I grunt and hold it out of his reach. Touché.
We make our way over to a table, where a small group of people is clustered together. I see Cammie’s blond head bobbing around animatedly, as she tells a story. When she spots Sam her face breaks into a smile … until she sees me. Her blinks come in rapid succession, like she’s trying to expunge me from her vision. I smile sweetly and head in her direction. This bitch has info on Olivia. I can feel it. I bend down to kiss her on the cheek. I like to keep my greetings European.
“Sam,” she says tightly, “I didn’t know you were bringing a … guest.” She cocks her head in a way I’ve only seen Southern Belles do. I place her accent to Texas.
“First night out since baby?” she asks me.
Sam grunts from behind me. I spin around to shoot him a warning look and then turn back to Cammie.
“Sure,” I say. “Sam was kind enough to let me tag along. Cool bar!” I look around in mock interest. When I look back at her, she’s on the tail end of an eye roll.
She motions towards two available chairs. I take the one closest to her, and Sam sits down next to me. She makes introductions around the table. The group is composed of two attorneys, a professional skateboarder that keeps shooting looks at Cammie’s exposed cleavage, and a number of pierced, tattooed lesbians.
For the next hour, I listen to them prattle about the most dull topics in the world. I play with my hair and try not to yawn. Sam watches me in amusement as he contributes to their conversation. Twice, he catches me unawares by asking my opinion on politicians.
“Really, Sam,” I finally snap when no one is listening. “Can you not?”
He grins. “Just trying to be friendly.”
How does someone with so many tattoos know about politics? Am I stereotyping? Too bad. I lean close to his ear so only he can hear me. Cammie frowns.
He’s gay! I want to scream at her. And, even if he weren’t, seriously, I don’t do sloppy men.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can get everyone out of here so I can talk to your slutty cousin alone.”
Sam stands up and claps his hands. “I’ll buy everyone a shot, except for Cammie.”
Cammie rolls her eyes but stays seated. Everyone else follows Sam to the bar, laughing and clapping each other on the back.
She looks at me expectantly, like she’s on to my scheme.
I swear this bitch and I speak the same language … in different accents.
“Olivia Kaspen,” I say. Her face registers nothing. “Do you know her?”
Her lips curl into a smile, and she dips her head once to acknowledge that she does. I feel searing heat start in my chest and spread outward. Emotional fireworks, if you must. I knew it! I lick my lips and pull a cigarette from my purse.
“That’s how you know Caleb,” I say. She nods that awful smile still on her lips. I inhale and watch her through my lashes.
“Why does he love her?” This was the first time I had ever verbalized the question, though I had pondered over it for God knows how many years. Olivia was attractive — if you were into sluts. She had too much hair and wide-spaced eyes, but I had been around her enough during my trial to know how men responded to her. She was aloof, cold. It was mysterious. Goddamn men and their goddamn mysteries. I had never seen her smile. Not once. It was hard to believe someone as alive and warm as Caleb could have feelings for an emotional prune.
Cammie is watching me, trying to decide how far she wants to go with her answer. I wonder how well she knows Olivia. It had never occurred to me, until now, that she might be good friends with her.
Eventually, she clears her throat. “Well, she’s a bitch like you. Caleb has always been attracted to the Cruella De Ville type. But, I suppose if you want an honest answer…” her voice trails off. The band comes on stage and things are starting to get loud. I lean forward, hungry for her answer.
“They spark,” she says. I jerk back. What the hell did that mean? “When they’re together, it’s like putting a hurricane and a tornado in the same room — you can feel the tension. I didn’t believe in the cliché of soul mates until I saw them together.”
I’ve heard enough. I am sick to my stomach. I look around for my ride and can’t see him anywhere, but Cammie’s not done.
“I know you got pregnant on purpose,” she says, plucking my cigarette from my fingers and taking a draw. I blink at her, too intrigued to argue. How could she possibly know?
“Now, you’ve got the guy … and the baby. You won. So, why are you asking about Olivia?”
I consider lying, telling her that I’m making sure she is gone for good or some bullshit like that.
She smirks. “You want to know why he loves her, Leah?” She overemphasizes the ah in my name. I flinch.
What a bitch.