda written across the front to wear to the Robinson Family Reunion. Instead of everybody laughing at me because I’m a spinster, maybe they’ll get a good chuckle out of my nickname.” She swipes at her eyes. “Does everyone in the league call me Barracuda?”

I can’t lie to her. Not when she’s having a breakdown. “Yes.”

“Great,” she throws her head back and takes a deep breath. “I’m just a big joke to everyone, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely not.” I get up and sit on the edge of the coffee table.

Abigail sits up, trying to fix her hair. “Listen, would you just sign the papers so I can go home and finish my mental collapse in private, please?”

While I sign the papers, I keep an eye on Abigail. There’s a sadness on her face that has me gutted. I don’t like it.

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