Page 18 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
One step in front of the other.
I pull the door open and step into the hall.
Right into the chest of Pax Baldwin.
“Hey, Tabs,” he says in that sexy pseudo drawl of his.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
4
Pax
I grab Tabatha by the waist to make sure she doesn’t fall back. Her hands come to my chest to steady herself with her elbows tucked in between us. I hear the sharp intake of breath and for a brief moment, I like having her in my embrace.
And then she ruins it.
“Get your hands off me.”
“Just keepin’ you upright, Tabs,” I say, but don’t move my hands.
“Don’t call me that,” she hisses. She hasn’t moved her hands either. Her palms slightly curved to form over my pecs. I flex one.
She arches an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
“Did it?”
“You’re old news for me, Pax, so I’m afraid not.”
She still hasn’t moved her hands.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, I’m very happy.” She doesn’t sound happy. I know what Tabatha Seton sounds like when she’s happy, and this isn’t it. This is a watered-down version of happy, but I’m willing to play along.
“That’s all I ever wanted for you, baby,” I say, watching her face soften before turning hard once again.
“Yes, well, it’s not hard to top what you had to offer, the bar was low.”
“Ouch, Tabs. That hurts.”
“The truth has a tendency to do that.”
“What’s the poor sap’s name again? Hugh? Howie?”
“His name is Hunter.” She sighs. “Hunter Simpcox.”
“Right,” I say. “Simpcox. You know, if I wasn’t such a nice guy, Tabs, there’s a lot I could do with that last name. Simplecox. Limpcox. Pimplecox.”
“Are you through?” She looks up at me through her lashes, after rolling her eyes excessively. Her expression couldn’t be more exasperated.
“Baby, I’m just getting started. Smallpox. Smallcock. Simpering—”
“Please stop. Your words are beneath even you.”
I open my mouth to tell her my words can’t be beneath me if I’m saying them, but I close it again. We are getting along somewhat okay right this second and I kind of don’t want to blow that. Or at least I don’t want to blow it much—because I’m going to keep pretending I didn’t cyber-stalk the fuck out of the guy when I heard the news—to make sure he wasn’t better than me.
He’s not.
