Seven Years of Bad Luck Read Free Page A

when he started his charming onslaught.. I was in need of a game plan. I decided that impassive would be my best bet. That routine could buy me some time if I did it right. If Aidan was unable to read my body language and facial expressions, he couldn’t manipulate me so easily. He would be hung out to dry and likely just grasp at straws to get back on my good side.
    Not working this time , I insisted to myself.
    He was so well practiced at this stupid game of battle of the wills. I found it quite repulsive that my life had been reduced to playing head games with the man I called my husband. How lame of a life I must’ve led. I often reminded myself that cheap used car salesmen often bore some of these same qualities. I couldn’t count how many times I had imagined him in a cheap cowboy hat, lousy three piece polyester suit (as cheap as the hat), and crap boots, reeking of a raunchy cologne. I could imagine him in the whole get-up attempting to dupe me into buying some shit car for a rock-bottom price! Aidan was just as bad as a con man. He just made the packaging so damn appealing that it was easy to get haggled into a shit deal built out of a foundation of lies and deceit. He knew how to dress something up to look way better than it actually was. I always wondered if he ever truly felt guilt. Guilt for all the lies. Guilt for all the women. Guilt for dragging me through it all. Mostly I wondered if he had guilt for breaking my spirit or if he even noticed that I had become so different from the woman he fell in love with.
    Stupid, I know.
    When Aidan pulled his car into our driveway, I immediately felt the butterflies and had a split second of doubt. I heard the slide of the deadbolt on our front door. and I looked up for just a moment. There he was. My husband was standing there in all his boy-next-door glory. His all-American smile spread across his clean-shaven face, his eyes sparkling at me, and his scent. Oh, that man had a scent that could render any women’s panties soaked with arousal. I sat on the living room couch doing my best to appear lost in the book I wasn’t really reading. I was actually staring at the same line on the page for what felt like hours and cussing myself on the inside for being so easily swayed by his mere presence. He hadn’t even uttered a word yet, and I could feel the grip on my determination slipping.
    Kathleen Cooper, get a grip on yourself. PRONTO!
    I looked up again from my book whose name I could not even remember. He shot a full smile in my direction, a smile which was, of course, a battering ram against my defenses. The reinstated inner voice of reason that had eluded me for years was back in effect.
    I have his number; I know his game. I won’t give in. I won’t give in , I chanted inwardly.
    I gave him the phoniest, plastered-on smile I could, and he picked up on it instantly. His eyebrows furrowed only slightly before he quickly smoothed away any telling expressions that would reveal him. He knew my smile was forced, and he sensed the nervous tension pouring out of me.
    “Hello, my love. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Hearing his voice sent a tingle up my spine.
    Shit!
    “Hey, how was your trip?” I was going for neutral ground in hopes of derailing any of his plans for the night. I could see that look in his eyes as he gave me an up-and-down gaze that dripped of his intentions. He made no effort to hide it either.
    “My flight was fine, and the trip went well. I am sure glad to be home, though.” I pressed on with my shield-o-scorned woman in place.
    “Want some coffee?”
    So far, so good , I thought to myself.
    “No, what I want—I already have, and she’s sitting right in front of me.” I glanced up at him and saw the most mischievous look on his face as he leaned back on the sofa across from me.
    Oh, damn—spoke too soon.
    “Come sit with me.” He gave his thigh a pat with his hand indicating where he wanted me. I scrambled around in my stupid brain