Chapter 11 #2
Scotty: Are we still on for tomorrow?
I stare at the screen, biting the inside of my cheek. It’s not a question about the car. It’s an excuse to reach out. I know it, and so does he.
Me: Yep.
Three dots appear, disappear. Then appear again.
Scotty: Can’t stop thinking about how you taste. Makes my mouth water. Come over.
My pulse kicks. Heat floods my chest, my throat, my skin. He has to know exactly what that does to me.
I type back, fingers shaking just a little.
Me: Can’t. I’ve got plans.
This time, there’s a pause.
Scotty: With who?
I grin, wicked and petty and a little drunk on the power of it and the prosecco I’ve been sipping over the last hour.
Me: Someone’s nosey. Jealous?
Another pause, this one longer, followed by a single word that sends a shiver down my spine.
Scotty: Adrienne.
Me: The girls.
Scotty: What are you wearing?
I laugh under my breath. “Get better pickup lines,” I murmur, my thumbs flying.
Me: Get better pickup lines.
Then, because I can’t help myself, I take one last look in the mirror.
I glance over at Dolly, but she’s focused on something on her phone.
On impulse, I lift my phone and snap a picture, making sure the angle captures just how short and how low the dress cuts.
I also make sure to smile, just enough to say your loss.
I hit send before I can overthink it. The reply is instant.
Scotty: Fuck me. Who do you have to look so good for? You sure you can’t come by first?
My stomach does a full somersault. I set the phone down like it’s hot. “Nope,” I whisper to myself. “You don’t get to ruin girls’ night.”
Dolly leans around the corner, one brow arched. “Who’s trying to ruin girls’ night?”
I grab my clutch and toss the phone inside. “No one. Just… work stuff.”
She doesn’t buy it for a second, but she smiles anyway. “Uh-huh. Well, work can wait. We’ve got a wine bar to scandalize.”
“Right.” I exhale, grab my jacket, and take one last look in the mirror. “Let’s go make bad decisions,” I say, locking the door behind us.
Dolly grins. “Now that’s the Adrienne I know.” And for the first time all week, I actually feel like her.
Juniper pulls up in the big SUV like a getaway driver, windows down, music thumping. It feels like we’re in college again, home for summer break. Brooklyn’s riding shotgun, Dolly and I climb in the next to Amelia.
“We look hot,” Brooklyn declares, adjusting the rearview to check her eyeliner. “Fort Collins isn’t ready.”
“Fort Collins has no idea,” Juniper says, grinning as she peels out.
The drive is loud. Windows cracked, music still thumping as we talk over each other.
Amelia tells a story about Paw Patrol and how her son is so obsessed that it’s ruining their life.
Dolly swears she’s only having two drinks and then immediately changes it to three.
Juniper has a playlist built entirely of songs from college, and the first time Scotty ever really looked at me like I wasn’t just his friend’s little sister, flashes across my brain like a stupid slideshow I didn’t ask to see.
We pull into the wine bar, and the patio’s already packed. String lights glow softly. A trio plays something bluesy inside. We claim a high-top like a small army and order a bottle of something crisp and cold.
My phone buzzes the second I set my clutch down.
Scotty: You drinking?
I ignore it, forcing my gaze up. “To us amazing, accomplished, and still hot women,” I say, raising my glass. “Even though I will be thirty this year.”
“Hey, we’re already there, sister.” Brooklyn laughs.
“And beyond,” Amelia seconds, taking a healthy sip of her wine.
“Cheers,” they echo, and we sip. The wine is bright and peachy, and I can feel my shoulders loosen after just a few sips.
But then, my phone buzzes again.
Scotty: You behaving?
I let it sit facedown, a little rush of petty power skittering through me at the thought of making him wait. We ordered bruschetta. Juniper makes us do one shot “for morale.” We grimace and laugh, and Brooklyn snorts when the tequila hits wrong, and I remember I love these women like air.
“Can I just say how much each of you means to me?” I offer a smile that’s already starting to turn into a frown as my chin quivers. “I mean it, you guys are the best group of friends.”
“Oh boy, one shot of tequila and we’re already getting the emotional waterworks.” Juniper pretends to fan me with a napkin.
The buzz returns. Then again. Then again. I ignore it.
“I mean it, I’m barely buzzed, but I just need to say it before we get too far into the night. So thank you for taking time away from your kids and your husbands and spending it with your lonely, single friend.”
“Oh, please,” Dolly rolls her eyes at my self-deprecating speech. “You have commitment issues, and you know it.”
“What?” Her comment genuinely shocks me. “I don’t have commitment issues.” All four of the women give me a knowing look.
I try to focus on what they’re saying, but I’m too distracted by my damn phone that sounds like a muted vibrator in my lap. Finally, I flip the phone over.
Scotty: Stop ignoring me.
It’s ridiculous how just seeing his name on my phone already has me wet. I want to tell him that, but I’m still self-aware enough to remember that tonight is about putting space between him and me.
Me: Having fun. Busy.
Scotty: I’m glad you’re having fun. Are you behaving?
That sends a tingle right down between my thighs. He’s jealous.
Me: Why would I do that?
I turn my attention back to the group, trying to catch up with the story Brooklyn’s telling about how Tyler used his belt on her for the first time when they were dating. But it’s useless when I glance down and see cock on my screen. I swallow, blushing as I read the message.
