By Reading This, You Are Stating That You Are 18 Years Of Age. If You Are Under The Age Of 18, It Is Necessary To Exit This Site.
Hubb swung the door open as the petite blonde poised her fist to bang again and caught her wrist mid-swing before she clobbered him in the chest. With a face the shade of red that would have a bull charging, she snatched from him with a fury that only could have been provoked by a lover’s quarrel. Realizing Hubb not to be who she expected, she scowled.
“You’re not Brady.”
“Where is he?”
Jumped from a tall building to get away from you. He resisted the retort. “Not here.”
Brushing aside Hubb before he registered what she’d done, Melissa barged inside and headed to the bedroom.
“Soc au’ lait? Lady, I have no idea who you’re looking for or why, but you need look else place.”
No sooner than he spoke, a tall brunette with dark, chestnut eyes dressed in a chocolate halter dress and gold strappy shoes entered panting. Although breathless, her demeanor remained composed.
“Lissa! Are you crazy? You know I can’t run in these death shoes. I think I blew my ankle out three blocks back.” She clutched her calf with one hand and balanced herself with the other. How she had allowed Melissa and that salesclerk talk her into buying the four inch killers—into purchasing the entire ensemble as well as a dozen other shopping bags filled to the brim with items she would never choose for herself—she didn’t know. Perhaps, there had been a hallucinogen in the boutiques’ potpourri.
“Oh,” she faltered, her eyes resting on the face of the sturdy bicep she’d had grabbed for balance. “Ooooh!” she stammered again with a new awareness of standing in the wrong location but the right one simultaneously. “Lissa!”
“In there.” Hubb jerked his head towards the bedroom.
“Sorry. I’ll get her.”
Melissa returned to the living room, her eyes wild. “Where is he?”
“Lissa, you have the wrong room.” Lexi crossed to her friend and looped her arm in Melissa's. “Come on.”
“No!” Melissa stamped her foot. “This is the right room. He’s,” she snapped, pointing at Hubb, “hiding him.”
“Where? Under the lampshade?” Lexi made a sweeping gesture of the room. “Be reasonable. This isn’t Brady’s room.”
“It is! Brady specifically reserved this suite so there would be no possibility he’ll see me in my dress before the wedding and we’d be away from the rest of the guests for the honeymoon.”
Lexi’s expression grew dimmer. “Brady made the reservation?”
“Will you stop already? Make him tell me where he is?” Melissa motioned towards Hubb.
“He doesn’t know.”
“How could he do this to me,” Melissa bellowed, “two weeks before what is supposed to be the happiest day in my life? How could he not have a groom’s court? And to be photographed with Chelsea. How could he?”
“He’s a man.” Lexi’s voice carried sympathy with a you-should-have-expected-this air. “He doesn’t think much.”
Hubb winced at the underlying bitterness in the tone and overall generalization.
With that, Melissa flopped on the sofa, buried her face in her hands, and began sobbing. Hubb, now fully awake, stared at her horrified. If there was one thing he couldn’t take, it was a crying woman. Women and tears were like pouring acid in a wound.
“Whoa! What’s she doing? She can’t cry in here.”
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