Page 90 of Positively Pricked
I gave Paisley an irritated look. "Oh, stop it. You own your own chopsticks."
"So?" she said. "That doesn't prove anything." Her voice became shrill. "You think you're an expert on me? Well, you're not. So stop pretending that you are!"
She leaned around me to glare at the professor. "Iknewthere was someone else."
Under my breath, I said, "Yeah, his wife."
In unison, Paisley and the professor said, "Ex-wife."
Well, at least they agreed onsomething. Probably, these two deserved each other. Regardless, I wanted no part of it.
Once again, I glanced at the door that I was still holding. Probably, I should let it smackmein the face, if only to put me out of my misery.
I looked back to Paisley and said, "Honestly, I don't even like him."
"You do, too," she insisted. "I see the way you look at him."
"Oh, please," I said. "I don't even know his name."
Behind me, the professor said, "You do, too."
I turned to tell him, "I do not."
"Oh come on," he said, looking decidedly disgruntled. "It's Fergus."
Huh. Weird.I definitely would've rememberedthat.
The professor pointed to the flowers. "It's on the card."
I looked down. Attached to the arrangement was a little red envelope with no name on the front. In my haste to get rid of the guy, I hadn't even opened it.
In a flash, Paisley reached out and snatched the envelope away. She ripped it open and pulled out a small pink card. She let the envelope flutter to the floor as she pulled the card closer to read it.
When she finished, she gave a little gasp. She looked up and yelled, "You pig!"
At me.
Not at him.
What the hell?
My heart was racing, and my stomach was in knots. This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Fearing the worst, I looked to Carla.
Sure enough, she was already reaching for the phone. When she saw me looking, she said, "I'm calling security."
"No!" I blurted out.
She froze in mid-motion. "No?"
"Everything's fine," I told her. "I'll handle it."
Behind me, Paisley yelled, "Oh yeah? Just like you handle his cock?"
I almost shuddered. The guy wassonot my type. I turned to tell her, "I haven't even touched him. And I don't want to. So just give it up."
"Givehimup, you mean?" Her voice broke. "Well, I'm not gonna. Soyougive him up."
"Fine," I said. "Whatever. But youreallyneed to go."
