Three Mile Island

The next morning I awoke without too much of a headache. Gingerly, I prodded the events of last night over in my mind and decided that karma was indeed a bitch. I didn’t remember doing anything bad that would warrant last night’s karmic payback, but that probably just meant that I really enjoyed myself, whatever it had been. I groaned and covered my face tightly with my fuzzy blanket then risked a peek at the clock. Nearly noon.

I crawled out of bed and took the sheet with me, which I dropped as soon as I hit the hallway in front of the bathroom. It was a good thing that there was nobody around to see me, because I looked a fright. My eyes had big raccoon circles around them from mascara and my hair was sticking up in bumps all over. I jumped into the shower and scrubbed and pampered and tended to every last bit of my body from head to toe before I decided I was done. The bathroom was full of steam by the time I reached out blindly for my bath sheet.

When I stepped out with the towel wrapped around me, Diablo was sitting on the sink, eyeing my exposed bare skin with his ears pinned back against his skull. I never quite know how he gets in the rooms I’m in. I make a habit of closing doors behind me so he doesn’t get any ideas about sinking the stray claw or fang into me, but he just pops right through those doors anyhow. But in some weird way, seeing my demon-cat restored some of my equilibrium. If he was being nasty, then everything was right with the world. If he wasn’t being nasty, and he wasn’t being fed at the time, well, it was time to start praying for salvation, because the world was going to be ending toot sweet.

I opened the door and ordered him out, losing all of my nice warm steam in the process. He gave me sass, but I was firm and he slunk down the hallway to undoubtedly sharpen his claws on something I owned that held sentimental value. After getting rid of him, I was able to brush my teeth and apply the various products and potions that made up a woman’s life.

I threw on my ridiculously oversized plaid bathrobe and made my way, a la Frankenstein, down the hall and into the kitchen for some desperately needed coffee and to feed my demon-cat. Bernie had reminded me to set up the auto-brew as I was getting into the cab last night, or I would have totally spaced it out. I really do love that guy. It’s too bad he’s gay, or I wouldn’t be lamenting flirtations gone horribly wrong and the terribly bad timing of ex-boyfriends.

Said cat was purring like an outboard motor and twining himself around my ankles in figure eights as I reached into the cupboard for a tin of the ridiculously expensive sludge he liked to eat. He literally turned up his whiskered little nose if offered kibble or some other inferior meal. He danced impatiently by his bowl as I waited for gravity to take over and release the stuff from the can. No way was I sticking my last clean spoon in there, let alone a finger.

By the time I sucked down a few cups of joe and watched my cat pass out in a sunny spot on the table, I was feeling more like myself, so I decided getting dressed wouldn’t be too painful. I disdainfully kicked the clothes I wore last night into a corner of the room. Lucky ladybug tank top, my ass. I cracked open my closet and took out my comfy khaki capris and a t-shirt.

Cleanliness, check. Coffee, check. Cat, check, Clothing, check. I didn’t think I forgot anything, so I snagged my purse and exited my apartment. The elevator was giving off a funny I’m-going-to-break-down-today-with-you-in-me vibe, so I elected to take the stairs.

It was a nice, warm, sunny afternoon and I immediately regretted leaving my sunglasses behind. There weren’t too many tall buildings in my neighborhood, but get into central downtown Minneapolis and it was like standing in a diamond, with the sun reflecting off of all the plate glass. Painfully bright after a good night of drinking, as I found out the hard way. I squinted and sprinted across the street after a cursory look either way. I was really hoping that there was no oncoming traffic.

There was a little bakery a couple of blocks from HCMC that Bernie and I liked to frequent. Sure enough, Bernie was sitting there, looking cool as a cucumber that afternoon, with a croissant and juice on the table in front of him.

“Hi, hon,” he said sympathetically. “How’d you sleep?”

I thought that one over for a second, then replied, “Good? Good, I think,” I said with more conviction.

“Ready for another day in paradise tomorrow?” he asked, referring to our sarcastic name for HCMC.

“’Nother day, ‘nother donut.” It was a phrase that came out automatically after seven years of employment there.

