Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel by Leanna Ellis Page B

would.
    Well, Andi wasn’t like her mother. She wasn’t the waiting type.
    She slammed the door to her apartment, not bothering to lock it, and threw her bag and keys on the coffee table. Samuel could go off to who the hell cared where, but she was not going to sit around waiting for him to come back. No, sirree.
    Stalking into the bedroom, she refused to look at the bed—the mussed sheets, which hung off the mattress, and the note he’d left that morning. She stared in the bathroom mirror and stripped off her work clothes, scattering her warm-up suit, then stood under the hot shower spray. The loofah scrubbed and scratched at her skin, as she rubbed it over every inch of her, chafing away the memories of his touch, punishing herself for caring what he did or where he went. She was a fool. Just like her mother.
    When she couldn’t scrub deep enough to erase his memory, she shut off the water, batted away the shower curtain, and tramped into her closet, dripping water on the carpet. She chose her sexiest outfit with the skimpiest neckline and shortest skirt. First went the thick lotion, next extra sprays of Juicy Couture, then a thong, and finally the stretchy dress fabric over her bare skin. Towel-drying her hair, she shaped the curls with her fingers, leaving it in sexy disarray. She drew heavy lines around her eyes, as if the black liner could make it look like she hadn’t shed one tear, then she smeared her lips with gloss.
    If she had looked through the mirror to her heart, she might have seen a lost little girl, pretending not to care. “It’s okay, Momma. We can help each other.”
    “Shut up. You don’t know nothin’.”
    But now, Andi didn’t bother with self-help talk. She slipped on five-inch heels and walked back into the den, where she came to a sudden stop.
    A dish towel partially hid a book on the kitchen table. Samuel’s book. Red, hot rage rumbled deep through her and then erupted in a blast of quick, jerky movements. The book hit the wall, splatting onto the carpet, splitting the spine and twisting pages. She gave it an added kick, and her shoe bolted, knocking into the television. Teetering on one heel, she gasped and sputtered and fought the tears until she wrestled them back under control and forced them into that deep, dark, secretive place.
    Brushing chaotic strands of hair out of her face, she stood in the living room of her apartment. Silence beat against her ears. A new eruption followed, not as violent as the first, but an eruption nonetheless. She kicked off her other shoe, gathered up the book, and shoved it into a grocery bag. Dumping it at the door, she drew a steadying breath, readjusted her skirt, shoved her feet into her shoes again, grabbing the wall for support, and hooked a lock of hair behind her ear.
    There. That was good. She’d toss the book in the Dumpster. Then she’d go have a drink. Or two. Or ten.
    She breathed easier now, expanding her lungs and drawing in the promise of hope. Her life wasn’t over. So what if Samuel had left? Who needed him? There were plenty more men out there, just waiting for a chance to meet a woman like her. She’d be more particular this time. She wouldn’t get some stupid farm boy. No way. She’d find a man, a real man, a grown man, who wore a dignified suit. Maybe one who worked in a bank. One who made lots of money. Somebody who knew how to treat a woman.
    Buying into that hope, she grabbed her keys and snatched up the book. But she bypassed the Dumpster. What would be the point? Samuel wouldn’t know if she threw it away. Or care. Worse, he’d never do that to her. With a heavy sigh, she reconsidered her initial plan. What she loved…liked about Samuel was that he always did the right thing. And the right thing to do was return the book to the library. Yes, that’s what she would do. Tonight. Then she’d move on.
    The drop-off box at the library had cones blocking the lane, so she parked and carried the book to the return box. She