Chose the Wrong Guy, Gave Him the Wrong Finger by Beth Harbison

Author:Beth Harbison
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Fiction, Contemporary, Contemporary Women
ISBN: 9781250031907
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2013-07-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“This was a complete waste of money.” I put ten lottery tickets in the drawer under the cash register. It was Buy Ten Lottery Tickets! Day, which Glenn had considered soft after Go Commando Day and Speed Dating Night, but he was right, I never bought lottery tickets. They were always a waste of money, but never more than on a day like this. “Money I can’t afford to lose right now, by the way.”

“Then there’s no gentle way to bring this up.” He took out a copy of Washingtonian and opened it to a page he’d marked. Society weddings. Markham-Beasley.

“So what?” I asked, too sharply, I knew.

“Look what it says.” He pointed. “The bride wore an Augusta Jones original.…”

I looked at the picture. “That is not an Augusta Jones! For one thing, Elizabeth Markham was in here a few months ago pricing gowns and she thought I was too expensive.”

“That’s because you work for more than six bucks an hour,” Glenn said, then nodded toward the front window.

“No!” The Sneaky Seamstress struck again?

“Taney,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Well, shit” was all I could say. “One more thing to worry about.”

“Honey, I think your livelihood should be the main thing you’re worried about. Forget the boys, that stuff will work itself out if you give it a little time.”

I doubted that. It had been ten years and apparently it hadn’t worked itself out so far. “I am so completely filled with horrible black energy right now, there is no way I could win anything. Except maybe a bet that not one of the numbers on these ten tickets will come up. Not one.” I raised an eyebrow. “Care to wager?”

Glenn put his hands up, the sign of surrender. “No way, sista. I’m not taking you on right now.”

“Wise,” I said, and shut the drawer. “Very wise.” I sat down and sank my head into my hands. “Oh, my god, he was married!”

“So?”

I had been all ready to dissolve into self-pitying tears, so this answer wasn’t exactly what I was going for. “What do you mean, so?”

“What was he supposed to do? Sit around and mourn over you forever?”

“That”—I jabbed a finger in Glenn’s direction—“would have been excellent.”

“When was the last time you got laid?”

I looked at him blankly. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“It’s been months, right?”

“I have a perfectly healthy sex life.”

“Maybe I’m not remembering this right,” he said, in a way that suggested he was about to reenact something I’d done or said with such crystal clarity that I wasn’t going to be sure if he was him or me, “but I believe you had a very hot relationship with a certain Arlington bank president for several months earlier this year.”

“It was very casual.”

“If you do that kind of thing casually…”

“Good grief, Glenn, what are you getting at?”

“I’m just wondering if you were thinking about Burke while you were doing that.”

“Probably not.”

“So you actually”—he gestured like he was searching for the words—“went on with your life.”

“Okay, okay, yes, I get your point.

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