Butterface
Oh Regina, you are in so much trouble.
She pushed the thought away to the very darkest back corner of her mind, determined to enjoy the limited time with Ford while she could.
“Hey there,” Ford said when they met at the halfway point. “It was starting to feel like you were never going to get here. How were the happy couple?”
She rolled her eyes. “Pains in my ass.”
He laughed. “Then that means you need a beer immediately. Why don’t you sit here, and I’ll go grab us some?”
“That sounds phenomenal.” Almost as good as getting to sit down next to Ford. “I’m gonna dip into the ladies’ room, but I’ll meet you back here.”
The walk to the bathroom was a short one, but Marino’s was crowded. She maneuvered around people, but with each step she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching her, judging her—and finding her lacking. It made her skin crawl and her breaths come in faster and faster bursts. The free-floating anxiety reminded her of all the times she’d walked down the halls in school and heard the whispers and giggles behind her back. She tried to shake it off, but her anxiety just responded with a fuck-you that made her lungs pinch.
Maybe it was just a side effect of having the last name Luca and walking into a cop bar, but her skin was burning by the time she finally made it into the blessedly empty restroom.
She rushed into one of the stalls and shut the door behind her, shoving the lock in place. Only then could she finally take a deep breath. All of this time spent with Ford, waiting for the other shoe to drop, was really starting to get to her.
The outside door to the restroom swung open, letting in the sound of the band warming up in the main bar.
“Oh my God, did you see her?” a woman said. “I wonder if he lost a bet. You know how the guys in that squad are always pulling pranks.”
“That at least makes sense. I mean, there’s no way he’d pick her over you, Patrice,” a second woman responded.
“I mean really, how do you even kiss someone when their nose is that big?” the first woman asked. “I wonder if it gets in the way during blow jobs.”
The sound of the women’s giggling filled the bathroom as Gina stood in the stall and prayed that they weren’t talking about her, even though she knew in her gut they were.
“Oh well,” the first woman said. “It’s Ford’s loss.”
“I second that.”
The door squeaked again, and the sound of the band filled the bathroom before the door swung shut. Gina stayed in the stall, strangely calm. This was familiar ground. Really, she was past due for a reminder of the way the world worked. She’d spent the past month in a kind of Ford-shaped cocoon and had forgotten just what the real world was like for the women who didn’t fit into the mold of what society found acceptable.
She and Ford were never going to work out. They’d both known that from the beginning, which is why they’d promised each other not to think it was more than it was. Too bad she’d fucked that up by falling for him.
She opened the stall door and walked to the sink and, as she washed her hands, she considered the situation. The best parts of her day had become the moments she spent with him, laughing over things that probably no one else would find funny. Seeing him had become something that helped get her through a bad meeting with a client or the bad news of a renovation estimate increase from Juan. She looked at herself in the mirror under the unflattering-even-if-you’re-a-supermodel florescent bathroom light, and the truth was written all over her face.
“You idiot,” she told her reflection. “You love him.”
Ugly girls from mobbed-up families like her should know better than to fall for hot cops like Ford Hartigan. It never ended well—and end it had to.
Mind made up, she walked out of the bathroom with her chin high. If anyone was watching as she made her way over to Ford, she didn’t notice and didn’t care. Fuck them. She was leaving.
“Everything okay?” Ford asked as he handed her a beer.
“I need to go home.” She set the beer down on the table and pushed it over to his side. “Sorry.”