Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich Read Free Book Online Page B

feeling my stomach all night long…” She rolled her eyes. I smiled and drop p ed the tea bag in a mug.
    “ You ’ re forgiven,” I said. I leaned my elbows on the counter and grinned at her. “ How ’ s Davey doing?”
    “ He ’ s fine,” she said. “ Of course, he ’ s not carrying seven pounds of wriggling baby on his bladder.”
    “ I still can ’ t believe he ’ s a cop.”
    “ Yeah, well, if he wasn ’ t, I ’ d still be a size six.” I raised my eyebrows at her. She patted her stomach. “ First night with the new uniform. He can ’ t wait to see you, by the way. You ’ re coming over for dinner Friday, I suppose I should tell you.”
    “ Good to know,” I said, laughing. “ Should I bring anything?” She grinned. “ A British Flyer, perhaps?”
    “ Good God,” I said. ‘ You heard about that already?”
    “ You kidding me?” she said. The teakettle began to whistle and I grabbed it off the hot plate. “ You ’ re back in Truly now, darlin ’ . You fart in the tub in this town and the news will be marching down Main Street within the hour.” I brought her mug over and she watched me with interest as I sat down in a sinfully comfortable but inarguably hideous orange eas y chair next to her.
    “ Anyway, word has it you paraded that Brit straight out of the back lawn and up to your bedroom in front of half the town. You ’ re a Miz Fallon and he ’ s a famous writer. Don ’ t even pretend to be surprised that people are talkin ’.”
    “ He ’ s hardly famous,” I said.
    “ You don ’ t consider Alistair Barnes famous?” she said, now raising an eyebrow at me and taking in my blank expression. The other eyebrow went up, and she laughed. “ You did know you were sleeping with Alistair Barnes, didn ’ t you?”
    I leaned closer to her, and spoke in a low voice. “ Look, first of all, I didn ’ t actually sleep with him…”
    Beauji waved her hand at me. “ Oh, please.”
    “ ...and second of all, his name is Ian Beckett.”
    I paused, and a memory from the night before flashed through my head.
    So, you really don ’ t know me?
    I ’ m sorry. Should I?
    If death is your prerequisite for reading someone, I ’ m quite happy to be off that list.
    “ Alistair Barnes?” I asked. “ The guy who writes the Tan Carpenter spy novels?”
    “ They say Bra d Pitt is gonna play Tan in the movie. Pearl and the girls are hoping he ’ ll drop in for a visit this summer, but I doubt it. And while we ’ re on the subject, what kind of name is Pitt for a man who looks like that?”
    “ Drink your tea,” I said. Beauji took a s ip. I sat back in my chair and gave an incredulous huff, then sat forward again almost immediately. “ He can ’ t be Alistair Barnes.”
    “ Go look at his picture on the books if you don ’ t believe me,” she said, shooing me away with one hand. “ I ’ ll be right here t o pick your chin up off the floor when you get back.”
    I stood up and headed back to the B ’ s.
    “ He can ’ t be Alistair Barnes,” I repeated. It was running through my head like a mantra.
    “ You keep telling yourself that, girl.”
    I flicked my fingers over the B ’ s and pulled out the latest Barnes hardcover.
    “ I know you ’ re all into the classics and everything,” Beauji called from her chair, “ but he ’ s not bad. You should read one. I recommend Clean Sweep, to start.”
    I flipped the book over. Ian Beckett ’ s lopsided smil e jumped out at me from a full-size color picture. I looked at the front cover, running my fingers over “ Nonstop action!” and “ High- Octane Excitement!” embossed above the “ #1 New York Times Bestselling Author” at the top. I tucked the book back onto the s helf and returned to Beauji, who was smiling from ear to ear. “ You look like you need to sit down.”
    “ I can ’ t believe he didn ’ t tell me he ’ s Alistair Barnes.”
    “ I can ’ t believe you didn ’ t know. What kind of rock have you been