Page 102 of Connectio
“Oh, I’ll be laughing,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “Mark my words. I’ll be laughing like a hyena when I get my revenge.”
She takes a seat and stares at Derek as he talks with Lucy, Will, and some other people, Alexander desperately trying to lunge out of a woman’s arms and into Derek’s.
“I don’t like hyenas,” she says solemnly. “They’re ugly-looking, kind of like the by-product of a dog and clown.”
I sink into the seat next to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Am I forgiven already?”
“No. Your time will come. In the meantime, tell me why you look so deflated and no longer want to be here.”
She nods toward Lucy. “I don’t trust her.”
“Why? I thought the two of you got along well.”
“We do. She’s lovely. I just don’t trust her.”
“There’s got to be a reason why, Carls.”
“Not really.” She shrugs. “I just feel as if I’m missing something. Call it a sixth sense.”
“What could you be missing?”
“I think Lucy and Derek dated before she turned lezzie. They have a history. That much is obvious.”
“So? History is the operative word here. In the past. Yesteryear.”
Carly looks down at her fingers and fiddles with her aunt’s ring, twisting it back and forth. “I get that. I just don’t think it’s entirely in the past.”
I rest my chin on my hand. “What makes you say that?”
“God, I don’t know,” she snaps.
“Hey! I’m just trying to help.” I push up from the table. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want one?”
She recoils and gives me a sorry face. “No.”
“Fairy bread?”
“No, thank you.”
Smiling, I know what she’ll like, because she’s a sucker for all things mini. “I saw some mini-pizzas and hot dogs. How ‘bout those?”
Her pout morphs into a grin. “You had me at mini.”
“Thought as much. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I make my way toward the buffet at the opposite corner of the marquee and am about to get our drinks when a hand slides onto my hip.
“Don’t hate me, sweetheart,” Will murmurs into my ear.
The hairs on the back of my neck dance, and I momentarily close my eyes. “I don’t,” I breath out.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for walking away from you that day. I’m sorry for not ringing, and I’m sorry for calling you a redheaded walking vagina.”
Laughter bursts from my chest. “Yes, well, you’re not forgiven for that.”
“But I’m forgiven for everything else?”
