A firm believer in "Exes can be friends," Chassie Lewis has proven everyone thinking otherwise wrong. For almost four years now, she's been happily divorced from her ex-husband, Nathaniel Forester. The sparks had flown and crashed between them a lon...
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Chassie George
I guess I'm meant to have that catastrophe of a date the other night. Had I not gone through that godawful date, I wouldn't be at a newly opened art gallery with Kathie. Ethan is with Nathan's parents who just came home from a week-long vacation.
My sister figured a detour around town can take my mind off that terrible night. I hardly thought about Adam Roswell, but I still thought it was a better way to spend the day.
I still have my hand just a tad swollen, although not that visibly disturbing. Kathie freaked out when she saw I injured my hand, our mother fret over it and threatens to take necessary measures with regards to Adam Roswell's behavior – or in his case attitude. If we're talking about my mother taking measures from a decade back, it meant telling his parents.
"Bunny, does it still hurt?" Kathie nudges my arm.
"No. My pride still does," I say.
"Well, I hope he gets nightmares for the rest of his life."
I chuckled. "Nightmares of me strangling him to death."
"No. I think I prefer the one where he poops his pants as a grownup."
I turn to her. "In public?"
"In public." She nods slowly.
We exchanged meaningful looks, then burst out laughing.
"Oh, God. I would pay a crapton of money just to see the look on his face." I dab the corners of my eyes with my fingers when they watered a little from the laughter.
Kathie covers her mouth with the back of her hand to muffle the sound. "I'm right with you."
I cleared my throat, noticing the turned heads responding to the small commotion Kathie and I were making. She swathes a protective arm over my shoulders. "Are really feeling better now?"
I lifted a shoulder. "I was never 'not' feeling better."
"You know what I mean. Adam Roswell is a colossal jerk."
I turn to the painting we've been staring at for ten minutes straight. "Yep. I know I said I've forgotten about last night, but it'll be hypocritical if I tell you I don't remember it all."
She swivels me all the way to her. "Okay, talk."
"It's nothing important."
Her palms pressed on both my cheeks to keep me from retreating. "I don't care. Everything you think and say is important to me."
I sighed. "You're not letting this go?"
Her warm eyes twinkled. "Nope."
"Okay." I plucked another sigh. "Last night was terrible, yes. He told me things that are really offensive, but I can deal with it. I know he's an idiot. He did call me a leftover," I snorted, "which is the other way around. I'm freaking awesome," I quipped.
