Chapter 6
Thirty-Nine and Holding
Kiki
“Fuck him and get fucked.”
I straighten on my bar stool, eyes widening at my cousin Billie’s heated demand. “I’m assuming you mean Drake. I’m not entirely sure who the second part was directed at.”
Billie rolls her eyes, takes a long sip of her aggressively pink drink, then sets it down with a sharp thunk. “Obviously fuck Drake. Who the hell calls someone from jail on their birthday acting like he didn’t just blow your life up? He’s a piece of shit.”
“Agreed,” I reply, dragging my straw through the ice in my glass. “But that’s hardly breaking news.”
The real scoop? Drake doesn’t correspond with me. Not once since my lawyer served him with divorce papers.
So when my phone lit up earlier tonight and I saw the prison number flashing across my screen, it twisted my insides, but not nearly as much as the words flitting past his lips.
He called to wish me a happy fortieth. To some, that might seem innocuous.
Hell, kind even. But Drake is not kind and he didn’t leave it at a celebratory greeting.
No, he proceeded to inform me that he had grand plans for my big day, at least before the law caught up to him.
A cruise around the Caribbean with all the accoutrements.
He seems to have forgotten that I loathe cruise ships.
The idea of floating on a giant barge filled with strangers in the middle of the ocean is akin to surgery without anesthesia.
He also dropped hints that maybe when he got home, we could still go, as if he’s on a business trip in Japan and not cooling his heels in a federal detention facility.
When he ended the call with a “Cheer up, forty isn’t that old,” I pitched my phone across the room.
The absolute fucking gall of that man.
My original dream for my fortieth? A trip to Europe to visit all the grand castles dotting the landscape.
Not that it’s going to happen anytime soon. European vacations cost money I don’t have, so I resigned myself to spiraling solo as I crossed the line from hot young commodity to over-the-hill artifact.
“Not sure what reaction he was hoping for, but telling him to kiss off before chucking my phone at the wall probably wasn’t it.” I study the cracked corner of my phone. Thank God for military-grade cases, right?
Billie’s mouth curves in a slow smile. “I’m proud of you. Now, on to the second—and more important—part of my statement.”
“The get fucked part?”
“You need to get laid.”
I choke on a laugh. “Oh, is that all?”
“Actually, it’s the bare minimum,” she replies, propping her chin on her hand. “What you really need is an out-of-your-head, see-stars, best-in-the-Milky-Way kind of experience. Orgasms aplenty.”
I snort, sputtering my drink in a totally unsexy maneuver. “Right. Because that kind of man is so readily available.”
“I suppose I could have gone the easy route and gotten you a vibrator.”
“See? That’s the optimal gift. Did you get me one of those newfangled ones? The kind that lights you up from the inside… or did you cheap out?”
Now it’s Billie’s turn to snort. “Someone has been doing their homework, and to answer your question, no way in hell. If I’m spending hundreds on a battery operated boyfriend, I’m keeping that shit for myself.”
I pivot on my stool, fixing Billie with a mock glare. “You’re heading off on some fantastical vacation tomorrow with scads of single men. What do you need a vibrator for?”
“Backup plan,” she replies with zero hesitation. “If I don’t meet some hot island boy, I’m not about to leave my satisfaction up to chance.”
“Smart woman.” I lean down, sipping my drink as my eyes dart around the murky bar interior. “Besides, you’re getting me out of the house. Partying with me in this fine establishment. That’s gift enough.”
Billie sucks her teeth, rolling her eyes at the shoddy surroundings. “We’ll go with that, but let it be known, I offered to take you wherever you wanted to go. You insisted on heading to this monstrosity instead.”
But she knows why I chose this dank place. Anonymity. It sits near a regional airport, frequented by travelers passing through by air or car. Although they might have read about Drake in the papers, they aren’t actively searching me out. Too busy passing the time and drowning their sorrows.
Hey, I’m out of the house. That’s something, right?
“At least they’re heavy handed with their drinks.” Billie catches the bartender’s attention with a wave and cheeky smile, and the man damn near trips over his tongue rushing to her side.
No surprise, really. She’s a stunner. Tall with curves for days and a mouth that is positively filthy. She’s every man’s wet dream and this guy is no exception as he sets down a new round of neon pink drinks with a flourish.
On the house, because of course they are.
Billie never pays for a drink. At one time, I had as much moxie as she did, with only a slightly cleaner mouth.
Now, I’m a sad old hag. Gah.
“What about this Eddie guy you’re always hanging out with? What’s going on there?”
