Well Hung Page 38
“So this is it,” she says, and her voice is feathery.
I nod, shifting back and forth on the balls of my feet. “This is it.”
I swallow, and my throat is dry. Parched even. I lick my lips. She parts hers slightly, and I’m pretty damn sure neither one of us is buzzed this time. We hardly drank tonight, but even so, we seem to sway closer. Maybe there’s just an invisible pull between us, tugging us nearer to each other. We’re on her sidewalk, outside her apartment, and yet I’m only truly aware of her. How the breeze blows a few soft blond strands by her face. How she clasps her hands together, as if she’s trying to figure out what to do with them. How her breath ghosts over her lips.
Neither one of us makes a move.
Then, she hugs me. “I’m really glad we spent time together tonight,” she whispers, her mouth near my ear. A shiver moves through me.
“Me, too,” I say softly, but I don’t let go. It feels too good to have her in my arms. Instead, I hold her tighter. I breathe her in. I might even clasp her more closely, and she lets me. She snuggles into me, and right here, it feels like we’re damn ready to let that genie fly all the way free tonight.
A car honks. My cue to pull away. We say good-bye, and I tell myself tomorrow it’ll get easier to be near her.
But tomorrow morning, things get way more complicated.
21
I dig my thumbs and forefingers into the corners of my eyelids. If I can press hard enough, perhaps what the woman on the other end of the phone is telling me will change. But no matter how many times I ask if she’s sure, the three things she says remain the same: the Las Vegas courthouse has no record of our annulment. Easy Out Divorce never filed it. Easy Out Divorce closed up shop and took our money.
“But you should be sure to call the credit card company and get your $799 back,” the helpful lady suggests, as if it’s the money I care about.
“Great. I’ll need it for another annulment,” I say then slam the receiver down. Benefit of office phones? You can still get angry with them in a way you can’t with cells. Awesome.
When I turn around, Natalie is standing in the doorway. Her eyes are wide with worry. “What did you just say?” Each word is stilted.
“They never filed. We were scammed.” I sink into the dingy office chair, dragging a hand through my hair.
She grips the doorframe. “What do we do next?”
“I really don’t know,” I say, tension thick in my veins because everything had been going well again, and now it turns out what happened in Vegas didn’t fucking stay in Vegas. It followed us. This marriage is like an infection that won’t go away. Looks like my streak continues.
Her eyes swing toward the wall clock. “You better go, Wyatt. You don’t want to be late for the job. Let’s grab the cabinet doors and get you out of here. I’ll take care of this today. I promise. I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay,” I say with a sigh, and I’m glad she’s on top of the work schedule because I already forgot where I was headed this morning.
She helps me gather the wood materials I need, hands them to me, then grabs my tool belt from the chair where I left it last night. Her eyes register that my hands are full, and before I even know it, hers are around my hips and she’s buckling the tool belt in place.
“There,” she declares then walks me to the truck in the parking garage I use next to our office.
“Hector’s coming today to help you out. Just focus on work. Seriously, I’ve got this,” she says, wrapping her soft hand around my arm like the Frisky Mittens she is. I blink away the thought. Can’t think of her like that.
She hands me something wrapped in brown paper.
“What’s this?”
“Just a way of saying thanks for last night. I made you a sandwich for your lunch. Extra sriracha. And an Oreo is in there, too. Your favorite,” she says, with a sweet little smile, a gesture that tells me she wants me to like this.
I do like it. “Thank you,” I say, and as I get into the truck and drive off, it hits me how wifely that whole exchange was. Fastening the tool belt. Seeing me to the vehicle. Handing me a lunch she made.
Just like she’s Mrs. Hammer.
And she is.
But as I click on the blinker to turn onto 10th Avenue, an idea lands in my head out of nowhere. She’s never made me a sandwich before. What if she spread arsenic in the sriracha? What if this is all her secret ploy as Mrs. Hammer to take over my business? She’s the one who tracked down the annulment company. What if she knew it was a bogus service? What if she’s tricking me so she can have everything of mine when I’m sleeping with the fishes thanks to this sandwich?
A cab slams its horn, blaring in my ears, and I slam on the brakes.
Holy shit. I nearly ran a red light. My pulse skitters out of control as I wait at the intersection.
Get it together, Hammer. No one is trying to kill you. You’re being paranoid. You need to chill out.
I take several deep breaths, clear my mind, and focus on driving. After I park and head to the client’s building, I toss the sandwich in the trash can on the corner.
Better safe than six feet under.
A few minutes later, from the fourth-floor window of today’s job, I spot a homeless dude rooting around in the trash can, grabbing it.
Great. Now his dirt nap will be on my hands.
Natalie: What do I do now???
Charlotte: I called a friend who’s a lawyer. She walked me through it. It’s honestly not a big deal. There are basically two routes. The first is you could go redo the paperwork for Nevada and file by mail, but there’s a chance a judge might want to see you in person for a hearing.