Abbi’s matured a lot in the last four years. We both have. Maybe my upbringing is irrelevant to her now. Maybe she doesn’t even feel that way anymore.
Regardless, I can’t complain about how things are progressing. She texted me at work today and insisted I meet her at Smithy’s for dinner and drinks. I didn’t ask if she was sure she wanted to be seen in public with me. I didn’t want to remind her that she thought this was a bad idea just a couple of weeks ago.
So here we are, scanning Smithy’s dinner specials, sipping drinks, and in no hurry to go anywhere. Like a real couple. And I like it a lot.
“Hey, Abbi!” a brunette lady says, stopping at our table. “I just wanted to thank you for the cookies you made for Harbor View. My mother’s in long-term care there, and they really brighten her day.”
My phone buzzes on the table while they talk, and out of habit I flip it over to look at who’s messaging.
Amy: I have a kid-free night, a bottle of tequila, and a new lacy little thing. Any ideas of how I could use all that?
I could just block her number, but that feels cheap. I might not want Amy anymore, but I care about her and don’t want to cut her off completely. What I want is to make things official with the woman across from me so I can explain to Amy exactly why her little invitations need to stop.
“What’s wrong?” Abbi asks, and I realize the woman’s walked away, and I’m scowling at my phone.
I shake my head and close my texting app, putting the phone facedown on the table. “Nothing. Just someone selling something I don’t want.” I snatch the menu out of her hand instead of grabbing my own from the end of the table. “What are we eating tonight?”
She laughs. “Well, I don’t know about we, but I am trying to decide if I want the barbecue chicken flatbread, the black-and-blue salad, or just a giant plate of fried cheese.”
I snap the menu closed and lean forward on the table. “Sounds perfect. We will have all three.”
A pretty pink blush creeps up her cheeks. “I don’t need all that.”
“Uh, for one, we’re sharing, so you don’t get all that, and for two, you’re going to need your energy for the things I have planned for you.”
That pink glows brighter to a dusky rose. “Like what?” she asks, all feigned innocence.
“If you make me start talking about it here, we’ll never make it through the meal.” I smirk. “Or maybe that’s what you’re hoping for?” I lean forward on the table. “I could take you in the bathroom. I seem to remember you liked that.”
The pretty pink turns red. “I trust Brinley’s bathroom way more than Smithy’s.”
“Want me to call her?” I pick up my phone as if I’m actually going to do it. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we swing by.”
Abbi just rolls her eyes and laughs, but unfortunately, picking up my phone to pretend I’m going to call Brinley means I see the latest text. Another from Amy.
Amy: You used to like it when I’d text you wanting sex. You said I never had to apologize for it. Is everything so different now?
I swipe away the message without even bothering to pull up the texting app. I can’t deal with Amy right now.
The woman in front of me is far too important to get anything less than one hundred percent of my attention.
* * *
Abbi
Halfway through my second martini, and I’m feeling loose and carefree. Dean just excused himself to use the restroom, and I’m chilling in the booth thinking happy thoughts about getting him home and naked. My mouth practically waters when I think of the way his stomach muscles clench under my tongue as I lick my way down to his waistband.
My phone buzzes in the middle of the table, and I flip it over and read the text preview.
Amy: Because I do want sex. With you. Right now.
I yank my hand away as if I’ve been burned. That’s not my phone. That’s Dean’s phone, and Amy is texting him. Amy, whom he supposedly isn’t involved with anymore—whom he supposedly hasn’t been involved with for weeks—is texting him demanding sex.
My stomach lurches, my martinis suddenly not sitting so well.
My head is swimming, and I feel like the floor is falling out from under me.
Dean wouldn’t cheat on me. He wouldn’t—
But it’s not cheating if you two aren’t an actual couple, a little voice whispers.
I grip the edge of the table, as if holding myself steady might make any of this make sense.
“Abbi!”
I look up as Frankie Perez slides into the booth across from me, taking Dean’s seat.
I can only blink at him. “What are you doing here?”