I give him an icy glare.
“Sorry. Yes, Amanda. Please. I want to know. I'm dying to know,” he begs with more enthusiasm this time.
“Because,” I say. “You're just like everyone else. I can’t believe I fell for the witty banter and tan abs. I mean, I should have noticed just by the way you dress you have nothing going on in the heart department. But no, I wasn’t smart. I even told myself not to be drawn like a moth to the flame, but what do I do? I just fall anyways. I fall into the Mr. December trap just like everyone else. I can’t believe I bought a calendar.” And then I stop talking, hoping that in my ranting and raving he hadn’t caught the last part. Except by the look on his face, I can tell that he very much has.
“The calendar, huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, well, my how the tables have turned. You bought a calendar, did you?” he says leaning toward my face.
“It was for charity,” I say.
“For your own personal charity,” he snaps back.
“What's that supposed to mean?” I yell.
“It wasn’t for charity, Amanda. Admit it.”
“No.”
“Amanda?” His voice is now low, making me dizzy. I hate it when he gets this close to me; it makes it hard for me to think straight.
“I won’t admit anything to you. I’m a grown woman, free to do as I please. Call Ashlyn and leave me alone.”
“Fine,” he says tightly. He pulls out his phone. “Put Ashlyn on. Don’t ask questions, just do it.”
I hear a long pause, then Preston talks in the most patronizing voice I have ever heard. “Hey, baby! How are you doing, little thing? Did you miss your daddy this week? Did you? Oh that’s a good girl, yeah!”
I think I’m going to be sick. I’m staring at him wide-eyed like he’s just swallowed a child whole. Is he really talking to his ex-wife like that? No wonder she left him. Wow, no question about it. His elevator doesn’t go all the way up, if he thinks that’s the way to a woman's heart.
“Did you go out and play today?” He asks in the same high-pitched voice. “Oh fun! Is Uncle Bobby being good to you?”
I look at him and pale. He left her with Bobby? What is wrong with him? I snatch the phone from him and hear nothing but panting on the other end. “Gross!” I yell and throw his phone back at his chest.
“Thanks, B.J. I’ll have to get back to you. My wife is acting crazy right now.”
I shake my head in disgust.
“First off, I think you’re the crazy one, talking to your wife like that. I mean, she’s not a dog, for crying out loud. And second, have you lost your mind? You can’t leave your wife with Bobby. And you can’t put her down in front of him. Do you know nothing?” I’m beyond my realm of control, so the last words come out more like a scream. I mean, seriously. Are all men this stupid?
“Wow, you sure sound like you know what you’re talking about,” he says, folding his arms.
“I want to cut off your arms and beat you with them,” I say a little too enthusiastically. He throws a glare my way. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the day?” I ask feeling suddenly ravenous.
Preston gets up and folds his towel. “I was planning on grabbing some lunch, but I don’t know if I’m good enough company for you, what with my lack of brain cells and relationship know-how.” He shoots me a grin.
I roll my eyes in annoyance. “Fine. Where to?” I ask, gathering my things.
“Hard Rock Café,” he states without looking back.
“But,” I look around feeling suddenly whiny. “Isn’t that all the way back towards the airport?”
“I’ll buy you a peppermint mocha,” he coaxes, turning around to face me.
“Deal.”
“You’re too easy,” he replies.
“That’s my problem,” I say wistfully, watching as he puts on his t-shirt and leads the way.
Chapter Sixteen
I shower as quickly as possible, then put on a cute sundress before presenting myself to the world. Or in this case, Mrs. Butterworth. It’s depressing when you have nobody to show off to or to lust after. Well, not really lust. I guess in Preston’s case it’s extreme, like maybe even possibly love, but that’s over with. I need to move on.
Mrs. Butterworth, still in her cat bikini, offers a quiet meow before I exit my room to look for Preston. He has on torn jeans and a white t-shirt. It makes my mouth water, but then again, I’m hungry. Yes, that must be it. I'm hungry. Ha ha. I laugh nervously to myself, and he leads me out. I mean, how terrible of a person must I be to be looking at Preston like he’s still available? He used me to get his ex-wife back. Although, he never did admit it, now that I think about it. He hasn’t admitted to anything. I must remind myself to stop talking from time to time; maybe he has some light to shed on the situation.
“So, I hope you don’t mind,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “But I need to pick someone up from the airport tonight.” He grabs my hand, and I try to pull away, but I’m helpless against his strength. He opens the door to the rental and smiles as I scowl at him then enter.
“You’re in a fun mood tonight, aren’t you?” he comments as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“I’m sorry, were you talking to me? It’s hard to tell, considering you didn’t use your special voice reserved for ex-wives and small woodland creatures,” I retort.