Scotty: Because you want to be rewarded with my giant cock later. Be good and I’ll give you every thick inch, splitting that pussy wide open again until you’re begging me to stop.
Heat slams low in my belly, a sweet ache pooling fast. I press my thighs together under the table and take a too-big sip of wine.
“Who’s making you blush?” Brooklyn sings.
“No one.” I pocket the phone. It buzzes again anyway, persistent as a heartbeat. I cave.
Me: Stop it.
Scotty: You’re wet just reading it, aren't you? Squeezing those cream thighs together in that short little dress?
I swallow. He’s not wrong. The bar hums around me, glasses clink, a couple kisses in the corner, and all I can see is his mouth on my skin and the way he sounds when he pushes inside me.
Me: You have an ego problem.
Scotty: And you have a lack of my cock inside you problem. Be a good girl and come by after.
The room tilts and I close my eyes for a brief, wine-warm second. I should shut it down. I should toss the phone in my bag and pretend I never saw any of it. Instead, courage made of tequila and whatever wine I’ve been downing makes me say what I really want to say to him.
Me: You know what I want, Scotty.
I stare at the words, stomach flipping. His reply is quick.
Scotty: Say it.
I can almost hear his voice. Rough, low, teasing.
I type. Delete. Type again.
Me: I want more than dirty texts.
Me: But tonight I want to dance and forget you for five minutes.
I hit send before I can chicken out, then set the phone facedown like it might bite me. My heart rattles against my ribs. If he pushes, I’ll cave. I know myself too well.
“Okay.” I plaster on a smile and grab Amelia’s hand. “Dance floor. Now. Before I decide wine is dinner.”
We flood the floor with a dozen other women who look like they also needed a night where nobody calls them Mom or a booty call.
The music slides into something with a bass line that sits in my chest. We move.
We laugh. We shout the chorus to a song we haven’t heard in ten years, and it feels like we’re twenty again.
My phone buzzes one more time in my clutch. I don’t look. I let the beat take it, let sweat gather at my hairline, let Dolly spin me like we’re at a wedding and the DJ is on his last song.
A guy finds his way into our orbit. He’s tall and fit with a clean jawline and manicured hands. The usual kind of guy I’d go for. He smiles like he knows he’s attractive, like he knows catnip to a woman like me.
“You all are having the most fun in here,” he says, amused, eyes warm, hands up like he comes in peace.
“Obviously,” Brooklyn answers for us.
He looks at me when the next song starts, tips his head toward the center. “Can I steal you for this one?”
The old me would check her phone. The new me, the tonight me, slides into the moment.
“Sure,” I say, sliding my hand into his and following him.
He keeps his hands light against my back, like he doesn’t want to move too fast. We move closer when the floor swells. I let myself laugh. I let my hair stick to my neck. I don’t think about a complicated mechanic with a mouth that makes me want to abandon every logical thing I know.
“You’re trouble,” he says, smiling like it’s a compliment.
“Only on Saturdays.” I joke.
“Good to know.” He leans in as the song changes, not too close. “I’m Miles, by the way.”
“Adrienne.”
“Nice to meet you, Adrienne.” He reaches for my hand when the dance breaks apart and slips a small folded card into my palm, smooth as a magic trick. “If you ever want to be trouble on a Tuesday night sometime, I’d love to experience that.”
I laugh, a little delighted. “Bold.”
“Optimistic,” he says, backing away with a harmless salute.
I tuck the card into my clutch without looking at it. I’m not calling him. The point is I can. The point is, options feel good after weeks of orbiting one man’s gravity.
We close the place down without trying. At some point, we switch to water. Juniper herds us with the skill set of a woman who regularly wrangles cattle. We pile back into the SUV, cheeks flushed, hair wild, voices hoarse from singing.
“Successful night,” Amelia declares, kicking off her heels. “I only thought about work once.”
“I thought about sex three times,” Dolly sighs happily. “Ranger is about to get his brains fucked out when I get home.” She flops back against the seat, her heavy-lidded eyelids already telling me that she’s going to be fast asleep by the time we get her home.
“Proud of you,” Brooklyn says dryly. “You seemed to hit it off with that guy.”
“Why, because we danced?” She shrugs. “He did give me his number, though.” I reach into my clutch and show them his card.
Dolly’s eyes fly open, and she sits up. “Oh my god, are you going to call him?”
I shrug, “he lives all the way out here, I doubt it. But still, feels nice to know I still got it.”
I lean my head against the window, breathing in the crisp mountain air as we drive home. Lights smear into soft lines as my eyes grow heavy. The mountains sit dark and watchful behind everything, like they know too much.
My clutch buzzes in my hand. I pull the phone out to see the battery bar blinking red and one unread message from Scotty lingering. I don’t open anything. I don’t need to see what he said. I already know how my body will react if I do.
By the time they drop me at my place, the wine has settled into a hum beneath my skin. I hug everyone, promise brunch, promise to text when I wake up. The porch light I forgot to set to auto blinds me.
Inside, I toss my clutch on the dresser and toe off my heels with a groan. I don’t brush my hair. I don’t even brush my teeth. It’s all I can do to peel off my dress and face-plant into bed.
For twelve whole seconds before sleep hits, I don’t think about Scotty or what I told him or what he’ll say in the morning. I just think about how my feet hurt and how my throat is raw from laughing.
Then the lights go out in my brain, and I’m gone.