Page 67 of The Love Losers

She folds her hands on the tabletop, a completely different person now than she was in the paintball course a few minutes ago. While I believe she really was furious with Anthony, I don’t think for a minute that it was out of concern for Wilson’s squished balls.

“How much money is he going to give you?” she asks.

“Excuseme?”

“You heard me.” She leans toward me now, as if she’d been holding back from doing so all along. “I know he must be paying you. I’m sure you feel really lucky to have found him, but Wilson has more money. And there are no strings with him. He’ll get it all when his parents kick it, and they eat meat for every meal. It’s probably only a matter of time.”

“What exactly are you implying?” I ask, mostly because I want her to say it.

“Wilson likes doing this kind of stupid shit, and he agrees with everything. Anthony’s cold and withdrawn.” Her glower deepens. “It’s like living with a statue. And his mother is obnoxious and controlling. You don’t want to be part of their family. You’re…” She waves a hand as if to encompass my personality and everything she finds disagreeable about it.

“He doesn’t like you,” I say. “And neither do I.”

Her lips tip up. “That wedding was planned forus. Not for you. If he thinks people won’t see through your little story in five seconds, he’s as much of a fool as his mother is. At the end of the day, Anthony will always do what’s best for himself and for his father’s company. He doesn’t care about individual people. We’re nothing to him.”

The injustice of this tears through me. Anthonydoescare about people. He cares very much. His dream, his unicorn, is to make that warehouse into a beautiful home, a haven, for people who would usually be stuck in dingy, small units. But telling her that would be as effective as monologuing to a wall. Still, I can’t let her get away with it. So I firm my lips and say, “That’s an interesting assessment from someone who clearly still wants to marry him. You don’t know him at all, not that I’m surprised.”

Her expression firms. “You’re playing games you can’t win.”

“And you plan on winning by being an asshole to him? Someone needs to teach you manners.”

She opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it, giving me a smile she probably thinks is enigmatic. “I’m not going to share my strategy with you.”

Crap. Maybe shediddo the website.

I figure I might as well come out and ask. “Are you the one who’s been threatening his mother?”

“Someone’s threatening her?” she asks, looking surprised and then bemused. With a slow shake of her head, she adds, “It’s not me, but I’m hardly the only person who dislikes her. Everyone says she’s the black widow, but I think her husbands died early just to get away from her.” She gives me an assessing look. “You seem like a woman who’d enjoy getting pedicures with your mother-in-law. Wilson’s mother invites me every week. You can get hers and hers massages and arrange Bunko nights.”

I get to my feet. “I don’t give a shit what meal you asked for at the wedding. If you decide to show your face, you’re getting the fish. I’m told it’s usually overdone and rubbery. Enjoy your Christmas. I’m guessing you’ll be hearing about Wilson’s balls every five minutes.”

And I turn my back on her and stalk back to the paintball course, where Anthony is sitting to one side of Wilson, who’schugging Diet Coke. The kid is sitting on the patient’s other side, carefully watching him as if he’s afraid he might backslide any second.

Anthony’s brow is furrowed as he listens to his former friend monologue about how his balls feel—“like squished snoballs. Not snowballs from the snow, but those pink marshmallow things with the cream inside.” He cocks his head. “You know, I’d love one of those right now. That would really hit the spot. Nina doesn’t believe in processed foods, but really, after what happened, I think she’d understand.”

Anthony gets to his feet when he sees me, his expression concerned.

“Sorry, Wilson,” I say with a sympathetic smile. “But we have to go. Family emergency. Nina said you should call your mother to ask for a ride. She justlovesher. Couldn’t say enough good things about her.”

“She did?” he asks, looking pleased by this. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

We both pat him on the shoulder and wish him a happy pig roast and a happier Christmas, and after we pull the jumpsuits and gear off, Anthony slips the kid a one-hundred-dollar bill.

I beam at him as we walk out. Nina’s nowhere to be seen as we leave, but I know better than to think she’s given up. She’s adjusting her strategy.

I hope I didn’t just make a crucial error by telling her about the threat to Mrs. Rosings. This game I’ve found myself in is high stakes, and complicated, and I don’t know what cards I have yet.

Anthony takes my hand as we walk, weaving his fingers through mine. “Good aim,” I say as I push the door open and we walk out into the cold air.

He releases a misty breath, giving me a sidelong glance. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I may not like him, but I’d never shoot another guy in the balls.”

“Men and their balls,” I say, shaking my head. My heart starts thumping faster, because it occurs to me that we’re finally alone together. We may be approaching some kind of come-to-Jesus moment, and I don’t know how it’ll work out.

He turns toward me and lifts a hand to the side of my face, cupping my cheek. His eyes are embers in a banked fire. “What’d Nina say to you?”

“Let’s go somewhere we can sit and talk,” I say, feeling my pulse thrumming in my throat. My wrist.

“We can make sandwiches at Smith House,” he tells me, brushing his fingers across my cheek before lowering his hand. “I’ve been staying there with my mom, but she’s supposed to be out this afternoon.”

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