Her Kind of Trouble. Sarah Mayberry

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      CHAPTER FOUR

      IT TOOK VIVIAN half an hour to drag a full account of Seth’s assholery from her sister. Then it took another half hour of cajoling, begging and bullying to extract his address.

      “It’s okay, Jodie, I’m not going over there with a loaded gun,” she’d assured her sister.

      “You could still do plenty of damage without a gun,” Jodie protested.

      Vivian planned to. And then some. But she didn’t want her sister worrying in the meantime.

      “I’m simply going to let him know that he’s got it wrong. Take the higher ground. Be mature,” Vivian said. “I don’t need to stoop to his level.”

      How she managed to stop her voice from trembling when she was sitting on a veritable volcano of fury was a mystery to her. But she did, and Jodie seemed somewhat mollified by her calm words and grounded demeanor.

      “Okay. But just...take it easy, okay? I feel horrible telling you any of this. You weren’t ever supposed to find out.”

      “I would have found out eventually, Jodie. You really think people can hide that kind contempt from one another?”

      Because that was what this was about. Seth was contemptuous of her. He had judged her and found her wanting on almost every level.

      The hypocritical jerk.

      Never mind that he’d been in that limo, too. Never mind that he’d been the one to produce the joint, and that she was sure that weed wasn’t the only substance he’d abused during his many years of wannabe rock-and-roll stardom. Never mind that the man practically needed a revolving door installed in his bedroom to keep up with all the women he bedded, and that he’d been colossally irresponsible enough to get one of them pregnant. Never mind that he was the one who’d made a second pass at her during one of her visits home five years ago when they’d happened to be staying under the same roof for a night.

      Nope, none of those things counted because he was a man, and he could do anything he wanted with impunity.

      She glared out the windshield as she drove to Seth’s address in the eastern suburb of Ivanhoe, her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. Beneath her anger, she was aware that there was a wellspring of hurt, but she refused to acknowledge it. She already felt foolish enough. For years she’d been under the illusion that she and Seth were kindred spirits. She’d believed that they’d both experienced a moment of recognition at the rehearsal dinner, that they’d understood one another intrinsically. Instinctively. Those crazy, hot minutes in the limo and all the interactions they’d had since and everything she knew of his life had only reinforced that notion.

      Like her, Seth had had to shelve his dream of living large and instead find another, more realistic niche for himself. Like her, it had taken him a while to discover what that niche would be. They’d both resisted the call of convention, living their lives in ways that worked for them. And they’d both made mistakes—sometimes big ones—but managed to power through them and come out the other side with a semblance of dignity intact.

      That had been her take on their relationship and on him. Clearly, Seth saw things differently. Apparently, he saw her as a sluttish loser who couldn’t get her act together. An unreliable, insubstantial party girl who shouldn’t be trusted with the well-being of two people who were incredibly precious to her. All of which made him one of the most judgmental, uninformed, narrow-minded ass-hats she’d ever met.

      She found his street easily, slowing to a cruise so she could find his house number. The houses were old and large, most of them built from the deep red clinker bricks that had been popular in the twenties and thirties. She made a rude noise in her throat when she found Seth’s place. It had a high gabled front, bow windows and a neatly manicured formal garden.

      Mr. Respectable. What a crock.

      She slammed the car door shut with a satisfying thud. Chin high, she took a deep breath, eyeing the door of his house. Then she stalked up the driveway, suppressed rage grinding the spiked heels of her boots into the concrete with each step.

      She hoped Seth had medical insurance, because he was going to need it after she’d finished with him.

      * * *

      SETH WAS IN the backyard scooping leaves from the swimming pool when he heard the doorbell ring. He leaned the skimmer pole against the pergola and made his way to the front door, his bare feet almost silent on the polished floor. He could see a slim silhouette through the frosted glass, and he frowned as he reached for the handle. He wasn’t expecting anyone, definitely not a female anyone. Whoever it was, he really hoped she wasn’t about to interfere with his plans for the rest of his one free evening of the week—pizza, the footy on TV and then maybe a movie. The perfect antidote СКАЧАТЬ