Page 48 of The Woman By the Lake

When I poured it through the strainer (thank you, Misted Pines postman and Williams Sonoma online store) and handed it to him, I watched in stunned silence as he downed it in one.

He then handed the glass to back to me.

“Again?” I asked with no small amount of surprise.

“Yup,” he answered.

I used the same ice and set him up again.

That time, he just took a sip.

When he was done, he set the glass to the counter, his fingers still to the stem, and said, “Fuck, Nadia, should have known Bubbles being a mostly fuckup would catch up with him.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

“Nothing to say,” he replied.

“You wanna hang for a while?” I offered.

“Am I gonna drink alone?” he asked.

“I’ll be there with you, but I’m not imbibing tonight. Until our spat and your peace offering, I was wallowing, and a lot of that was accompanied by a bottle of wine, so I need a break.”

“Hear you.” He cocked his head. “Outside?”

I nodded mine.

He nabbed his glass and led, I followed, and we resumed the positions we had last night, with our feet up on the coffee table.

I liked sitting there with him, but it wasn’t as nice as last night, when there seemed a promise that it would go somewhere different, a promise I knew now wasn’t going to lead to fruition.

It still felt good.

He took another sip of his martini, and I watched, noting that the glass truly wasn’t him at all, but it was still appealing, watching him drink from it.

Who was I kidding?

Nearly everything about Riggs was appealing. Yes, Lord help me, even when he was being a dick.

He turned his head, caught my eyes and stated, “Angelica.”

“What?”

“Ledger’s mom.”

It seemed he didn’t want to talk about this Bubbles person anymore, and I understood why.

Anyway, I was interested in Angelica because I was interested in Riggs.

Dang.

“Right. Angelica. Talk to me,” I prompted.

I felt relief when his lips twitched with genuine amusement at my words, then he looked to the lake and said, “Actually met her at The Hole. One-night stand that came back about six weeks later telling me she was pregnant, and she wanted to keep it. Apparently, the condom broke.”

The way he said the last four words held more meaning, so I murmured, “Oh boy.”

He looked to me. “Yeah. I was flipped out. I had no intention of becoming a dad, definitely not a baby daddy. I was twenty-nine years old and not a domesticated guy.”

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