Flirting with Disaster (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 2)

“Well,” Jill sighed, “we’re officially seeing other people.”

Isabelle gasped before she could stop herself. “You did it?”

“I issued the ultimatum, and Marguerite took me up on it, so I’m not sure if I did it or she did.”

“Shit,” Isabelle whispered, taking Jill’s hand to give it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. So it’s over?”

“I told her I needed additional company if I couldn’t see her more than twice a year. I’m not saying it’s over, but... She chose to spend her last week of leave on her own

. So I guess I’ll be seeing other women.”

Isabelle gently clinked her glass against Jill’s. “Back in the saddle?”

“If I still remember how to ride. Marguerite’s last visit was eight months ago.”

“You’re probably better off than I am,” Isabelle said drily.

“I don’t want to hear that bullshit. I’m a black lesbian living in Wyoming. You get no sympathy from me.”

Isabelle laughed until she snorted. “Okay, you’ve got me there. Then again, nobody’s forcing you to live in Wyoming.”

“No, but...” Jill waggled her eyebrows. “The flip side of that is I’m the only one around to fill the black-lesbian niche. Time to get back on the circuit.”

“All right. You’ll come out with me and Lauren for this week’s girls’ night out.”

Jill shook her head. “No. I’m too old for that.”

“Bullshit. You’re fifty-five. You’re hardly any older than I am.”

Jill howled. “Are you kidding me? You’re thirty-six. Imagine how much you’ve learned since the age of sixteen, and then double that for wisdom. That’s how close we are in age.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “It feels a lot closer than that.”

“Well, it’s not. So next time you have a girls’ night in, let me know.”

“Come on,” Isabelle pressed. “How will you meet anyone if you don’t get out?”

“It’s called internet dating. Maybe you’ve heard of it. I’ve spent more years picking up sexy young things at bars than you have. I’m done.”

Isabelle gave in with a grumble. When Jill dug in her heels, that was the end of it. “Well, I’m sorry. I know last time Marguerite was here, you two were trying to work through it.”

Jill waved a hand and got up to peek into the oven. “Enough about that. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months. And I’ve got the perfect new topic.” She pulled the roast from the oven and smiled at Isabelle past the steam. “That hot US marshal who came by yesterday.”

Isabelle groaned, then immediately wished she could take the sound back. It revealed too much. The man should mean nothing to her. She latched on to her only excuse. “He interrupted my work.”

“Woman. No wonder you can’t get laid. Did you see him?”

Isabelle frowned. Yes, she’d seen him. He’d been tall. Lean. With short, dark hair just turning a bit gray at the temples. And if she thought about it, he’d had a pretty great face. A strong nose and dark eyebrows over intense green eyes. And lips that looked soft to the touch against all that masculinity. “Hmm,” she replied.

“Hmm, indeed. Aren’t you always saying you wish you could get home delivery of someone like him?”

No. Not someone like him. Someone like him but in no way associated with law enforcement. “He was fine. Do you think his story was legit?”

“About the judge? Are you kidding me? It’s been in the local paper all week. That man threatened to blow something up. You know the judge lives on the next road down the hill.”

Isabelle shrugged. “I guess I haven’t been reading the news.”

Jill got plates from the cupboard, but Isabelle didn’t get up to help. She knew from experience that Jill would only wave her away. Jill’s work was her art. There were sauces to be smeared and rosemary sprigs to be placed just so.