Chapter 8 #3
After a quick discussion with the other ladies, we agreed to hold off on our book club meeting for another week.
We’d missed last Monday because Molly and Abby had caught a bug that had been going around at the elementary school they both worked at.
We weren’t going to be able to meet this coming Monday either, because Camille was working a rare evening shift at the hospital.
“I hate working nights, but at least I might get a little eye-candy this time,” she told us, playfully fanning herself with her hand.
“We have a new doctor at the hospital. His name is Dr. Dooley, but I like to refer to him as Dr. Do-Me. He’s a sexy, silver fox who looks like he belongs on the cover of one of our books. ”
Ella propped her hands on her hips and looked at her friend in exasperation. “Two hours ago you said you’d sworn off dating after the ding-a-ling disaster.”
Camille shrugged. “So? A woman can look, can’t she? Besides, Dr. Do-Me was just widowed earlier this year and aside from that, he’s way too uptight. I get the feeling he doesn’t quite approve of me. Still, the man can fill out a set of scrubs,” she mused wistfully.
Ella just snickered and told her she was hopeless.
“You’ll be dating somebody else within a week,” she predicted, laughing when Camille responded by sticking her tongue out at her and then flipping her off.
I left a few minutes later, trying to tell myself that I wasn’t disappointed at the realization that Trick was nowhere to be found when I said my goodbyes to everyone else.
“I was just trying to be polite when I looked for him,” I muttered as I started my car and pulled away from the curb. As I drove home, I had to admit that even I didn’t believe that.
I’d seen Trick in a whole new light today and almost felt as if I’d met the real man, rather than the persona he showed the rest of the world.
Trick was flirty as hell, a total player who didn’t seem to take anything seriously.
Jase, though, was charming, and attentive, and had been surprisingly sweet with Everly and Ethan.
I liked him, probably more than I should if I didn’t want to end up hurt again.
In an effort to get him off my mind, once I’d fed Elvis, I picked up my Kindle and downloaded the next book we had agreed on for book club. It featured a swashbuckling pirate and the poor lass who’d stowed away on his ship, and I soon lost myself in the story.
Later, right before going to bed, I checked my email and found three messages from Beau. The first one was innocuous – passing on a notice from the condo association about raising the annual maintenance fees.
The next one, though, pissed me off.
“Trying to make me jealous by posting a pic of your new boyfriend? Nice try, baby. You’ve downgraded.”
I was confused for a second, then remembered that Dustin had snapped a picture of the two of us outside the restaurant when we’d arrived last night.
He’d asked my permission before posting it to his social media, but I hadn’t even looked at my accounts today.
I checked them then and found the photo he’d posted on Instagram.
He had tagged me in it, with the caption “Looking forward to an evening of good food and even better company.”
I went back to my inbox and jabbed the delete key, wishing I could make Beau disappear as easily as his email, then opened the next one.
It was a screenshot of Beau’s Instagram, featuring a picture of him and a pretty brunette with huge breasts that were all but falling out of her low-cut top.
The photo was clearly a selfie judging by the angle of it, and her gravity-defying cleavage was front and center.
They were cozied up together on the couch in our condo – the very couch I’d bought when we first moved in – with her hand resting possessively on his chest and his satisfied grin bordering on sleazy.
The photo caption read “On to bigger and better things!”
“Oh, grow the fuck up, asshole. Do you really think I’m going to get into a tit-measuring contest with your latest conquest?” I grumbled to myself, shaking my head in disgust before deleting that email as well.
I skimmed over the remaining new items in my inbox, deleting the multitude of junk messages. One message caught my eye, and my brows rose at the sender’s name, Your Soulmate, and the subject line, “Don’t do it again, Lauren!”
I’d received several emails from Your Soulmate over the past few weeks and had assumed they were spam messages from a dating site of some sort, even though I’d never had the nerve to sign up for one. I had deleted them all without opening them.
The personalized subject line on this one made me hesitate though. There was no attachment to trigger a virus, so I took a chance and opened it.
The message was short and to the point.
“Stop trying to make me jealous. You know I don’t like it, Lauren.”
I was thoroughly creeped out for a minute, before logic kicked in.
“What the hell kind of game is he playing now,” I muttered, angrily hitting the button to send the cryptic missive straight to the trash folder, before blocking the sender’s account entirely. “Fucking Beau.”