Chapter Twenty-Four

Meg felt as if Sam had slugged her one in the guts. She was a slut. He’d just confirmed it with his question. If the man who slept with her thought she was a whore, then no decent man would ever look at her.

Fighting back tears of anger, she glared at Sam. “I never did anything with him. If you must know, he kissed me and I left, but it’s nice to know what you think of me.” She gave him a shove and fled, finding refuge in her bedroom.

She threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in her pillow, ignoring the gentle tapping on the door. The whole sex thing with Sam had turned out to be a horrible mistake. She should have stuck to her guns and said no, now they’d messed up their friendship for good.

*

Sam tapped again. He had fucked up big time. She told him she thought she’d become a sex addict and he all but accused her of screwing around with Michael. He may as well have painted the word slut across her chest. With a mother like hers, she was bound to have hang ups about sex and morals. He had a horrible feeling if her mother ever found out what they had been up to, she’d evict him minus his wild stallion.

His heart pounded, he needed to win back her trust. Life without Meg in his bed would be unbearable. Perhaps the pain in his gut had to do with more than not having her in his bed. He didn’t want to lose her friendship, never see her laugh until she cried, never watch her savor the taste of chocolate ripple ice cream and scrunch up her nose when she realized she’d eaten every spoonful.

“Meg, I’m sorry. Please let me in so I can apologize properly.”

“Go away. You have nothing to apologize for. You just said it like it is.”

He laid his forehead against the door. “Meg, please. I didn’t think. I’m not upset at you, but I hate that man. I know I said I was happy for you to find someone else but, I guess I’m not.”

“Not happy to share me, or not happy to share me with him? Don’t answer, I don’t care either way. I’m giving up sex. I plan to enter a convent.”

Sam couldn’t stop a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. The thought of her taking the veil was ridiculous. She never went to church and she’d be stuck doing penance all day for swearing at the mother superior when she told her to get up before dawn for prayers.

“Meg, you don’t even believe in God.”

“Fuck off, Sam, you know nothing about me.”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning when you’re sober and more rational.”

She yelled back. “So now I’m a drunken, irrational whore. I wonder why you ever wanted to fuck me in the first place. I’m saving you from a horrible task. Now you won’t have to dirty yourself anymore.”

Sam balled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to barge into her room and show her it was no horrible task but one he would gladly take on every day of the week. Forcing himself on her would prove nothing. She needed to cool off; besides, they could both use a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow he would apologize again. Hopefully, she’d be ready to listen.

* * * *

The loud beep, beep, beep of the alarm clock dragged Meg back to consciousness. She might have had the foresight to set the damn thing but she hadn’t had the same smarts when it came to getting ready for bed. Without bothering to undress she lay down in the dark and devoured half the box of soft centers. Nun’s habits hid even the biggest spare tires. As a nun she could eat herself sick, another good reason to take up the religious life. She had missed chocolate, ice cream, and all the other things that made eating fun.

Rolling over, she smacked the clock so hard it not only stopped beeping but toppled behind the bedside table. The room was still dark and she took a minute to remember why she planned to get up so early. Oh yeah, she needed to escape before she bumped into Sam and did something she’d regret, like kiss him, or worse.

She slowly dragged herself into a sitting position. Her left cheek felt odd and deformed. God had visited some horrible disease like leprosy upon her. Reluctantly, she touched her face. Eww, soft and squishy. Pus, her face had turned to pus! She sniffed her finger before popping it in her mouth. Strawberry cream.

She flicked on the light and groaned. Somehow during the night she had upended the box of chocolates and one melted and stuck to her face. Even more disconcerting was the milk caramel and dark orange soft center entangled in her hair. Despite the mess, washing her hair would have to wait. She needed to make her escape. She clambered off the bed still dressed, which meant that was one less thing to deal with. In as short a space of time as possible, she tossed clothes, toiletries and other essentials into a hold-all. Feet shoved into a conveniently placed pair of sunshine yellow running shoes, she was ready.

Satisfied she had all she needed for now, she crept out of the room, only stopping long enough to use the toilet and wipe the sticky mess from her face. Keys in hand, she snuck down the hall and out the door just as the first rays of sunlight hit the front windows of the flat.

* * * *

Meg checked the dashboard clock again. Hmm, eight, surely now it was late enough? Perhaps she should call first? Then again, maybe not. Happy with her decision to show up unannounced, she climbed out of the car and dropped the empty fast food wrappers and coffee cup in the bin. As she walked back to her car a kid stared at her and grinned, no doubt amused at her hair decorations. She stuck her tongue out at him but instead of pissing him off, it seemed to amuse him even more. He tugged madly at his caregiver’s pants and the whole group turned to take in the chocolate covered vision of Maggie Riley.

The middle finger of her left hand slid back into line as she felt blood rush to her cheeks. No way, absolutely no freakin’ way!

Turning tail she made a run for it, ignoring the calls of, Maggie Riley, is that you, which followed her. Of all the people to flip off, she had to choose Mr. and Mrs. Ronson’s grandson. That must have been little Terry with them. He’d only been a snot nosed toddler when she moved out of home. Whenever she went outside, he would peek through the fence and poke his tongue out at her. She figured she had at best a couple of hours before she was dobbed in to her mother.