Out of the corner of my eye I see Paige grab Griffin’s wallet. He slides his palm up my arm and pulls one of my hands down from around his neck, entwining our fingers together and then pulling me away from the girls. I follow blindly behind him, not giving a crap where he’s taking me, as long as we can do some more kissing. When we make it far enough away from everyone, he turns to me and lets go of my hand.
“Sorry about that. It looked like you needed a little rescuing.”
The euphoria from the kiss leaves me with a whoosh and now all I can think about is punching the mouth that was attached to mine moments ago. He didn’t kiss me because he wanted to; he kissed me because he felt like he needed to. I don’t give a shit that his performance was top-notch and that I can feel Chloe and her friends’ eyes boring holes in the back of my head with their envy; all I care about is the fact that I was ready to mount him in the middle of a crowded bar and he just did it for show.
“I don’t need anyone to rescue me. Especially you,” I growl at him before turning and walking toward the door.
GD lack of self-control.
CHAPTER 10
After a restless night of tossing and turning, where I spent most of my time thinking about kissing Griffin again instead of punching him in the face, I get even more pissed off when I look in my cupboard and realize I don’t have any coffee.
I swear to God the universe hates me.
At least today is football day. Football cures everything. Even smug, arrogant bastards who give you the best kiss of your life and then act like it was no big deal. Walking over to my slow cooker, I check on the status of my Buffalo Wing Dip that I always make for game day. I’m not much of a cook, but I can throw together a mean Buffalo Wing Dip.
“Mom, can you take me to the mall? I have nothing to wear to Grandpa’s.”
Turning around, I see Meadow standing in the kitchen naked.
Okay, not naked, but close enough.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I ask her in shock as I take in one of the Aéropostale T-shirts I bought her before school started. If you can still call it a T-shirt. It looks like she took a pair of rusty scissors to it and hacked off 90 percent of the material. The sleeves are missing now and the only thing left is the word Aero, which barely covers the boobs she just started growing and leaves her stomach and torso on full display. And now that she’s sprouted up and is almost as tall as I am, she’s decided to confiscate a pair of my Seven jeans, which are riding so low on her hips that if I squint, I can probably see Meadow’s meadow.
Oh, hell, no.
“These are called clothes, Mom,” she tells me in an exasperated voice with a roll of her eyes.
“You look like a streetwalker. And not even a high-priced one at that. You aren’t going anywhere until you put more clothes on. Preferably a turtleneck. And thermal underwear,” I tell her as calmly as I can with clenched teeth.
“You are being unreasonable!” she argues with a stomp of her foot.
“I know. I’m the worst mother in the world and all your friends’ mothers are cooler than me and let their daughters dress like hookers,” I inform her as she lets out a growl of frustration, turns, and stomps out of the room.
“You’ll thank me one day when they’re all working at McDonald’s and you’re a doctor!” I yell to her.
If this is what she’s like before she gets her period, I’m moving out when that day happens. Or shipping her to a convent to let the nuns handle her.
As I leave the kitchen to go check on Livia and see if she’s ready to go, I’m stopped in the living room by the ringing of the doorbell. Looking through the peephole, I let out a gasp when I see who it is.
“Alex, what are you doing here?” I ask my ex-husband when I open the door to him.
I haven’t seen him in months. The only communication we’ve had is through text. For a minute I freak out, wondering if Chloe went home last night and told him about the kiss to end all kisses. He’s wearing a tight-fitting green Hollister T-shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and black Chucks. He looks like a teenager. Or like he’s having a midlife crisis, which I’m guessing is what happens when you date someone half your age.
“Hi, Kennedy. You’re looking good,” he tells me with a smile. “I thought I’d stop by and see if I could take the girls today. I feel awful that I’ve been so busy lately and haven’t had time to spend with them.”
To say I’m shocked by his sudden interest in our daughters is an understatement. But then I get a good look at his face and see a black-and-purple bruise discoloring one eye and my mouth drops open. Seeing him with a goatee AND a soul patch is disturbing enough, but seeing him with a black eye is downright unnerving.
“What the hell happened to your face?”
I watch as his cheeks turn pink from embarrassment and he reaches one hand up to touch the bruise.
“Oh¸ this?” he asks with an uncomfortable chuckle. “I ran into a door. No big deal. So, can I take the girls?”
He’s lying. He’s totally lying. I am quite familiar now with the way he acts when he lies. Before I can question him further, he looks over my shoulder and one of his eyebrows rises questioningly.
“Hi, baby. What in the world are you wearing?”
I turn around, expecting to see Meadow standing behind me in her slut-wear and am pleasantly surprised when I see she took my advice. A little to the extreme though when I see she has on a turtleneck, hooded sweatshirt, drawstring sweatpants, Ugg boots, a scarf, and gloves. I’m sure she thought that by doing this it would make me feel bad, but this child doesn’t realize she’s dealing with the master.