Page 13 of One Night Rendezvous

I don’t know whether I’ll tell them about Ford or not. I don’t know that there is anything to tell other than we had hot, amazing, mind blowing, possibly ruined me for all other men kind of sex. I’m not sure I’m ready to share that—not yet. Not until I have my head firmly wrapped around what we are and what we aren’t.

I scroll through my contacts until I find Lizzie’s shop number. She won’t look at her cell while she’s working, but she’ll answer that number.

“Salon … Lizzie speaking. May I help you?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Are you practicing your customer-service voice?”

“Oh,” she says. “I thought you were someone calling for an appointment.”

“Are you busy right now?”

“Not terribly. I’m supposed to be doing a cut right now, but she’s late. My earlier appointment is still processing, and I’ve got about ten minutes before I need to rinse her. So shoot … what’s up in Ashley-land?”

She’s folding towels as she talks to me. I can hear the rumble of the washing machine in the background and the rustling of her smock. It’s a dead giveaway. “We need margaritas tonight. Well, I need margaritas and probably for Troy to pick us up. Is that doable?”

“Yes and no,” she says. “I can do margaritas. Troy is working the late shift, so he’s a no. But Cam or Cassie will come get us. Can we invite Cassie? Or is this something you don’t want her to know?”

If I can keep my mouth shut about Ford, it won’t matter who is there. “Yeah. The more the merrier. What about Emma?”

“Oh, no can do. She and Mr. Tall, Dark and Loaded are all in on their IVF journey. If it isn’t organic, gluten free, antibiotic and hormone free and blessed by a troop of fertile virgins, she won’t touch it.”

I’m laughing at her even as I ask, “If they’re virgins, how do you know they’re fertile?”

“Because they always are,” Lizzie said. “Keep those bitches away from me. At least for a while.”

You and me both. I can barely afford to keep myself going, much less me and a kid. “Alright. You. Me. Some tequila and a metric ton of chips and salsa … seven?”

“Last client is at five, so that should work.”

I’m already in my favorite booth at El Fuego when Cassie and Lizzie walk in. They’re both laughing, looking carefree. Looking like they don’t have to count every last dime they spend. I want that for myself. I don’t need to be rich. I just want to know that having two margaritas instead of one won’t leave me walking to work because I can’t afford to put gas in my car.

Cassie reaches the table first and she’s sliding into the booth with a giggle and a wink. “Hey, sexy. You come here often?”

I can feel my eyes rolling. “If that’s the line you used to pick up Cam, I’m amazed y’all are together.”

She laughs and in her best Blanche Deveraux impression says, “Oh, honey. I didn’t have to pick him up. That man worships at my feet. What we need to do is find one who will worship at yours.”

“What we need,” Lizzie says, “Is a girl’s night that doesn’t involve us having to wear bras or pants. I’m talking pj’s, popcorn, brownies, and a full-ass marathon of The Golden Girls.”

“Umm … no. Bridgerton. The first season. With the hot Duke!” Cassie corrects her.

“Right now, I just need a margarita. And a taco. I can always use a taco.”

The conversation flows as freely as the margaritas do, at least for me and Lizzie. Cassie is being good since she’s our designated driver. We’re on our second pitcher when the physical embodiment of all my trauma walks in. Shitty father of the year award goes to—Doogie. What a stupid fucking name for a grown-ass man.

He spies me instantly and smiles, but it’s not warm. It’s not fatherly.

“Ashley, baby,” he calls out. It’s all performative. He just wants everyone there to see him reaching out, to see him making the effort to mend the rift between us. What most people don’t understand is that there never hasn’t been a rift. This isn’t something. It’s just something I stopped trying to hide.

“Don’t. Just don’t,” I mutter.

“Don’t what?” he asks, that same reptilian smile curling his lips. Lips that appear to have been augmented.

“Did you get lip fillers?”

The smile disappears. “There’s no need to be insulting, Ashley. I just came to tell you that your job is still open. You can come back to the office anytime you want to. You’ve got a better head for numbers than Lisa ever did.”

Now I get it. His girlfriend of the hour is fucking up his very cooked books. “Is she being too honest with the customers? Or is it the IRS you’re worried about?”

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