Night of the Living Deb by Susan McBride Read Free Book Online

the image of him awakening in the bed of a stripper with her panties around his head out of my mind.
    Maybe he just needed some time to himself. Could be that his friend’s impending marriage had struck a chord in him, made him introspective about losing so many single pals to holy matrimony the past few years. But if he needed space, he could’ve told me. It might’ve stung a bit, but I would’ve let him have it.
    I’d never known Brian to act cowardly, even though I realized he didn’t like confrontations in his personal life, as opposed to the courtroom. Still, he should be able to talk to me.
    I was his one and only, wasn’t I?
    I mean, it wasn’t like we’d had any real conversation about our status, the whole “being exclusive” deal. We just were . I knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else. When would he have the time between hanging out at my condo and working on that Oleksiy case, or whatever Allie had called it?
    Working on that case with Allie, I repeated silently and found myself tensing.
    How many guys had to deal with a former lover every day on the job? Except Hugh Hefner, but his, er, office took “sleeping with the boss” to an extreme.
    I wonder how Brian put up with it, being stuck on a legal team with a woman he’d broken up with, who was everything I wasn’t: a few inches taller, several sizes smaller, naturally blond (so she claimed), not a zit or freckle in sight, able to wear four-inch heels without toppling over, and self-assured to the point of arrogance.
    Okay, so maybe I could see why Brian had been attracted to her, but she seemed awfully high maintenance to me, so demanding and pushy.
    It’s a wonder she and Malone had lasted six months before he’d thrown in the towel (he said it was mutual, but Allie had implied she’d driven him away, which was entirely plausible, from my viewpoint anyway).
    I might’ve thought, Ah, must’ve been the sex, but I didn’t want to go there, even briefly. That was like imagining my mother and Stephen Howard . . . gaaah.
    Squishing my eyes closed, I shook that thought from my head, like a dog shakes off water.
    Yuck.
    Back to Allie and Malone. I didn’t know much—and didn’t care to ask—beyond the fact that they’d started seeing each other soon after he’d moved here, two fledgling attorneys who’d bonded over late nights, long hours, and lack of sleep.
    I figured I’d chalk it up to bad judgment and loneliness.
    Knowing Allie as I did—which translated to “not at all”—
    I’d venture to guess that she’d instigated their romantic relationship.
    Brian had such a shy streak, so it was hard to imagine him pursuing the Blond Bitch from Hell. Odd to
    consider the same man who’d been attracted to that harridan now kept company with me.
    Was I more his type? Or was she?
    Enough already.
    I could work myself into a tizzy, worrying about where Brian was and dwelling on his old affair with Allie.
    But it was a lovely, lazy Sunday, and I didn’t want to waste it.
    So I closed my eyes, visualized calm as the sweet sounds of “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” swelled joyfully in my ears. I pushed all the tension aside, stretching my arms overhead to loosen my shoulders. With a sigh, I went back to my easel, feeling lighter than just a few moments before.
    For a long, long while, I simply sat and scrutinized the canvas, getting an emotional read on what I’d done so far and where I was going with it. Finally, feeling focused, I used a small rag to wipe my brush, took a deep breath, picked up where I’d left off, and let the rest of the world disappear again.
    Soon I was deeply in the zone, working in an altered state, apart from the here and now, from the ticking clock, from anything real.
    I just painted.
    Minutes spun into hours, though I wasn’t cognizant of how much time had passed, not until the phone rang again, the high-pitched twitter erupting from across the living room, snapping my peace clean in two, like a bad omen.
     
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