I pause mid sip. “We’re friends,” I mutter, my lips still wrapped around the straw.
But Billie isn’t content to accept that explanation. “So he must be nice, then, right?”
I nod. “Very.”
Billie taps her chin thoughtfully. “Okay. Is he a deadbeat? Lives on his mom’s couch, makes his living by collecting cans?”
Once again, I sputter my drink. “Hardly. He owns a contracting company, which you know, and he’s an amazing dad to his son, Theo.”
“Sounds terrible so far.”
“Trust me, he’s great.”
Billie swings her stool around, kicking her long legs out in front of her and sharing a sweet smile with a few onlookers. Like I said, they all look. “So you think he’s great and hang out all the time, but you’re not screwing him. He’s hideous, isn’t he?”
“Not even close.”
“Help me out, cuz. What’s the issue?”
Seems she’s not going to let this go. Time to release all the facts so we can move on to the next part of this evening—drinking and perhaps some dancing, if the buzz holds.
I smack the bar with my palms. “Want the truth? Fine. He’s perfect.
Honestly, the most perfect man I’ve ever met.
But he’s also too young. Way too young. Let’s not forget, I’m the pariah of Sparkwood.
No one wants to hitch themselves to my train wreck of a life.
” I take another swallow of my radioactive cocktail, feeling the warm buzz seep through my insides.
“Although he’s gorgeous. Stupidly hot. Like… the kind of guy you dream about.”
Shit. Did not mean to let that detail slip. Hopefully, Billie doesn’t catch on.
But of course she does. Nothing gets past this woman.
She spins my stool round to face her, resting her hands on my knees and fixing me with a stern navy blue stare. “First, I’m assuming he’s at least twenty-one, right?”
“He’s thirty.”
My cousin rolls her eyes. “Oh, so he’s an actual full-on adult? For fuck’s sake, Kiki. Next, the whole pariah pity party? Total crap because Eddie hangs with you all the time. It’s obviously not an issue for him. Now, on to the really interesting part of your claim. You’re dreaming about him?”
I bury my face in my hands, desperate to hide my flaming cheeks. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, it’s exactly what you meant. You know how I know? You’re seventy shades of pink and you’re the worst liar on the planet.” She smacks my leg. “Tell me all the details. Don’t you dare leave out a single bit.”
“It’s my birthday. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Sounds like you want to do him.” Her eyes narrow. “Odd that he’s such a great guy but he didn’t take you anywhere for your birthday.”
Yay, she’s off the Eddie dream topic and onto the next worst topic—my fortieth birthday.
Universe, just once let me play this off as cool and nonchalant and let Billie change the subject. Hell, let some gorgeous man sweep into the bar and scoop her up. I’ll sit here alone the rest of the night, no problem. Deal?
Apparently the universe hates me.
Billie drums the bar with her nails. “He doesn’t know it’s your birthday, does he?”
I groan, dropping my head back and staring at the ceiling. “No, okay? I didn’t feel like crowing about how I’m not only way older, but I’m now in a different damn decade. He doesn’t need to know.”
“Bullshit. He sure as hell does.” With the speed of a cheetah, Billie snatches my phone off the bar, holding it just out of reach. “Here’s the deal, birthday bitch. You either text him right now, or I will go through your phone, find his number, and text him myself.”
“You wouldn’t.” I press my palms together in mock prayer, giving her my best sad puppy-dog face.
No dice.
“Oh, trust me. I would.” To drive home her point, she unlocks my phone, damned if I know how she figured out the passcode, and flips to my contacts. “Eddie Landry, I presume?”
“Give me that,” I growl, snatching my phone from her hands. “I’ll text him, okay? But that’s the end of it. No more embarrassing moments for me tonight. Deal?”
“Who? Me? I’m just trying to help.”
She’s also not giving me any privacy, watching my screen as I type.
Me: Hey. Hope you had a good day. What are you up to tonight?
Almost instantly, he responds, which earns an approving nod from my cousin.
Eddie: Heading to a buddy’s place to watch the game. What are you doing?
“Tell him,” Billie hisses. “Tell him or I will.”
“I hate you,” I hiss back.
She presses a loud kiss to my cheek. “Do not.”
Here I go, ending any chance of future flirtations with Eddie. He knows I’m older, but I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t think I’m this old.
Me: Just drowning my sorrows with neon pink drinks fed to me by my cousin to “celebrate” the fact that I officially left my thirties today.
I hit send, release a frustrated growl, and toss my phone on the bar.
