Page 81 of Duty and Desire
“Who’s this, Tammy?”
Since I was ready to rumble, I couldn’t but cut a quick glance at the Peacock.
He was staring at my tits.
Okay, he was with his chick and staring at my chest.
Maybehewas the Supreme Asshole of All Time.
“My ex,” she answered. “Hey, Mo.”
“Hey,” he grunted.
Mo Translation: I have zero interest in conversing with you.
Then again, he had zero interest in conversing with just about everybody as far as I could tell.
I was understanding why she was an ex when she ignored his vibe and asked, “How’s things?”
Another grunt of, “Good.”
She sliced a glance at me. “Is this your new?—?”
“Yup,” I said, cutting her off before Mo could say anything, then shifting and putting my arm around his waist.
Or trying. He had a wide waist. It was trim, but it was wide.
I finally grabbed hold of the other side, barely, my fingers sliding off the slick material of his skintight compression shirt.
So I grabbed onto a beltloop of his cargos.
Her gaze dropped to my finger hooked through his beltloop, her eyes narrowed, and she didn’t seem to notice it took long moments for Mo to drop his arm around my shoulders.
I nearly crumbled to the floor.
His arm had to weigh more than my entire body.
I held steady and took the shot of acid she aimed at me from her eyes.
I shot her an acid neutralization glare and followed it up with a laser beam stare.
She blinked (yeah, my laser beam starerocked) then tried to deflect by looking back to Mo.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she remarked.
Her dude gave her a look.
Mo said nothing.
I said something.
“That happens when you break up, Tammy.”
“I’m sorry, you are?” she asked me.
“Lottie.” I grinned saccharine sweet. “Nice ta meet ya.”
“Well, Lottie,” she doused my sweet with some bitter, “we only broke up a month ago.”
