Page 22 of Love Expert

“Sit down,” she snarls. “Shut up. Behave. If you do not wish to conduct yourself appropriately, then take your chair and get the hell out.”

“I paid my hundred bucks.” I tug my seat in and ignore Alana completely. “What the hell is wrong with you, anyway? Are you always this pissy, or do you save your moods especially for me?”

“It seems you bring it out in me. Do you leave your son at home often just so you can fraternize with fifty women in one evening?”

“About as often as you leave your stuffed cat at home so you can fraternize with fifty men. What’s your problem anyway, Magnolia?”

“Mine?” Furious, she leans closer. “Mine?! I was trying to be nice to you today. I said hello and didn’t even call you a jackass, you jackass. Why even come tonight if you didn’t intend to get into the spirit of the evening?”

“It’s hard to get into the spirit when half my dates are my friends’ wives, sisters, cousins, or criminals, and it’sespeciallytricky when more than one of those labels applies to the same person. I dunno, Magnolia, enjoying myself gets a little complex when the other half of my dates break out in tears the second I sit down in front of them.”

“If they cry when you sit, that’s probably an opportunity for a little self-reflection, don’t you think?” She points to an amused Tommy. “My dates don’t cry when they sit with me.”

“Give it time,” I snarl. “Next bell has me sitting there. I might let my dainty little tears flow just for you.”

“You’re a jackass,” she hisses.

The buzzer sounds amid grumbles and excitement. Some folks want to move, and some don’t. But when Tommy jumps up like his ass is on fire and shuffles along, I’m left staring at my next stop.

Move, Jackass!

“Fuck’s sake.” I spare a last glance for the happily married Alana Watkins, then I grudgingly rise to my feet and follow the damn rules. Imove to the right, lower with a grunt, and snag a fresh beer from a passing server.

Popping the cap so that fucker pings six feet to the left, I meet Maggie’s fiery glare and buy myself a little time by taking a sip.

She looks ready to snap my neck.

“Hi, Magnolia.” I flash an arrogant smirk and effectively sign my own death certificate. “My name is Billy. I’m a dad, I’m a cop, I’m not a virgin anymore, and I guess I wasn’t in line the day they were handing out six-foot-long sticks and jamming them right up there in the dark side of our asses… unlike you.”

Tommy hisses, snickering and lowering into his seat.

“Hi Wilbert. I’m Magnolia.” She firms her sneering lips. “I don’t mind when people use my real name. I don’t have children, but I want a dozen someday. I’m not a virgin either, and that stick you think is so far up my ass?” She shakes her head. “That’s not a stick at all. It’s called standards, and every time you come within twenty feet of me, everything kinda puckers up, and my brain screamsrun away, Maggie! He’s weird and has cooties.”

“You got cooties,” Tommy giggles. “Wilbert’s got boy germs.”

I slam my fist against his shoulder and knock him halfway out of his seat. “Shut up with that Wilbert shit.” Bringing my gaze back to Maggie, I glare. “I’m finding it difficult to accept that sweet little girl I knew in second grade is…” I wrinkle my nose. “You. Always considered you one of the smart ones.”

“You were right. I am smart. That’s why my subconscious insists I hit you with my car.”

Alana chokes on her drink, swiping the dribbled droplets from her chin.

“Intelligent people don’t becomelove experts. That’s a made-up job for folks who have no other prospects.”

“Hey, now.” Fox pipes up from a half-dozen seats along our row. “Mineis a job made up by someone who had no other prospects. Firstly, the fact that I could sell milk to a dairy farmer makes me quite brilliant, and secondly, that made-up jobstillpays enough to supply my man with Captain Underpants books and ravioli. Chill, dill pickle.”

“I know about your wife.”

Maggie’s voice softens. It crackles. It fucking sucks the oxygen out of the room as I slowly bring my gaze back to hers.

“What?”

“I know,” she murmurs. “So then I felt like a giant asshole for thethings I said about your divorce. I promised myself I wouldn’t argue with you anymore. That I wouldn’t let you goad me, and if I wasextralucky, I could even finagle a neutral greeting from the cop next door on his way out of the driveway. I was going to be nice, Billy!”

“Don’t let my dead wife stop you from being you, Magnolia.” Fuck her. Fuck pity censorship. And fuck my friends, too, whose eyes snap back to their own dates, their smiles wiped clear now that Aria’s back in the room with us.Again. “You wanted to fight with me before,” I grit out. “I’d hate to find out you’re going easy on me because you felt bad about my marital woes.”

“Iwantto be nice to you.” She slowly pushes her chair back, her hands firmly gripping the chair frame, and her long—fuck, it’s pretty—silky brown hair falling forward. Silence hangs for a beat, despite the buzzing conversation of a hundred people inside one room, but then she brings golden eyes up and stops on mine.

You’re pretty, and it pisses me off.