Page 96 of The Holy Grail
Handing them to him, she asked, “What are you going to do with these?”
“They’re going in a sausage and shrimp cioppino,” he replied.
“Hmm, that sounds delicious.”
“It is. You’re going to love it.”
“I’m sure I will, especially after you tell me what a cioppino is.”
He grinned at her. “It’s an Italian American stew.”
“Then why not just call it a stew, instead of being pretentious?”
He took the insult in stride. “Because a cioppino is specifically made with seafood, tomatoes, and wine.”
“Ooh, wine,” she said. “I’m sure Iwilllove it, then.”
He pulled her in for a kiss, uncaring of the people around them. “I hope so.”
Jules felt that same prickling sensation on the back of her neck, and after Malcom released her, she turned to check out the shoppers again. This time, her gaze met a pair of chocolate-brown eyes, which were filled with a combination of shock and disbelief, with a touch ofThis really fucking sucks big, hairy balls.
She hadn’t seen Evan since the bar meeting several weeks ago, and the unexpected sighting was like a quick sucker punch to the face. As they stared at one another, she couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in jeans and a T-shirt … a Pink Floyd T-shirt identical to the one she’d picked out for Malcom on their shopping expedition, which he also happened to be wearing that day. Weirdly, it was the matching shirts which had Jules hoping Evan would simply turn and walk away, and for a moment, he seemed to read her mind and actuallydidturn away. Her relief was short-lived, however, when he pivoted back around and began to make his way toward her and Malcom, with purpose.
“Oh, shit,” she murmured.
“What’s wrong?” Malcom asked.
Instead of directly answering him, Jules said, “Let me handle this.”
“Handle what?”
Evan had come to a stop a few feet away, his expression having settled onThis really fucking sucks big, hairy balls.
Malcom stiffened, and she attributed his reaction to the fact that a man (an obviously upset one at that) was now directly in their path, blocking their way.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” Evan said to Jules, foregoing any attempt at a polite greeting.
“Evan—”
“That’s the guy you’re seeing?” he asked, with a sharp head tilt toward Malcom. “Really?”
She stared at him, her chest tight as she saw the extent of his pain at seeing her with another man. She hadn’t wanted the introduction to play out like this—or so soon—but apparently it was going to. “Yes,” she told him softly, as if a gentle tone was going to make the news any easier to hear. “Thisis—”
He cut her off with a raised hand. “Thanks, but I don’t need an introduction,” he said, his mouth pressing into a flat line as his gaze drifted over to Malcom once again, this time with grim resignation.
A heaviness seemed to hang in the air between the three of them, and Jules could only stand there like a frozen statue, with Malcom equally stiff beside her. Then, with a slight shake of his head, Evan muttered, “This is just fuckingperfect,” before abruptly stepping around them and walking away, without looking back.
Jules’ heart was pounding at the awkward and emotional encounter, which, although very short, had sucked the life out of her, leaving her feeling … bereft.
“I’m sorry about that,” she told Malcom, who appeared a little shell-shocked himself.
“Is he ... a friend of yours?”
“Yes. I met him on Paige’s birthday two years ago,” she answered. “He’s also David’s best friend—the one I told you about when we were clothes shopping.”
Malcom thought back to that night in the dressing room at Macy’s and tried to recall what she’d said. “The bisexual friend?”
“Yes.”