“Have I ever told you how much fun you are? Because, I mean, hands down…best trip of my life.” Preston smiles and leans over to turn off the music blaring in the background. “Are you going to at least let me explain to you, or are you going to assume you know everything?"
“I do know everything,” I say, nose in the air.
“Good to know,” he says. We drive the rest of the way to the restaurant in complete silence.
****
I’m sure to anyone, on the outside, we look like the perfect couple. When on the inside, I feel like I'm dying. How I wish this could be a real date. I mean, we’re in the most romantic place in the world, and here we are fighting.
“Can we just…” I shake my head in frustration and throw my hands up. “...pretend like everything's normal before I think of more ways to kill you?”
“Your wish is my command.” Preston winks and reaches across the table to grab my hand. And in that moment, I close my eyes, willing myself to capture the memory of what it feels like to have his strong hands wrapped around mine.
“Good afternoon, welcome to Hard Rock Café Maui.” Our waiter is a balding man in his forties who looks like he’s surfed the wave a little too long, if you know what I mean. “And let me be the first to congratulate both of you on your engagement.”
I choke on my water as I stare at the insane man in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I say leaning in. “What did you say?”
“Well, your engagement to this fine young fellow.” He points at Preston.
Preston looks at me so innocently I almost believe the act , except part of his mouth twists up into a mischievous smile, proving to me once and for all that he’s the guilty slime bag I imagine him to be.
“We aren’t…” I begin to talk but my mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Is it hot in here? Because suddenly my body is reacting as if it’s been set on fire.
Preston puts his hands over mine and shushes me with his finger. “It’s okay, darling. Let’s let the poor waiter read us the specials.” He looks toward the waiter, and then elbows him and whispers, “Foreign. She gets nervous in public places here in America.”
The waiter nods at me sympathetically before leaning down and, rather loudly might I add, reading the specials in my ear.
Horrified, I look at Preston, who can’t hold back the smile creeping across his lips now. I mean, come on! He said foreign, not deaf.
I decide to go along with it and nod my head as if to say, “Wow. How kind of you to read that in my native tongue”. Oh, wait a second. He didn’t, because it was still English, just loud English. Hello! Foreign people don’t have different hearing decibels.
“So,” I sigh, looking at a totally joyful Preston. “What country am I from?” I ask, rolling my eyes. I’ll so regret this.
“Yes!” he says, doing a small fist pump in the air. “Spain?” he asks.
“No, my skins not dark enough. Try again.”
“Morocco?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Oooo, fun. Yes, let’s do Morocco!” I clap my hands in excitement, then remember how angry I still am at Preston. Well, maybe one day we can be friends. A very long time from now. “I’m still mad at you,” I remind him, hoping he understands his little joke doesn’t make everything better.
“Of course you are, but do you know why you're mad at me? Because I’m betting the reason you’re mad isn’t a reason at all.” He puts his menu down as if to challenge me.
“Well, I don’t see how I could be getting any of my assumptions wrong. Plus, like I said before, words don’t lie.”
“And what about intentions?” he asks.
“Are you ready to order?” The waiter bounces in front of us out of nowhere, causing me to spill my water all over the place. “It’s okay,” he shouts, looking at me sadly. “I’ll clean this up..”
People are now staring at us wondering why in the heck our waiter is speaking so loud. I want to smile and wave and tell everyone it’s just a big joke, but instead I duck my head and cover my face with my hands.
The waiter bounces in front of us, and yes, I mean he actually does bounce from side to side, as if there is some sort of music we don’t know about playing in the background. Poor guy. He then brings us coconut shrimp with dipping sauce. At one point, I contemplate stuffing everything in my mouth just so Preston can’t have any. But I realize he’d probably just order more, and then I’d look like a glutton. And he’d make up some lame excuse to the waiter about how in our country we eat our food all at once. Then the waiter would throw me another sympathetic glance, while speaking rather loudly to Preston about how it won’t do my figure any favors. Thanks, bud. Got it.
My mouth is full, but I don’t care about being attractive right now. “So, who are we picking up?” I look down at the greasy mess and sigh. I better start running a few extra miles when I get home. I take a sip of water.
“Ashlyn.” Preston says, but I don’t hear him. I’m busy drinking my water so fast, I’m sure my stomach will explode, thinking it’ll somehow kill the burning sensation in my chest.
“I'm sorry. I thought I heard you say Ashlyn.” I choke.
“I did.” He smirks.
I shoot him a look which can only be described as hazardous to his health, while he beams at me as if I just confessed my love.
"Um, I’m sorry, but did you ever stop to think how awkward that might be for me? Or how hurtful?” I’m ready to get up and leave, but he pulls me back into my seat.