She laughs, rubbing her hand on the back on my neck. “Do you think it was intentional? Is Maggie some big feminist or something?”
I shrug. “Who knows? I’ve only met her a couple times, and I can’t say she ever seemed to have any sort of agenda, at least not one she discussed with me. But, I don’t think there is any way you can paint something like that and not see it looks like a crotch.”
“Agreed,” she says, squeezing my neck gently, “let’s go see another one and see if the pussy theme continues.”
I chuckle and follow her to the next painting, currently being examined intently by someone I know very well.
“Andrew! I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s been a while.” He turns toward me, and I can’t miss the surprise in his eyes when he sees me. He looks around the room nervously.
“Savage,” he says, shaking my hand, “it’s, uh, good to see you. You’re looking good.”
His eyes dart away from my face and over my shoulder and he shifts side to side.
“Thanks, you too. This is my girlfriend, Danika.” He smiles at her and shakes her hand, but his unease doesn’t sit well with me.
“Nice to meet you.” His eyes aren’t even on her. He’s looking around the room again.
Why so nervous, old friend?
I realize Danika has no idea who he is and that I’m doing a terrible job at introductions. “Andrew and I were roommates in college,” I explain, “but we haven’t seen each other in over three years.”
“Three years?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “Has it really been that long?”
You know exactly how long it’s been.
I smile despite my annoyance at him playing dumb. “Yep, we haven’t seen each other or even spoken since right before the accident.” I watch his smile falter, now that I’ve called him out and drawn attention to his shitty idea of friendship.
“Oh, yeah, I, uh, guess so.” He runs his left hand back through his hair and the overhead light glints off a gold band on a really important finger. I’m just about to ask him about it when I hear a sudden intake of breath behind me.
“Savage?”
I know that voice.
I know that voice all too well.
What the hell is Rebecca doing here?
She slides into view, her hands, holding a bottle of water and a glass of what I imagine is whiskey, shaking visibly. My eyes immediately drop to the very obvious baby bump accentuated by her skin-tight dress and then shift over to the giant diamond on her ring finger.
Andrew avoids eye contact when I look to him. He grabs the whiskey from her trembling hand, taking a long drink before wrapping his arm around her waist protectively.
Jesus fuck!
“Becca.” I try to keep the disdain from my voice, but Danika’s supportive hand on my neck alerts me I probably failed miserably.
“You, uh, look good.” Her voice shakes as badly as her hand, clenched to white knuckles around the bottle of water.
“Looks like I missed something big here. How long have you two been married?” I watch as they look at each other uncomfortably and then the floor—anywhere but at me.
Andrew is the one who finally has the balls the answer. “About two and a half years.”
Two and a half years. She didn’t even wait a year after leaving me to marry one of my best friends.
“Wow, you don’t take long, do you, Becca?” This time, I don’t even bother to try to contain my anger. The tension in the air is as thick as a London fog. Danika squeezes my neck again and then steps toward Becca.
“Hello, Becca, I’m Savage’s girlfriend, Danika. I’ve heard so much about you. I wish I could say any of it was complimentary, but, I’m sure you already know that.”
My heart may have just stopped; my breathing certainly has.
Where the hell did that come from?
I don’t know, but I’ve never been more ecstatic Danika doesn’t have a filter than I am at this moment, seeing the look on Becca and Andrew’s faces.
Turning to me, Danika raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Let’s go enjoy the exhibit.”
I nod and move around a speechless Andrew. Becca, on the other hand, has started that damn whimper that always began before she started to cry. How I ever found her, or that, attractive, is beyond me.
Danika strolls to the far side of the gallery and drops down onto a bench facing another large, vaginal masterpiece. I stop next to her, afraid to look at her after the way I lost my shit in front of my ex.
“No,” she says firmly, “turn around and look at me.”
I sigh and follow her command. I expect to see anger, annoyance, even jealousy in her eyes, but all I find is compassion and understanding. “So…your ex seems like a raging cunt.”
I drop my head into my hands and laugh, and it feels really fucking good. Danika is a genius at pulling me from my darkest moods with her smart mouth. I look up at her and find her smiling at me, watching me expectantly. A waiter passes next to us and she stops him, grabbing two more glasses of champagne.