Scorched (Sizzle #2) by Sarah O'Rourke Read Free Book Online Page B

all.
     
    “It’s
simple, honey,” Molly replied sweetly.  “I like Armando and Nick much better
than I like you.”
     
    “Clearly,”
Devil retorted, reaching for the silver door knob and jerking their bedroom
door open before gesturing for Molly to precede him. 
     
    Molly
led the way down the upstairs hallway to the staircase, Mannie’s sobs growing
shriller with every step.  Grimacing at the earsplitting noises, Molly barely
heard Devil’s groan behind her. 
     
    “Good
God, Mols.  That attention whore is gonna get every damn dog in the neighborhood
howling at this rate.  If you think the neighborhood association was hard on the
two of us when Coco and Chanel got loose to terrify the villagers, imagine how
hard it will be to spring Armando from the pound.  Do something!”
     
    She
wanted to scream at her husband for his insensitivity, but he had a point. 
They had paid hell when their Pekinese dog and Siamese cat had decided to paint
the subdivision red a few months ago.  And they’d almost never convinced those
animal control people that their persnickety pets were perfectly harmless.  So
instead of arguing with her headstrong hubby, she lifted her robe, picked up
her pace and called, “Mannie, we’re coming, sweetie!  Just hold on a sec!” 
     
    Hurrying
down the stairs, Molly skidded to a halt as she reached the doorway to the
living room. Her jaw dropped as she got a look at her best guy friend.  “What
the hell happened to your face, Mannie?” she shouted, her gaze glued to the
huge set of raccoon eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d left earlier in the
night.  “Oh, my God, did somebody hit you?”
     
    “Forget
his face; what the hell happened to his clothes?” Molly heard Devil ask from
behind her.
     
    “Devil,”
Molly hissed in warning, sparing a second to glare at her husband.
     
    “What?”
Devil yelped indignantly.  Waving his arm at the bright orange ‘Frankie Say Relax?’
tank top, slouchy grey sweats and battered flip flops Armando wore, he
continued, “I might be straight, but I’m secure enough in my manhood to be
comfortable saying that ensemble is without a doubt a fashion don’t .”  
     
    “I’m
going to kill you, Devil,” Molly informed her husband threateningly.
     
    “No,
no, he’s right, Molly,” Armando whimpered brokenly, tears still running down
his handsome swarthy face.  “I know I look like mierda.  I was in such a hurry
to get out of Nick’s apartment, I put on the first thing I grabbed.”
     
    “Does your
future husband only wear clothes from 1984?” Devil asked dryly, eyeing the
dated tank top critically.
     
    Smacking
Devil’s arm, Molly growled, “Seriously, Dev.  Yours will be a particularly
bloody death.  I’ll make sure of it.”  Turning her attention back to Armando,
she took a half step toward him and lifted a hand to point at his eyes.  “What
about those bruises?  What happened there?” she questioned worriedly.
     
    “Bruises,”
Mannie echoed blankly, turning to peer into the ornamental mirror on the wall
above their walnut liquor cabinet.  Wailing as he got a look at his refection,
he stomped his foot in a fit of temper.  “Those putas at the Clinique counter promised me that eyeliner was waterproof.  Lying perras!” he snarled, vigorously
rubbing at the runny makeup.  “I look like a fucking raccoon, Molly,” he
shrieked.
     
    Quickly
crossing the room to reach her frantic friend before he could gouge out his
eyes, Molly soothed, “Hey, we’ll fix it.”  Reaching for a napkin from the
liquor cabinet, she poured some bottled water over it and began to dab at
Mannie’s eyes.  “Everything can be fixed, Armando,” she repeated gently.
     
    “No. 
I’m afraid you’re wrong this time, mi amiga.  Some things can’t be fixed no
matter how hard you try.  Sometimes, people are just too broken to piece
together again once they shatter,” Armando whispered, shaking his head sadly as
he