I was actually glad that Bernie wasn’t going to bring up last night. We ended up having a pleasant breakfast with light conversation, mainly work-related, therefore safe, and agreed to meet for lunch tomorrow here. We parted ways in front of the Greek grocer, Bernie heading the opposite way from me; he lived in Maple Terrace, about a block from HCMC. His realtor ex-boyfriend’s name was Mac, I remembered suddenly.

The week passed by surprisingly quickly. It was busy, always busy, and that helped the time go by quickly. A gunshot wound here, a stabbing or three there, a five-car rush hour pileup with cardiac arrests in between everything else – another week in the life. Before I knew it, Friday afternoon had rolled around and it was payday to boot. I had managed to put the last Saturday out of my mind and even agreed to meet up with Bernie and Kyle at one of the local dives we liked going to.

I didn’t quite trust my ladybug tank top yet, so I relied on my usual outfit of a Led Zeppelin shirt and pair of worn jeans. I don’t usually go for much in the way of makeup, it’s really just a pain in the ass, so I pull myself together quick-like. Some powder, some mascara, a little lip gloss, and voila, all done.

It was my turn to provide transportation that night and I opted for a cab. My little Honda was on its last legs; I’m afraid this next winter will do it in, if there’s going to be as much snow as predicted. It seems ridiculous to be thinking about snow in August, but this was Minnesota. It could snow tomorrow and no one would bat an eye. We’d all just take out our ice scrapers, bitch a lot, and drive around like a bunch of old ladies.

Bernie and Kyle jumped in and I paid the cab driver when we got to the bar. It was called Las Bebidas Cantina, but someone had started calling it Mos Eisley and it stuck, which tickled the hell out of the Star Wars fan in Kyle. It was a dimly lit place where one could still smoke a cigarette indoors and nobody would care, let alone call the cops to report it. The pool tables were worn in just right and the cues were still reasonably straight. We joked around a lot, saying we were slumming it, but this really was a great, low-key place.

Usually the place was pretty full and tonight was no exception. Most of the pool tables were in use, except for the one in the corner that has a huge tear in the felt. The stools along the bar were pretty much all occupied, as were two thirds of the tables scattered around the room. Always popular, Mos Eisley was. There were a lot of locals from around the area, as well as college kids and a bunch of couples.

So we grabbed our usual pool table and started the business of getting rounds and settled in for an evening of pleasant distraction. I was sent over to the jukebox at the end of the room and given the first crack at picking some tunes out, which I love doing. There was an art to picking music in bars. Some AC/DC, a little Joe Walsh and Pink Floyd, maybe some early Stones – just good, classic rock to start with. It was the sort of music that made you feel better, no matter what kind of mood a person was in. Later on, as the evening progressed and people started getting drunker, slower songs would set the mood for romance. Or one-night stands. Whatever.

I started off not doing too badly at pool that night. Kyle and I flipped a coin to see who would play Bernie first and I won the toss. I managed to sink two solids off the break, then cleaned up a few more after Bernie took his turn. It just so happened that I scratched after pocketing the eight ball, so Bernie won by default. And he gloated over it, too, doing the annoying little ‘I won’ dance he likes to do.

I, being the loser, was sent to the bar for the next round. This time I didn’t even need to use any assets to catch the attention of the bartender – he came right over and asked me what we wanted. He’s seen us often enough there to know that we tip well, and even better the more we drink. Tappers there are a buck fifty each on Fridays, so that’s what we usually get. I carefully picked my way through the crowd without spilling a drop. When I got back to the table, Kyle had just won his game with Bernie, so some more quarters were loaded in and the balls racked up. This time I won the game, but I didn’t do my own version of the ‘I won’ dance. Not enough to drink yet, I suppose.

I was, however, out of cigarettes, so I had to make a side trip over to the old-fashioned coin operated dispenser in the corner. I put in my money and picked out my brand. As I was bending over to retrieve them, a voice to my right said, “Hey.”

I looked up and saw Jack Carter leaning there against the machine, a beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. He smiled at me and I felt my heart flip over in my chest and start beating in staccato double time. I straightened up and tugged at my shirt to make sure it wasn’t riding up in the back. He looked good, really good. Guys weren’t supposed to make a girl’s knees weaken just from wearing Levi’s and a t-shirt.

I felt a little awkward, though. This wasn’t how I had imagined seeing him again, which was something that I must admit I’d put some dedicated thought towards. In my daydreams, I was always poised, cool, and said everything just right, which was so not me. But I gave it my best shot.

