“You were worried?” he prompts quietly, and my nostrils flare. Of course he would focus on that part of my tirade.
“No,” I lie. “And even if I was, that is not the point, Maxim.”
“Right.” It sounds like he’s smiling. “I would have called you, but you changed your number and didn’t give me your new one. I asked Gene to stop by your place and get it for me, and he called to let me know there was a man holding you in your doorway.”
“You’re a snitch.” I look up at Gene and glare, which seems to have zero effect on him at all, and Maxim’s laughter fills the air. “This is not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” July mumbles behind me, and I turn my glare on her, watching her shrug.
“I’ll let you get back to your company.”
“That’s it?” I ask in disbelief.
“Give Gene your number.”
“Seriously?”
“I miss you, your pussy, and the taste of you first thing in the morning,” he rumbles, and my nipples tighten along with my core, while either July or May whispers “Oh my” behind me. “I’ll talk to you later, baby. Be good.” He hangs up before I can even reply. My cheeks warm as I look up at Gene, noticing that up close he is seriously hot but also seriously scary, which is saying something, because men normally do not scare me.
“Before you hand that back to me, plug in your number,” Gene orders, and I want to say no, but I do not think that would be wise. Once I type in my new phone number, I hand him his phone back, and he dips his chin ever so slightly. “Have a good evening.”
“You too.” I watch him walk off, then turn to go back into the house and ignore the looks everyone is giving me.
“I think it’s safe to say you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Maxim,” Matt says as I stomp up the steps ahead of the group.
“I think he might be as crazy as Wes.” July laughs, and I bite the inside of my cheek, because I’m thinking she might be right about that. I reach the kitchen and pick up my wine, taking a large sip.
“I still can’t believe you had to change your number after Cohen spoke about you on the radio,” Matt says, taking some cheese and crackers off the board. “Did he really think that move would have you running back to him?”
“I think that move would have won most women back,” July proclaims, then adds, “Our mom, who didn’t even like him, was swooning after she listened to him talk about how April was the woman who got away and the one he would do anything to win back.”
“He’s such a jerk,” May mutters, and I give her a look of agreement. Out of everyone here, she’s probably the only one who really knows about everything I went through with Cohen. About all the times he promised to change, promised he would make us a priority. About all the times he said he would slow down on the drinking and partying, stop hanging out with the band and all the groupies all the time.
I always felt like I was going crazy when I was with him. That’s how he made me feel—crazy. It was never him doing anything wrong; it was always me overreacting or being the jealous girlfriend. I hated feeling like that, feeling like I was just insecure, when the reality is he never did anything to make me feel differently.
Shaking off those thoughts, I go to the stove and lift the lid on the sauce for the chicken piccata I’m making for dinner.
“I think you should get a dog.” At that random statement from July, I turn and look over my shoulder.
“I’m not getting a dog.”
“Why not? You love animals, and this place needs another living being in it besides you.” She looks around. “Don’t you get lonely?” I want to tell her that I had never been really lonely before Maxim invaded my life, then left, but I don’t.
“I do not want the responsibility of a dog.”
“What about a cat, then? Yesterday, someone dropped off a cute little black kitten with green eyes. He’s really sweet.”
“No, no animals.” I shake my head and turn up the heat for the sauce, then check the potatoes that are now soft and ready to be drained and mashed.
“He’s healthy.” She keeps at it, which doesn’t surprise me. As a vet, she sees more than most and knows what can happen if you can’t find an animal a safe home.
“I want to travel. If I have an animal, I won’t be able to just get up and go whenever the mood strikes.”
“I’ll watch him for you,” Matt, the big softy, tells me as I grab a strainer for the potatoes. “I’m sure that Gus and Chuck wouldn’t mind some company every now and then.” He’s referring to his two miniature poodles who are going on about a hundred in dog years.