“You’re clearly drunk.”
“I’m not!” She fumbles with her purse, pulling out her phone.
Which drips with wine.
Amanda lets out a low whistle.
“Who poured wine in my purse?”
I look back covertly toward the window of the restaurant, where Terry turns away, his shoulders shaking.
Amanda squeezes my arm. I can’t get the looping image of her and Jessica kissing out of my head. I’m trying.
Really. I am.
Not too hard, but...
Five minutes later, Jessica has stormed off, released by the cop, and Amanda’s moved her car to an open metered spot in front of the restaurant. I’m avoiding being anywhere near the Turdmobile. It’s one thing to make a scene.
Quite another to be publicly humiliated.
Add the Turdmobile, and you might as well give up.
“What the hell was that? You kissed Jessica?”
“It was her or Terry, and I figured you’d punch Terry. Kissing Jessica was strategic. Now you have a fantasy come to life.” She winks.
“That’s not my fantasy.”
“Every guy fantasizes about being with two hot women who are all over each other.”
“But not you and Jessica.”
Her eyebrows go up. Damn.
The cop reappears and Amanda goes up to him, arms open, and embraces him with a huge hug.
I didn’t think I could be shocked more today, but she surprises me.
“Hey Al, thanks.”
Al. Why does that name ring a bell?
“Let me introduce you two,” Amanda starts.
“You know each other?”
The cop laughs, his face lighting up. He looks ten years younger when he smiles. “You could say that. Me and Amanda go way back. She called me when she realized your ex-girlfriend had gone nutso on you. Didn’t mention it was Jessica Coffin! That was a nice twist. She skewered us when we did the Brony dance for local kids with special needs. Could have really given that event a boost, but instead she poisoned it.” He makes a face.
Al.
Al—
“Al Barkin?” My voice goes up and down like a puberty rollercoaster.
Amanda turns bright red.
The guy standing in front of me, balding and in uniform, an actual gun on his hip, is the man who took Amanda’s virginity on prom night.
“Yeah.” He looks at Amanda with a questioning look. “How’d you know?”
“Amanda and I have been together a long time,” I say, trying to recover, wrapping my arm around her. “The name rang a bell.”
A twelve-foot gong.
“We had some good times back in high school, didn’t we, Mandy?” He reaches for her hand and uncuffs the metal handcuff on there, sliding it back on his belt.
Her smile to him is so genuine, I see the seventeen year old in her.
His smile back makes me want to rip off his balls and stuff them down the nearest Brony’s throat.
My phone buzzes. I reach into my pocket and read a text from Terry.
Gotta go walk Mr. Wiffles. Have fun!
Al’s walkie-talkie crackles with some numbers.
“See ya,” he says curtly, jogging off to his squad car.
Leaving me alone with—
“Mandy.” I look down at her, wondering what the hell she just orchestrated to make that sequence of events unfold without anyone ending up in handcuffs or jail.
“Andy.”
I bristle.
Her laughter blends with the sound of a church’s clock, the peals mingling with music, until I have to join in, too.
“As lovely as this accidental meeting is,” she says, “I’m late for a meeting with Greg.”
A kiss. A deeper kiss. A promise to explain later.
She’s gone.
And then I realize that I still don’t know why Terry left Anterdec.
Damn it.
Chapter Thirteen
Unlike the morning after Shannon and Declan’s wedding, this time I’m waking up with my face between Amanda’s thighs and the only person shouting at me is her.
It’s a good kind of shout. The best kind.
The kind only I can elicit.
She arrived late last night, and before we could talk about the craziness at the Turkish restaurant that afternoon, we were in each other’s arms, then bed, then out cold, tired and spooned, curled against each other in sleep as if we made each other into a fortress.
And now we have our morning spread out for us.
At least, she’s spread out.
She has this sound she makes when she’s about to come. We all do. Everyone has a sex tell. If you think you don’t, you’re wrong. Amanda’s tell transmits a signal to my brain that says Congratulations.
Achievement unlocked.
Except it’s not the achievement you think. Not a sex goal. Those are easy. Anyone can do that with the right skill and enough alcohol.
This is love. Complete release and abandon with someone you trust so deeply, you take the leap of faith that they’ll catch you.
You can only catch the tell if you have that kind of love.
“Andrew,” she says in a voice reserved for when we’re between the sheets. “Andrew.” Her hand is threaded in my hair and as I rise up, I taste the silky smoothness of her skin, which unfolds before me like a perfect, lush valley, hills and curves, rolling sweetness and a place of discovery. No woman captivates me like Amanda, and when our eyes meet and I slip into her, the way her head tips back and her throat begs for a kiss makes me offer up my tell.
It’s the sound of gratitude. I’m not grateful for sex. I’m grateful for having her.
The balcony doors are open and a massive breeze pushes the curtains in, the sound of billowing fabric catching my ears as the rush of ocean air chills my back. The sunlight in the room dims suddenly, making the room surreal, as if we’re in the eye of a storm and chaos is about to be unleashed.