“Hello, Jack. It’s good to see you again.” The phrase was trite, but honest. It was good to see him and my innards were starting to act up again in response. I realized that this was my chance to clarify, rectify what had happened Saturday, and I was really, really glad to have that chance.

Before I lost my nerve, I blurted out, “I’m sorry about last weekend. What happened. I didn’t mean to be rude to you.” Impulsively, I touched his forearm briefly to try to emphasize my point.

He pushed his hair back out of his face and shrugged, pulling his t-shirt tight across his chest. I licked my dry lips and swallowed shallowly. Seriously, from the way I was reacting, you’d think that I was a sixteen-year-old debutante, not a woman of almost thirty.

“That other guy. He really bothered you?” he said. I could feel myself flush at the memory and had to break eye contact with Jack. His gaze was too focused, like a laser beam, for me right then.

Clumsily, I started to pack my smokes against my palm, then peeled the cellophane off. I don’t know why I hesitated. It was terribly important to me to let Jack know what had happened, how I felt about the situation, how I had been thinking of nothing but him all week, but my tongue was tied and my thoughts were tangled. In the end, I had to struggle to get anything out.

It was my turn to shrug my shoulders, and I said, “He’s someone that I don’t want to see, and I work with her, and well…” Lamely I trailed off. I didn’t really know how to complete that sentence, because I didn’t want to look like more of an idiot than I already did.

When I finally fumbled with my pack and removed a smoke, I had regained my composure enough to look back up. Jack had his Zippo out and flicked it for me. I leaned forward gratefully and lit my smoke, since I had left my lighter back at the table. I gave him a crooked sort of smile and murmured, “Thanks.”

He was still looking at me intently and I was just starting to fidget nervously again when he said softly, “Don’t let him bother you. He’s just not worth it, yeah?”

Just then the bass player from their band came up to Jack and slung his arm around him from behind. He’d obviously had a few and he slurred out, “C’mon Jack. Le’sh go play pool.” I somehow doubted that he could see only one set of balls, but I diplomatically covered my mouth with my hand so he wouldn’t see me smile.

Jack caught the movement and the amusement in my eyes, because he chuckled and said, “I’ll see you around?”

I grinned and nodded, then watched Jack half-carry his friend across the room to where they had been sitting. It was no wonder I hadn’t seen them, since they were half hidden behind the pinball machine. I returned to the table with my pack of smokes in hand and sat down. Bernie and Kyle were arguing over who was going to rack the balls, so I intervened.

“Settle down, children. I’ll do it.” I did so, and we continued on with our evening. My heart felt easier, my whole mood felt lighter, and I was able to concentrate more on having a good time, rather than trying to forget a bad time. There’s quite a difference between the two. Bernie and Kyle noticed too, because they started horsing around, tossing peanuts up for each other to catch and trying to bounce quarters into my drink.

Eventually, Kyle went for another pitcher of beer, and we sat and drank and talked and laughed more. It was these kinds of good times that we looked forward to all during the workweek. I loved the whole group of people we had, but there was something special about being out with just Bernie. I liked when Kyle was with us and I really liked him together with Bernie, so we were all relaxed and mellow. It was really fun.

After a while we decided to give up on playing any more games, so we pooled our remaining quarters together and I was sent to the jukebox again. It was getting later in the evening, the time when more mellow songs were appreciated and danced to. They had Derek and the Dominos, so I picked out “Bell Bottom Blues,” as well as some solo Clapton. Percy Sledge is always a safe bet, as are B.B. King and Marvin Gaye.

I sat back down at the table and grinned as Bernie and Kyle went off to dance. They really did make such a cute couple. The music was soothing, as music always is for me, and I was sitting there enjoying myself, when I heard a very familiar voice behind me. Shit, shit, shit. Please let it not be Eric.

I casually turned my head to the side and peeked at the table behind me. Sure enough, there he was, caressing the cheek of the nurse. She was giggling and had her hands around the back of his neck. I wrinkled my nose as I turned back around to look down into my glass. There was only another swallow or two, so I finished it off and grabbed my purse. There was no way I wanted to stay there and listen to those two coo at each other.