“Now watch,” I tell Billie, pointing at my phone. “I’ll never hear from him again.”
“Or… he’ll respond right away.”
Not that I want to know what he’s going to say.
Do I look anyway? You know I do.
Eddie: You’re 40?
There it is.
I scrunch my eyes closed, imagining the shock on his face at the realization.
Me: Yep. But I prefer to think of it as 39 and holding on for dear life.
The typing bubble pops up.
Disappears.
Comes back.
Disappears again.
Oh my God, the man doesn’t know what to say.
This is it. This is where it gets so weird that we’ll never speak again. I’m going to kill my cousin.
Until finally…
Eddie: You do not look 40.
I stare at the screen. Are you fucking kidding me? It took him that long to say that? I’m sunk.
Before I can spiral further, another text follows.
Eddie: Where are you guys?
Me: The Lobster Claw. Probably never heard of it.
It’s a small, hole-in-the-wall bar near the regional airport.
My cousin is with me, and insisted I tell you how fucking old I am.
She’s a sadist, by the way. Anyway, have fun watching the game.
We’re about to drink something that appears radioactive and is likely illegal in at least thirty states.
Eddie: Be careful. Have fun.
I toss my phone on the bar and shoot daggers at Billie. “Are you happy now?”
“How did he take the news?” she teases.
I cross my arms and stare up at the ceiling, clicking my tongue against my teeth. “He said I don’t look forty.”
“Well, you don’t. You’re gorgeous.”
“Mm-hmm.” I accept my refill from the bartender with a resigned smile. “That was physically painful.”
“Oh please. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.”
“You mean drinks and dancing?”
Billie nods, sliding the bartender a hefty tip. “Definitely but first, I want the details.”
I cut my gaze to her and shrug. “Of what?”
“These lustful, Eddie-filled dreams.”
She has got to be kidding.
Newsflash, she isn’t, and now I’m once again the same shade of neon as the damn cocktail.
“If I tell you, you take it to the grave.”
“Oh, fuck yes. Absolutely. Cross my heart.” She shifts in her seat, fully locked in now, practically vibrating. “Give it to me.”
But what does it matter if she carries the secret to the grave or spills her guts before the next drink? I’ll likely never see Eddie again. Or if I do, it will be on a whole new platonic scale. No cuddling or long looks, although he might buy me a walker and some dentures.
“He’s got a… recurring role in my dreams, the first of which occurred when I was lying next to him.”
She jerks back. “Wait. I thought you said you were just friends.”
“We were watching a movie. I fell asleep. Totally innocent.”
Billie winks at me. “Unlike your dreams.”
I groan and run a hand over my brow. “Apparently I was moaning in my sleep. Good moans. He wanted to know all about them.”
A loud chortle flies past Billie’s lips. “What did you say?”
“I denied everything. Basically short-circuited because I’m cool like that and kicked him out of my cabin.”
“This poor man.” She rubs her hands together, mischief curling her lips. “Tell me, what does he do?”
Once again, the flush climbs my cheeks, threatening to flood every pore.
You know what? Why not tell her? What’s the worst that can happen?
So I face Billie and lean in, giving this story all that I’ve got. “He backs me against a wall, pinning my hands above my head, his entire body pressing against me. And then he kisses me and… I melt. He feels so good. Tastes so good. He finally releases me, hikes up my skirt…”
“Oh, now we’re getting somewhere.”
“And drops to his knees. Trust me, I was doing a hell of a lot more than moaning in the dream. But damn, his tongue.” I fan myself at the memory. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
She exhales. “Damn. Woman, you need to share that little exposé with Eddie.”
“Not a chance.”
“Don’t think he’ll measure up?”
“Oh yes, I think he’d be even more magical. But that’s not the point.” I lean on the bar with a resigned sigh. “The real life Eddie isn’t kissing me against a wall. He’s taking thirty seconds to tell me I don’t look forty, which is code for, ‘Oh shit, didn’t realize you were that over the hill.’”
“Tragic.” With that, Billie turns her attention to the barkeep, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Thoughts that inevitably turn to those magical dreams about Eddie.
I didn’t tell her everything. She doesn’t need every sordid detail of him on top of me, filling me, coaxing me to the edge again and again.
The way his mouth knows every inch of my body and how to make me ache.
The way he held me in place, only to drive me out of my mind with need.
There’s no point in telling Billie any of that. No point in saying it out loud.
Because it was a dream, and judging by the way he hesitated—those dots appearing, disappearing—when he found out how fucking old I am…that’s exactly where it’s going to stay.