Page 24 of Pour Decisions
“Morgan,” he breathes. “You came.”
12
“Riggs,” I gasp. Because never in a million years did I expect to run into him again. Let alone at this event and staying in the hotel room right next to mine. My heart beats faster and I can feel the flush working its way up my chest and face to my hairline.
“What are you doing here?” I ask at the same time that Riggs asks, “So, uh, how you doing?”
“I come every year,” he says as I answer, “I’m well. You?”
“Good,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just—”
“No, that’s fine.” I chuckle nervously. “I mean, you didn’t. Interrupt that is.”
“Good. Good.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets and looks down for a moment before glancing back up and continuing. “You look good.”
“Thanks. You do too.” I will my face to return to a normal shade of pale, going so far as to using my bottom lip to blow air up towards the top of my head, to no avail. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” I start.
“Yeah?” He smiles.
“Yeah.” I smile back. “I wanted to apologize for how I acted that morning at my house, when you came by with coffee and donuts. I was horrible to you and I’ve regretted it since.”
He waves me off. “It was a stressful time.”
“I went to your hotel room that night to apologize, but you’d already checked out.”
“You did?” His brows raise, and he looks almost boyish in his surprise.
I nod, feeling my blush creep up again. I hate that I blush. I want to be cool and calm, like Blondie, even though I can’t stand her. I pivot to sneak a glance in her direction. She and Michael are both blatantly staring at Riggs and I, not even trying to hide it. I roll my eyes and turn back to Riggs. Feeling lame at having nothing more to say.
“So,” I start at the same time he says, “Hey.”
“Go ahead,” we mimic one another and laugh. I pretend to zip my mouth shut and gesture to him to talk first.
“I know things have been weird between us,” he begins. “But I was hoping to call a truce. Do you maybe want to—”
“Riggsy, I’m going down to the pool, do you . . . ” A low sultry voice floats through the air, interrupting him, before settling in my direction, accompanied by the clicks of approaching high heels. Long slender fingers curl themselves around Riggs' shoulders from behind, perfectly manicured red nails at their tips. Hands that slide down his biceps, squeezing the muscles as they go, before a head peeks around the side of his then stills. The head belongs to a woman. A crazy beautiful woman with thick, glossy red hair, flawless ivory skin, big blue eyes, and plump red lips. She blinks at me, her perfect chin resting on Riggs broad shoulder, her cheek flush with his. “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize there were people out here.”
“Yeah, hey, Toni, this is Morgan Anderson.” Riggs gestures in my direction. “Morgan, this is Antonia Alves, Toni for short.”
Toni steps around him to reach over and shake my hand, giving me a glimpse of her body. A glimpse is all I need. She’s in a bikini—a string bikini—and her body is amazing. I didn’t think people actually wore string bikinis. I mean, I know they exist, but I kind of figured they were reserved for fictional people and movie stars.
She fills out the bikini in exactly the way I imagine it should be: full pert breasts hidden behind twin triangles of material in the front, flat stomach, small waist, identical tiny triangle between her lean thighs and rounded hips, and not an ounce of fat to be seen. She’s breathtaking. And exactly the type of woman I would expect Riggs to be with.
“Nice to meet you, Morgan,” she says, her smile not meeting her eyes. I’m always amazed how people can do that, smile with the bottom of their face and not the top. I can’t help but let a smile take over my entire face. Even right now I’m trying hard to imitate her countenance, but I know I’m not succeeding.
“You too, Toni,” I return.
“Only my friends call me Toni,” she says.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Uh, Antonia?”
She nods.
“She’s just giving you a hard time,” Riggs interjects, smiling at me, his eyes softening.
Is that pity on his face?
Oh god, it is.
