She stared at me, completely thrown. There was a time when the name Hudson alone was enough to ignite me. Now I was calmly offering to have him come over and cook her hangover soup.
“Is your foot alright?” she asked, tone softening. “Hudson was hurt that day. He said the sight of blood made him dizzy, that he might pass out. I wanted to take him to the hospital first and then come back…”
My gaze cut her off, and instantly, words died in her throat.
Hudson’s so-called injury was nothing more than a scrape on his right hand. A big bandage covered it. Her excuse for coming back later was nothing but a joke.
Right then, Arianne cleared her throat awkwardly and pulled a plastic bag from her purse.
“You like crab, right? I picked some up for you.”
I kept my tone neutral. “The doctor said seafood causes inflammation. I’m supposed to avoid it.”
That shut her down fast. Someone who’d always held the upper hand in our relationship suddenly found herself blocked at every turn, and her patience snapped.
“Unbelievable. I try to do something nice, and you just blow it up in my face.”
She hurled the plastic bag straight into the trash and stormed into the bathroom.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.