Bernie and Kyle were dancing close together and as I approached the dance floor, the song ended. They saw me standing there and I crooked my finger at them. “I think I’m going to take off. Eric is here with his little friend and I don’t feel like dealing with it tonight. Sorry.” I readjusted my purse strap to keep it from falling off of my shoulder and said, “You two stay and enjoy yourself.”

Bernie looked sympathetic. “You sure? We can go somewhere else if you want.” I sensed that while they would have left and gone elsewhere if I had agreed, they really didn’t want to. They really liked coming here where they weren’t judged for their relationship and they could just be themselves.

I waved my hand at him. “Nah. Stay, have fun, and I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Alright, honey.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. I gave Kyle a quick one-armed hug, then turned and headed for the back exit.

I picked my way through the crowd, some of which had overflowed out into the semi-fresh air of the alley to smoke. I edged around a huge guy in a leather jacket when I felt someone take hold of my arm. I was tugged out of the trajectory of a drunken woman in spandex and pulled off to the side. Jack was my savior, and I started to thank him when he interrupted me.

“Where are you going?” he asked. All I could see of his face in the streetlight now was his mouth and jaw, with the cherry of his cigarette glowing brightly.

“I’m going home.” A little white lie wouldn’t hurt just then, so I tried one out. “I’m getting tired.”

He crushed out his butt against the wall and simply said, “Bullshit. It’s only 10:30. You saw that guy again in there and you’re bailing out now.”

He slowly pushed himself off of the cinder blocks and took hold of my arm again. When he started pulling me back into the bar, I dug my heels in and said, “Wait a minute. What are you doing? I don’t want to go back in there.”

Jack shot an exasperated look back over his shoulder at me and drawled, “Too bad.” He dragged my protesting self the rest of the way inside, right up to the bar, where he told the bartender, “Two tequilas.”

I folded my arms across my chest and gave him my best glare, but I don’t think it intimidated him one bit. The bartender set the shots down in front of Jack, along with a saltshaker. “Give me your hand,” he ordered. When I stubbornly refused, he took hold of my wrist and pulled my hand out from under my elbow.

“Now, either you lick your hand, or I will,” he said. I stared at him, just daring him to do it and he did. He pulled my hand right up to his mouth and swiped his tongue out over my skin. And I just stood there stupidly and let him. I couldn’t believe he actually did it. I would have been incredibly turned on if I weren’t in a state of shock.

When my delayed reactions kicked back in and I tried getting my hand away from him, Jack frowned at me and said, “Quit wiggling,” then sprinkled salt on my hand.

He pushed my hand up to my face and said, “Lick the salt off.”

I made a face at him, which he ignored, but did as he said. He handed me the shot glass and lime next and proceeded to salt his own hand. “Knock it back now,” he ordered. I was getting annoyed with his attitude and opened my mouth to tell him so, but he interrupted me. Pointing at the glass, he said firmly, “Down the hatch.”

I gave him another dirty look, but complied. I shuddered as the tequila bit into my mouth, then chomped down into the lime and sucked the juice out of it. Definitely not my preferred sort of drink. I had always been a beer drinker because I didn’t like the feeling of shots as they burned their way down my esophagus. It was already spreading hotly through my throat and chest, feeling like napalm.

He took my pack of cigarettes out of the top of my opened purse, lit one for me, and handed it and the pack back to me. Silently I took them, then slid onto one of the bar stools. He took the one right next to me and lit his own cigarette. He sat there, saying nothing, just looking at me, and it was getting to me.

“Why are you doing this? I barely know you,” I muttered.

The bartender came over and cleared the shot glasses. Jack signaled for another round before he answered me. He slanted me a look and said, “You’re running away, Mary.”

“So what? I don’t exactly want to hang around and see them making out. It was bad enough coming home and seeing them fucking on my couch,” I said sourly. Yeah, so I was running away. I didn’t have a problem with that. She who ducks out and runs away lives to get revenge another day, or something like that.

The shots were set down in front of us again, but before he could grab my hand to salt me up again, I did it myself. I slammed the shot back and shook my head at the aftertaste. The lime didn’t help one bit. I looked him right in the eye and arched my brow, as if to say, “Satisfied now?”

