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Chapter thirty-one

I’m really excited – I have a name for this story!  (It only took six months to figure out what it would be…)  The name of this story is Black Irish.  Now onto posting this then to my uber-busy weekend.  Have a great weekend everyone!

That son of a bitch.

Abbey sunk into the couch.  She was still fuming.  Even the eclectic people she encountered on the subway couldn’t lighten her mood.

The barista held out her cup of green passion fruit tea gently cradling the gigantic ceramic mug in his hands.  His dirty blond shaggy hair framed his face and his green eyes peered from beneath wire rim glasses.  For a moment Abbey seriously considered flirting with him to make herself feel better.  Too bad she knew his girlfriend.

“I was going to get it, Martin,” Abbey insisted, embarrassed by the whine in her voice.

“I know,” Martin replied.  “You just seem…distracted.”

Abbey sighed as she took the mug from Martin and set it on the coffee table.  She looked around the coffee shop.  It was her favorite place on earth second to the penthouse.  Coming here on Sundays when the diner was closed was her treat to herself.  Spending the small amount on bus fares and subway tolls was worth it.  The walls were lined with bookshelves packed full of books.  There were baskets scattered everywhere overflowing with newspapers, magazines and board games.  The walls were painted in a warm mocha color and the light was just bright enough to read.  The menu written on chalk boards hung on the wall behind the coffee bar.  The place was warm and cozy.

 But all the warm and cozy feeling the coffee shop provided couldn’t quench the hot raging fury coursing through Abbey.  She collapsed back on the couch and closed her eyes, letting the internal argument in her head take over.

The rational voice in Abbey’s brain reminded her that she was the one who insisted on a business relationship between herself and Sloan.

The irrational voice, fueled by Abbey’s broken heart, screamed, “Sloan is my HUSBAND.”

The rational voice countered that it was a marriage on paper only.

The irrational voice was still high pitch, shrill and screaming.  “He said he wanted to see if there could be anything between us.  Sleeping with another woman is a fine way to show that!”

The rational voice tried to speak up again.  The irrational voice took over, repeatedly chanting, “He is MY husband!”

Abbey shook her head to shut both voices up and opened her eyes.  She pulled the book she brought with her.  She tried to read but couldn’t concentrate.  Her imagination tortured her with images of Sloan naked in his bed with some blond bombshell, their bodies intertwined…

She dropped the book and fisted her hands in her hair.  Why was she doing this to herself?

Abbey glanced over her shoulder out the large plate glass window that overlooked the street.  Sure enough, in the midst of the crowds that flocked the street sat the ominous black Hummer.  Abbey started to gather her things and put them in her purse.  She was going to demand Gordon take her to wherever the guys went.  She was going to confront her husband in whatever state of undress he was in.  She was going to have it out with him right now.

With a loud exhale, Abbey stopped.  She pulled her book and her cheap MP3 player from her purse again.  Dejected she put the earbuds in her ears.  Turning the volume up to full blast she turned the heavy metal music on.  Maybe it would make her feel better.  Probably not.

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About triciaandersen

I am the author and illustrator of the children's book "The Peculiar Princess". I am also the author of two adult fantasy romance novels, "The Sorceress of Savon" and "The Woodcutter King of Muladin". Along with being an author I am married to a wonderful guy and have three beautiful children. I coach youth track and field, sew and chase my children around to their various activities.

Posted on June 8, 2012, in author, books, fiction, novel, romance, story, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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