Page 28 of Scorned Beauty
Ginger turned away and walked into the living room.
“I’m not making excuses for him!” I yelled at my cat. Grr…
Before I lost the will to leave, I grabbed a bolero jacket from the closet and marched out the door. I furiously descended the steps as if the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels, ready to drag me back to my apartment. There was nothing more I wanted than to curl up on a comfy couch and stream a new season ofTrue Detective, but there was also that defianceburning inside me, telling me I was an independent woman who needed no one to be happy.
My eyes blurred staring at the blinking lights decorating one of the residents’ doors at the bottom landing of the first floor. The landlord should ban that. It looked tacky.
I was behaving like a scrooge. Christmas lights were supposed to be tacky. That was why there were tacky light tours.
I was still glaring at the lights when I rounded the staircase and slammed into a wall.
Or rather, the bulky chest of my neighbor.
“Whoa there, doll, where’s the fire?” Strong fingers gripped my elbows, and I stared up into concerned brown eyes.
I usually saw Phil in suits or in gym attire, but his tie was off, and his dress shirt was partially unbuttoned like he was unwinding from a long day at work.
“I need a drink,” I muttered.
“You have a date?” His brow shot up.
“No. I don’t need one to go to a pub.”
I realized he hadn’t let go of my elbows and I was still plastered to him. Embarrassed and a little sad that I had zero lusty reactions to him, I stepped back. Besides, I wasn’t ready to get over one hookup by getting under another one.
“I’m sorry for not looking where I was going.”
“No problem.” His eyes gave me an appreciative once-over. Heat crept up my cheeks. It was not the kind of leering that made my skin crawl. It was even respectful and oddly ego-boosting, especially with my pity-party-of-one earlier.
“Meeting friends, then?”
His probing questions were making the air between us awkward, so I gave him a small smile and said, “I need to go.”
I was on my way out of the vestibule when Phil called out, “Want company?”
Phil was good company.We ordered a ride and headed to the waterfront. We ditched the first pub we went to because it was crowded with holiday revelers and hopped to another, where we managed to grab a table and actually got our drinks within twenty minutes. Beer for him, and a fancy crème brûlée martini for me.
With booze loosening my tongue, the tightness across my shoulders also relaxed.
“So that guy a few weeks ago…he’s your boyfriend?” Phil asked.
“No, just a friend,” I said.
Phil took a sip of his beer. I couldn’t tell if he believed me. Not that I cared. “So, going anywhere for the holidays? You’re not from these parts, right?”
“Actually, I am,” he said. “Rochester. Dad was an accountant; Mom was a schoolteacher.”
Oh, we were sharing that now? “Was?”
“They died in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “That was twelve years ago. My sister and I got by. An aunt took us in and I was already in college.”
I tried to do a mental calculation, but Phil smiled. “I’m thirty-two.”
“Well, I’m twenty-seven.”
