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When she does, she’s not alone.
She’s with a tall, blond-haired man who is the genetic result of Vikings going surfing. Even worse, he has his megawatt smile aimed right at my wife.
Goddammit. A man can’t let his guard down for one fucking second.
If I wasn’t worried about leaving Nina alone in the car or bringing her with me and making her bear witness to me smearing Viking Surfer Boy across the pavement, I’d be out of the car in a hot second. As it stands, I do nothing more than roll down my window so I can try to catch some of their conversation.
They’re too far away to hear much and the breeze that was nice a few seconds ago is now a veritable wind tunnel. But I don’t need to hear anything.
My eyes see it all.
The man is leaning towards her, his elbow brushing hers as they walk. He runs his hand through his Prince Charming locks and laughs at every other word out of her mouth.
He won’t be laughing when my hand is wrapped around his throat. That would teach him to mess around with married women.
She’s taken. Check the rock I put on her finger, motherfucker.
But just then, Laila waves her hand in the air… and her ring finger is bare.
Not only is she walking around withthatbody.Thatface.Thatsmile… She’s doing it all without my ring on her finger.
The man flips his hair over his shoulder like he belongs on the cover of a 90s romance novel, and it’s the last straw. I climb out of the car, gently lift Nina from her carseat, and take the least obvious route to where my wife is being hit on so that I won’t be noticed until the last second.
“… could be teaching the class yourself,” he’s saying with another wide smile. “Your downward dog is impressive.”
I narrow my eyes. No man compliments a woman’s downward dog unless he’s imagining himself standing right behind her while she’s doing it. This fucker has got some balls on him.
“I don’t know about that. Matilda’s way ahead of the game.”
“The difference is that Matilda has all that hot air weighing her down,” he mutters, nudging Laila’s arm.
Laila cackles. “Trevor, stop.”
“Yeah, Trevor,” I snarl from where I’m watching this mating ritual a few feet away. “Stop.”
They both turn to me. Laila is surprised, but just as I planned, the sight of Nina puts a smile on her face. She rushes over to pluck our daughter out of my arms.
“My sweet girl!” Laila kisses her neck, making Nina giggle. She has no idea the danger she just put Trevor in. My hands are free, and Trevor is looking me over like I just stole his lunch money.
“Who’s this?” Trevor asks.
Your worst nightmare, is on the tip of my tongue when Laila beats me to the punch. “This is my husband, Arsen. Arsen, this is Trevor. He’s one of my yoga instructors.”
Trevor’s jaw drops. “You’re married?”
Laila nods. “I am. And this little beauty is our baby girl, Nina.”
“Married…” He closes his mouth with some effort. “And you’re a mom.”
“I mentioned her before,” Laila laughs. “I showed you pictures.”
Was that before, after, or during her “impressive” downward dog? I have a good idea what Trevor might’ve been distracted by.
Laila ignores the disappointed slump of Trevor’s shoulders and waves.“Anyway, I’ll see you next week. Bye, Trev!”
Before I can tie Surfer Boy to my bumper by his bangs or throw Laila over my shoulder and carry her back to the car, she dismisses Trevor and reaches for my hand.
“Shall we?” she asks, walking back to the vehicle before I can answer.