Jack watched me and then nodded his head sharply. “Good. Now we’re going to dance.” And he proceeded to take me by the hand, made a side trip to Bernie and Kyle’s table to leave my purse there, and brought me right over to the dance floor. All I could do at that point was look back and shrug weakly at Bernie when he started cracking up. I can only imagine the kind of look I had on my face.

A slow Motown tune was playing when we got out there. I was still determined to give him a hard time and wasn’t going to cooperate with him if I could help it, which lasted all of five seconds. He sighed and pulled my stiff arms up around his neck, then settled his hands on my hips. I couldn’t help but shiver when he pulled me close against his body, and he felt it. He knew what he was doing, yes sir, he did. The tequila was used to loosen me up, and damn it, it was working. I felt myself start to drift away, anchored only by his hands as he slowly circled us around.

“Mary,” he said cajolingly. There was a warm look in his whiskey-colored eyes as he smiled lazily down at me. “Tuck away your fangs and dance nice with me nice now.” Of course he would have dimples. Let me see here – nice hands, nice body, nice smile, brilliant guitar player… Nope. I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against him.

I muttered, “Unfair use of dimples,” but I relaxed my body fully against his. Both he and the tequila were warming my blood. I could smell his scent, a combination of spice, shampoo, smoke and something else unidentifiable. I couldn’t help myself, really I couldn’t, when I lightly laid my cheek against his. I could feel him smile and he murmured, “That’s better now, isn’t it?”

This was really almost more than I could handle. I had a few glasses of beer before the tequila and I knew that I was dangerously close to the line where I was or was not going to be able to control myself. The attraction that I had felt for him since I first saw him had only built and built over the past week. And I hadn’t slept with anyone since I had dumped Eric. My mind had started to forget what a burning feeling arousal was like, but my body sure hadn’t.

The song ended and Jack pulled back to look down at me questioningly. “Had enough?” he asked. Somehow I knew he would have left me alone then if I insisted, but I couldn’t have stopped if the place was on fire.

All I could do was arch my brow at him again. “You poured the tequila down my throat, so now you have to take care of me. No, damn it, that came out wrong.” I swore under my breath. Jack laughed at the disgruntled look on my face and pulled me close again. The next song had started, so I buried my face in the crook of his neck and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. What else could I do?

With laughter in his voice, he whispered against my hair, “You don’t hate me anymore, do you?”

I shook my head slightly, and in a muffled voice, replied, “No.”

Jack began smoothing his fingers up and down my spine and I melted even more. He kept stroking my lower back and toying with the hem of my shirt. When he finally slid his fingers across my bare skin, I couldn’t suppress a little moan. His breathing jumped a little when he heard my noise. I was pleased – it seemed he wasn’t immune to the situation either.

I could hear the song ending when Jack tilted my chin up with one of his fingers. “Drink?” he whispered. His eyes really were beautiful. So was his mouth and I keenly wanted to have the experience of kissing him. I knew it wouldn’t be an ordinary old kiss, no way, not from him.

I nodded mutely. He interlaced his fingers with mine and led me from the dance floor. I saw Bernie, who gave me a thumbs up. Cheeky boy. Well, he had told me to take the guitar player home, right? I was just doing as I was told.

Jack brought us over to the bar, where we sat down on two empty stools. He ordered us two tappers and oh-so-casually reached out a hand to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. Oh, God, was I turned on by him and his damn fingers.

But I still couldn’t quite believe that I had let him push and pull me around like he did and I cocked my head at him. “You’re lucky I like you. There’s no way you would have gotten away with any of this otherwise.”

“Yeah, I thought you were going to slap me or kick me. That’s some death glare you have.” He had the decency to look chagrined, but then ruined it by smiling broadly. “But it worked, yeah? We’re having a good time.”

I nodded. He had to know what I was thinking, just from how I was reacting to him and his touch. Then again, I knew myself better than him, so maybe he had no idea of how he was affecting me. Was that possible?

“Jack,” I began. I was about to ask him if he wanted to get out of there, maybe go for a cup of coffee to sober up, but lo and behold, there was the bass player again, turning up just like a bad penny. He was beyond shit-faced and the drummer was there with him, trying to keep him upright.

Honestly, I didn’t know how the guy was still standing to begin with. I bet he would have blown a good .30 if he had been given a Breathalyzer just then. I was pretty good at guessing those blood alcohol contents. We usually bet on them at work whenever drunks came in to the ER. The one who picked closest to what the BAC actually was got whatever pocket change we all had on us at the time.

