Reckless by Devon Hartford Page A

flirtatiously, thrusting her inflatable pool toys out at him scandalously. Based on the way they strained at her shirt, I’m pretty sure she’d had them pumped up another 40 P.S.I. since the last time I’d seen her.
    Christos smiled at her casually, “What up, Skylar.”
    Was he smiling too much, or was that an appropriate amount? I wanted to consult my Guidebook to Proper Ex-etiquette, but I’d left it at home.
    Skylar bounced around the hostess podium, arms wide for a hug, leading with her buddy-bumpers. For an agonizing moment, elongated beyond reasonable proportion, I worried what kind of hug Christos would give. Would it be full-frontal? As in, pelvis to pelvis? Or a one-armed side-hug with hips at least twelve inches apart? Or would he spin and dodge out of her reach like a respectful boyfriend, and merely shake hands?
    Moment of truth.
    Christos leaned sideways toward her, clearly intending to give her the one-armed hug with a full twenty inches of lower-torso clearance. He even had the appropriately indulgent half-smile straining his face.
    Skylar was undeterred. She thrust forward with her hips, limboing under Christos’ arm, determined to hump him like a puppy. Her body tilted so far back, Christos had no option but to catch her before she fell to the ground.
    “Whoa, careful!” he said, concern on his face. She hung in one of his muscular arms. “You okay?”
    “I am now,” she smiled, eyes glassy with desire, her luxurious auburn hair draping over his arms like a hair-care commercial. She looped her arms around the back of his neck like some kind of choreographed Tango dance pose.
    That bitch! She was master of feminine wiles. Not to worry, I had a few ninja skills of my own. I grit my teeth, ready to pounce and tear some hair out.
    Before I could attack, Christos stood Skylar up and bodily set her down two feet away, then shifted his body language away from her while folding his arms protectively across his chest.
    I could deal with that. His body language was clear. I retracted my poison-tipped ninja claws back into my fingers and tried to breathe evenly while my adrenalin wore off.
    “Be careful, you almost cracked your head open,” Christos said to Skylar.
    “Oh, it’s my heels,” she giggled. “I’m always tripping on them. Clumsy me.”
    Tee-hee , you bitch. I was ready to trip my heels all over her face. Too bad I was wearing flats. I took a deep breath. Was I being jealous? It seemed highly unlikely, but there was a minuscule possibility. I tried reasoning with myself.
    Christos had already proven himself to be the most devoted man I’d ever known. He’d done numerous crazy-stupid things to hold onto me. Why would he suddenly throw that all away for some random girl he’d had, ahem , table sex with, and if I recall, barely remembered banging?
    Okay, that thought just derailed my happy train and crashed it into a kitten farm, killing everyone on board and all the kittens frolicking in the fields.
    My panic level skyrocketed out of control. Did somebody have a bottle of Xanax? Or a case? Or a truckload? Screw it. Somebody call FEMA. I was about to have a natural disaster. Rev up those rescue helicopters, boys. I needed to be flown out of here.
    “Skylar, you remember my girlfriend Samantha?” Christos said while wrapping his arm possessively around my waist.
    Cancel emergency. Phew.
    “Not really,” Skylar said, flustered.
    “Skylar, Samantha. Samantha, Skylar,” Christos said.
    Were we supposed to shake? I hoped not. I gave Skylar a little wave. She made a cat-pee face. Served her right. Not that she was a bitch or anything.  
    “Yeah, me and Samantha are totally in love,” Christos said, gazing into my eyes.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell Skylar was now making a cat-poop face. It looked just right on her.
    While I wrapped my arms around Christos’ waist and swooned into his side, Skylar returned to her podium and asked Christos blandly, “How many are in your