Magical Midlife Madness (Leveling Up 1)

A squeal erupted from the hotel. I peered in the open door as I passed. A few younger people sat at the far end of the bar, the women scantily dressed and the guys in variations of the same outfit: a blue-collared shirt and artfully distressed jeans.

My gaze lingered on the bare midriff of one of the women. What I wouldn’t give to have my four pack back. If I had one, I’d show it off, too. No jiggling when this forty-year-old moved, no-siree. I’d want to put it out there as proof.

I gritted my teeth. I would put it out there as proof. Why else was I running? Soon I’d get my diet under control—no more binging cookies right before bed—and then I’d be a rock star. I could do this!

Okay, not as many cookies before bed. A lady had to live.

A loner sat in the middle of the bar and the bored bartender stared at his phone, leaning near the cash register. Didn’t seem like much of an exciting place unless you brought your own friends. Not like Austin Steele’s place, with people playing pool and most of the clientele chatting and exchanging greetings.

The memory of what he’d said swam through my memory. My gut twisted.

Maybe he was right. I clearly didn’t fit in here. Yes, that was starting to look like a compliment, but the betrayal still stung. He’d listened to me. He’d walked me home. Those were things gentlemen did. Things that seemed to be dying off with the younger generation.

But he wasn’t a gentleman at all. He thought I was lowering the status of his crazy community.

I walked on, approaching the edge of the strip.

What was Austin’s game, anyway? Why help me out if he wanted me to fail?

And what was the deal with the name Steele? Really, Steele? He probably came up with that name himself. A silver fox rebranding his middle age—“I can still hang with the young bucks, because I’m made of steel!”

Well, I didn’t need to rebrand myself to know I was awesome. I might be in the middle of a full-blown identity crisis, with a mom bod and no craps left to give, but I could still run circles around my twenty-year-old self.

Okay, not run per se. The only thing that bitch couldn’t beat me to was an ice cream truck.

But I’d think circles around her! I had money matters on lock. I knew how to juggle running a household, managing bills, working, taking classes at the city college, and raising a human being. At twenty, I could barely keep myself alive.

I had become fiercer, too. Being a mom really taught you the meaning of self-sacrifice and absolute courage. I would run into fire for my son. I’d step in front of a bullet. I’d throw myself at any danger, no matter how terrifying, just to see him to safety. And I’d do it all without blinking.

The courage of a mother could not be measured. We toiled in the background, day in and day out, without thanks, so our children could become their best selves. We sacrificed ourselves for our loved ones, and we did it silently. Gladly. Full of love.

I blew out a frustrated breath. What kind of bad sort of person was Austin calling me, anyway?

You know what? I didn’t even care. I liked that house. It spoke to me. It felt like home. So what if the neighbor was violent and drank like a sailor. And so what if the gardener liked to fool unsuspecting children with his well-tended shrubbery. And who cared if the butler thought he was a super hero and didn’t really understand personal space—they all had big hearts. They’d welcomed me. That said something about their character. If the only problem was some muscle-bound guy who’d never grown out of his hotness, so be it. I didn’t need friends like that, anyway. He would not find a way to push me out of that house. It was my home now, and I protected my home.

Except for the doll room. That still had to go. That was too far.

I nodded to myself, approaching the intersection that would bring me to Austin’s bar. Niamh was probably there, a six pack in and not feeling it.

I hesitated on the corner in indecision. It’s not like we’d had plans. Or even that she needed me. Based on what I’d seen last night, she had a history of heading to the pub alone.

Besides, I didn’t have any money, and really didn’t want to drink.

Mind made up, I continued on toward the house. Which was when I noticed a strange sensation burrowing between my shoulder blades, like someone was watching me. Like danger lurked somewhere out there.

This area was host to mountain lions that came down from the hills. Bears, maybe, in search of trash cans. I hoped so, at any rate, because I’d take an animal stalker over a human one any day. Humans could be sick and twisted, and they weren’t likely to scare off if you played dead or put your arms wide and said, “Hah!”