Page 81 of Beauty Of Her

“See? I told you.” I glanced at Bridgette. “I’m telling you, anyone who meets you automatically falls in love.”

Bridgette threw her head back, laughing. “If only…”

“I’m serious.” I placed my hand on Bridge’s arm. “Even Brett told me so.”

Both women cocked their perfectly plucked eyebrows at me when I uttered his name.

“And how are you and my cousin doing?” She thrust her tongue into her cheek, drumming her navy polished nails on the wood table.

I waved the air. “Let’s not talk about that now. I want to have fun tonight. Drama free. Stress-free. All of that.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” said Bridgette, not missing a beat and tracking down a server to order a matching dirty martini to Amelia’s.

Bridgette’s eyes glinted with a knowing look that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. An unspoken understanding seemed to pass between her and Amelia, causing me to feel vaguely unsettled. But I brushed it off, refocusing on the night at hand.

“Okay, what are we drinking to?” Bridgette finally asked, holding up a newly arrived martini glass, the green olives skewered on a toothpick, looking exceedingly tempting under the bar's soft lighting.

“To girl’s night,” I declared, lifting my final drink. I had already decided one was my limit because I wanted to be able to drive home later. Amelia chimed in with her own glass, her eyes sparkling with an intoxicating mixture of mischief and excitement. The clink of our glasses was like a promise—a promise to forget all about reality for a few hours.

My friends drank deeply, we laughed harder, and soon we were probably the loudest, happiest table in the bar.

“Wow, so let me get this straight,” said Amelia, popping open another button of her blouse, entering dangerous cleavage territory, but I didn’t blame her. It was getting fucking hot in here, evidenced by the sheens of sweat bursting across all our foreheads. “All three of us are divorced and first wives.”

“It’s like the first wives club over here,” Bridgette cackled.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Amelia asked Bridgette.

“No,” she answered deadpan.

“Oh, okay.” Amelia shot a furtive glance in my direction.

“Who wants to talk about why their divorce happened anyway?” I asked, shrugging.

“I guess my curiosity gets the best of me, plus I’m an open book,” Amelia admitted, flashing a guilty smile at us. Bridgette was the only one at the table who hadn’t shared her divorce story, and I was almost certain tonight wouldn’t be the night.

“Well, you’ll hear about it. But my story is for another time.” Bridgette winked at Amelia.

Amelia reached for Bridgette’s hand. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen, babe. And if you never tell me, no pressure either. You’re wonderful.”

I watched my two tipsy friends hug, but that was fine. This night was going exactly like I hoped for. Just a time to have fun. When Amelia and Bridgette finally broke their embrace, their deadly eyes fell on me, making my stomach flip.

“Why are you guys looking at me?” I hid behind my only all vodka and no soda of the night.

“Should I ask her?” Bridgette spoke to Amelia.

“If you can’t ask her, then I won’t,” said Amelia, pointing to her chest.

“Will one of you just come out and say it,” I blurted, my heart racing.

“Why won’t you and Brett see each other already? It’s like the two of you are enjoying the torture,” said Bridgette.

I froze, the citrus liquid in the glass halfway to my lips. My eyes darted from Bridgette to Amelia, a pit opening in my stomach. "That's not... it's not like that," I stammered, a sudden sense of unease washing over me.

"Yes, it is," Amelia chimed in, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. She was grinning at me, but an undertone of seriousness in her voice matched Bridgette's.

"You're both dancing around each other," Bridgette continued, setting down her martini and staring at me with an intensity that was surprisingly sober for how much she'd had to drink. "You're playing this game of cat and mouse, and it's getting a bit old."

"Well, maybe I'm not ready." The words slipped out before I could rein them in, and all humor drained from the women's faces.

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