The Dimple Strikes Back by Lucy Woodhull Page A

limped on his own while complaining about dating such a shorty. The quaint hotel Ellen had booked soon appeared.
    The manager was not pleased to behold Sam in his bloody glory. We were shooed out of the lobby and into the tiny, two-person elevator to our floor. Rustic charm and a big, soft bed greeted us, and Sam fell into it immediately. Well, onto it. I had to move him onto one half with a series of butt pinches, and finally just plain ass slaps until he shifted sufficiently to give me room. So tired was I that I didn’t even mind his stench. Adventure movies never mention the body odour, but Indiana Jones’ manly pit stains come with a terrible price, and I don’t mean Nazis.
    * * * *
    I awoke the next morning to find Sam sitting on the small balcony adjoining our room. He’d showered and looked adorable, except for the rainbow of bruising on his face, some of which had begun to turn green, and his clothes, all of which were unfit even for rags. I offered to go out for coffee, which he accepted with more joy than he’d displayed when seeing me. But who could blame him? There were some days I’d probably kick my mother for coffee, but then I’d have to hear about how my kicking was weak, and if I just went to the gym once in a while, I’d be married.
    Coffee and some truly amazing chocolate pastry in hand, I joined him on the deck. His aura had such a tint of doom to it, I just sat there inhaling chocolate and awaiting the downpour.
    “Is someone watching Captain Taco?”
    “No, I left him to starve because that’s the kind of person I am.”
    “Funny. They pay you to do comedy, right?”
    His sourness rubbed off on me like cheap shoe dye. “I made quick friends with my neighbour and asked her to look in. Hopefully she’s not a thief. Har de har.”
    He took a too-fast drink of coffee and hissed when he burned himself. After a moment, he said, quietly, “You should keep him.”
    “I am keeping him. I have been…” My heart doubled its speed as it began to take in the meaning of what he said before my brain did.
    “I’m breaking up with you.” He refused to look at me, but focused on the orange tiled roofs shining in the sunlight of Bruges. What a perfect day to be let go.
    He actually managed to ruin chocolate, damn him. I set my breakfast aside and said, “I thought I dumped you in London.”
    “No, you didn’t.”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Dammit!” He turned fully towards me. “This isn’t a joke. Jane was the nicest person I ever worked for. If she’s gunning for me, then…” He let it dangle, the horrible end to that sentence. I pictured him running through the streets, a mob of lowlifes chasing behind with torches and pitchforks.
    I stood, the better to yell at him. “A couple of days ago, you said you loved me too much to be noble. Or was that a lie? Or, are you too noble to lie, and that’s why you’re dumping me, because you used to be a liar? Ugh!” I kicked the metal railing, but I didn’t have any shoes on, and my toe screamed in pain. I fell back onto my chair and held my foot. At least I could be dignified when my world was crumbling. “Fuck everything! I just want to be a normal couple who watches TV in Snuggies and has weekday sex and argues about who has to clean the litter box! Which should be you, because you’re obviously related to poop.”
    He laughed. I said a bad word and stomped inside the room to repack my overnight bag. Dump me? Doesn’t he know who I am? I’m a middling actress who’s dieting all the time! And why the fuck can’t I get Pizza Rolls in Belgium? Stupid jackass!
    Sam tiptoed in from the balcony. I threw a pillow at him. He ducked, but not fast enough, and it bounced off his ugly, fart face head. “I’m doing this for you,” he explained feebly. “I’m trying to do the right damn thing for once. We’ve got so lucky, ducking my enemies. But this has to be the last time. I can’t put you in danger anymore. Besides—why are you even mad if you