Page 12 of The Widower's Girlfriend
The third, a well put together bleach blonde woman, stands in the aisle, like she can’t be bothered to join in on the hug fest and wants everyone in the restaurant to stare at her a bit first anyway.
I recognize her. Well, notherexactly, but I recognize her type. The ones with subtle nose jobs, plumped-up lips, and tattooed eyebrows. There’re thousands of them living back home near me. And suddenly I understand Jemma’s argument about past experience perhaps being enough to help you form a snap judgement that protects you. Because this woman is trouble. I can feel it.
Jemma finally stands and hugs the stiff blonde. Then she introduces me.
“Diana, this is Walker. Walker, this is Diana, Justine, and Amy.”
The first two shake my hand limply when I stretch my arm out. Amy, though. She gives me just her fingertips, her eyes appraising me head to toe. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a gleam in her eyes that’s decidedly calculating.
They finally sit opposite us and I put my arm back around Jemma’s chair, my fingertips playing with the ends of her hair, delighted when I feel her shiver. A devoted boyfriend would be touching her as much as possible and I’m all too happy to play my part to the best of my ability.
Amy’s smiling serenely at Jemma, but I can tell she doesn’t like that she’s been left out of this pertinent information. Gossip hounds can’t stand being the last to know all the juicy details. “So, Jemma. How long has this been going on?”
8
Jemma
Goodness gracious. What was all that about? We’d been talking about pet peeves and the next thing you know, he’s moving in and obliterating all thought with a simple kiss. Okay fine, there was nothing simple about it. My lips are still tingling from it, the taste of him lingering even as I have to dodge questions from my friends. I’m going to have to ask Walker to stop wearing that cologne. It’s wrapping me in a bubble of foresty musk mixed with man and stopping all brain function.
“Um, let’s see. Six months now, right, honey?” I plaster on what I hope is a believable smile and turn to Walker, begging him with my eyes to help me out.
His hand brushes against my back and his touch zings through my whole body, distracting me and making me forget why I’m even here. His face conforms to a lazy smile the minute I call him “honey,” the look making my stomach melt. I like that look. I want more of that look directed my way.
“Yeah, that’s about right. The best six months of my life.” He winks at me and then turns to my friends.
“I hear you’ve all been friends since high school. What do you all do now?”
And just like that, Walker’s redirected the viper, otherwise known as Amy, to other pastures. It’s ingenious really. A move I use a lot with my patients when they have to do a painful procedure. Distract, redirect, or get them talking about themselves.
“I’m a full-time housewife at the moment and there are several charities that I’m involved in,” Amy answers smoothly. I raise an eyebrow but remain silent. Amy hasn’t volunteered her time since senior year when she had to in order to graduate. More like her husband writes a check every year to some cause, not to do something good, but to get the tax write-off.
“I’m getting married in just a few months!” Justine bursts forth with her news, karate chopping her hand into the middle of the table, sparkling diamond solitaire front and center for everyone to “ooh and ahh” over.
“Congratulations,” Walker tells her. As expected, I ogle her ring and try to ignore the stab to the heart it gives me.
“How about you, Diana?” Walker asks her when we’re finally done congratulating a woman over the grand achievement in life of having a man ask her to marry him. I know, sarcasm is not attractive. It’s just disgusting to me how Walker asks what they do and she answers with her wedding. Like that’s something “to do” in the world that benefits society in any way.
“Oh, I’m a working girl. I’m a personal shopper at Barney’s.” Diana shrugs like it’s no big deal, when in fact, I know it’s her identity and she talks about her rich and famous clients constantly. Like a connection to powerful people makes her powerful by association.
The server saves this awkward conversation and we order, the girls deciding to split a bottle of wine between them. Walker and I stick to water, which I think is smart if we want to continue to pull off this fake relationship.
“So, how long are you going to keep cleaning up vomit, Jay?” Amy asks after our dinner arrives. I stop chewing and feel my shoulders creeping up toward my ears like they do when I’m stressed, but Amy continues to take a bite of her kale salad, oblivious to my distress. From the side of my eye, I see Walker clench his jaw. It’s not his place to tell off my friends, but I can tell he’s having to hold back from jumping in.
“I’m not sure you understand what a P.A. is, Amy. She acts as a doctor, helping young cancer patients fight for their lives.”
I stiffen at Walker’s defense of my profession, but he reaches over and places his hand on my thigh, effectively distracting me.
Amy’s eyes widen. “Oh, I know that, Walker. Jemma and I just tease each other like that, don’t we, Jay?” I don’t respond and Amy keeps talking like the question was rhetorical. “It was just a little joke between friends.” She beams at Walker and I’ve never wanted to eviscerate a person where they stand like I do right now.
“Uh huh.” Walker stares at her, openly hostile. I sit back and will myself to relax. I lay may hand over Walker’s and squeeze, trying to communicate that I’m fine. He can stand down now.
I clear my throat and set down my fork. “I don’t know that I find that joke very funny anymore, Amy.”
Amy stills, her expression clearing to that of an innocent girl, chastised for no reason. “I’m so sorry, Jay. I won’t ever say it again.”
“Thank you, Amy.” I smile and go back to eating, ignoring the way Diana and Justine are watching us with wide eyes and zipped lips.
The rest of dinner has an awkward, forced element to it, but all the while, Walker and I lean into each other. Hold hands. Find reasons to touch. It’s both soothing and stimulating, helping me to get through this ridiculous dinner. The resistance I had to texting him earlier is gone. The Walker from the cab is back, celebrity-Walker nowhere to be found.