The drummer said, “Jack, we gotta get Dutch out of here. He just slapped some girl’s butt, and her boyfriend is looking to kill our inebriated friend here. If we want him to keep his fingers intact, we’ve gotta get him home.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Dutch, you have really poor timing, you know that?” Jack scraped his barstool back angrily and grabbed Dutch by the shoulder as he started to slump over.

I was really disappointed, but I tried to hide it. Friends were friends, and if someone was out for his blood, well, then they had better leave. Jack looked at me and I could see the frustration in his face. He didn’t want to leave any more than I wanted him to.

Before he could say anything, I said, “I know. It’s ok. Listen, I’ll get a cab home with Bernie and Kyle, so don’t worry about me,” I said. I wasn’t able to keep the disappointment out of my face any longer, so I had to turn my face away. I grabbed my beer and took a long swallow.

Jack told the drummer, Kevin, I think, “Take him outside and I’ll be right there.”

I heard the two shuffling off, then felt Jack’s hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Mary. Shit.” After swallowing hard, I felt able to look back at him. His eyes were hooded, darker than before, and he looked a little dangerous. I felt a somewhat bad for Dutch, because he was surely going to catch hell when he sobered up.

“Jack, it’s ok. Go take care of your friend before he gets killed,” I said. Jack moved closer to me and nudged my knees apart slightly so he could stand right in front of me. He put a hand behind my neck and lowered his head towards me. As his mouth was descending, he whispered, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

He nudged my chin up with his other hand and I felt an electric shock go through my body when he brushed his lips against mine, once, twice, then settled there. Jack opened his mouth slightly, coaxing me wordlessly to do the same. His tongue was smoky, velvety when he slowly rubbed it against mine and I made a little noise in my throat, which must have encouraged him. He deepened the kiss, sucking my tongue into his mouth and stroking it with his, nibbling on my bottom lip, feathering his fingers over my throat – basically driving any coherent thoughts I might have had right out of my head.

I really didn’t realize that a kiss could be so consuming until I heard some of the nearby patrons in the bar start whistling and clapping. Jack pressed his lips against mine one last time, then lifted up his head. It wasn’t until then did I notice that I had grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt to keep him in place. He had an arrogant smile on his face when he saw just how shaken I was. My face turned pink – it was one thing to do that kind of kissing in private, but quite another in a public place. But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I was absolutely right. He was a fantastic kisser.

Jack stepped back away from me and turned to go. “Get home safely, Mary,” he said with a wave.

I said softly, “Bye, Jack,” but I don’t think he heard me.

As soon as I could walk again, I went and found Bernie and Kyle. Bernie was opening his mouth to say something very naughty, to judge from the unholy gleam in his eye, so I held up my hand to silence him.

“Not a peep. Where’s my purse?” He was a little put out that I had stopped him, so I relented. Kyle set my purse on the table and I dug for my smokes. If there was any time in my life that I had so desperately wanted one, it was right then.

“Jack saw me leaving and ah, prevented me from going anywhere. We had a few drinks and danced a couple of times.” I could feel my cheeks redden again and Bernie pounced on it.

“What else, what else?” he begged. He was such a sucker for this sort of thing.

As if I didn’t care, as if it hadn’t affected me right down to my toes, as if my head weren’t still spinning, I shrugged my shoulders. “Then his friends found him and they had to leave. He kissed me before he left,” I said casually. My show didn’t fool him one bit though.

“Ahh,” he said smugly. “So that’s why you look like you just got some.”

I batted at his arm. “I didn’t get some. I got kissed. Big difference, Bernie.”

He inelegantly snorted in disbelief and said, “You should see yourself in the mirror, Mary.”

I decided to ignore him and got up out of the chair. Kyle and Bernie also stood up from the table; they must have been waiting for me. Each of them hooked an arm through one of mine and we headed for the front door. On the way out, I saw Eric and his pet still sitting at their table and I couldn’t help myself, I started laughing. Bernie asked me what was so funny and I told him honestly and with a little surprise, that I didn’t care about Eric and his homewrecking nurse. They deserved each other.

He patted my hand and said, “Right. He wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”