Page 80 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
I snatch my hand from hers. “If I told him, he’d screw me over just like he did the first time, Darcy!”
She sighs, downs the dregs of her Gibson and then says, “Honey, if every man had to pay a fine for all the stupid shit he did in high school, not a single one of them would have a cent left.”
“Really? What’s your excuse for the lie he recently told me about his girlfriend who offed herself?”
She scoffs, “Oh, please, I hardly think you’re in any position to get pissed off when someone else tells a whopper! The poor bastard was probably just trying to get laid!”
I practically shout, “By saying his girlfriend killed herself?”
She says reasonably, “You’re a tough nut to crack. Maybe he thought pity was the way to get a bite of your cookie.” She smiles. “Obviously he was right.”
I glare at her. “I can’t believe you. And by the way, you rated Xengu an A-friggin’-plus even after the funky truffles, and knowing Parker’s my arch-nemesis? What the hell?”
In a highly uncharacteristic move, Darcy lowers her lashes demurely and starts to hem and haw. “Er, um, well, it was a lovely meal. And the ambiance was…amazing.” She peeks up at me, finds me staring at her with a frown, and quickly looks back at the table again. “I mean, everything except the truffles was top-notch, V: the service, the chef, the décor, the food, the music, the chef—”
“Oh. My. God!”
Startled by my tone—and also probably by the way I’ve just slapped my open palm against the table—Darcy looks up at me with wide eyes. “What?”
“You’ve got a thing for Parker’s crazy German chef, don’t you?”
Her expression is classic puppy-dog-chewed-my-new-shoes guilty. “Um…no?”
I gasp, outraged. “Don’t you dare lie to me!”
For a few silent seconds, we stare at each other. Then, at the same time, we burst into laughter.
I laugh so long and hard, tears stream down my cheeks. Darcy covers her face with her hands, her whole body shaking. She falls sideways against the glass wall separating us from fifty-four stories of air. The whole thing shudders. We hoot and snort and guffaw until we’re finally both worn out, clutching our sides, our faces aching.
Finally, dabbing her eyes with her napkin, she says, “That was priceless.”
“Almost as priceless as you and Kai as a couple.”
With a straight face, she says, “He’s too sane for me, isn’t he?” and the two of us break out into laughter all over again.
The waiter, obviously worried that we’re drunk and disorderly, deposits the check we haven’t asked for on our table and then scurries away. We split the check and rise to go.
“Hey,” says Darcy, “I have a fabulous idea!”
“What’s that?”
“We can double date!”
“Say something like that again and I’ll strangle you with your own wig.”
“Oh, c’mon! It’ll be fun! I can watch all the carnage up close!”
On our way out the door, I say, “I take it this means I’m not getting that curse.”
Darcy chuckles and link
s her arm through mine. “I think you’re cursing Parker Maxwell just fine on your own, Miss Thing.”
That remains to be seen.
I take out my phone and send the accursed a text.
* * *
