Page 5 of Love on the Rocks

I’m goingto kiss Wren on the mouth. I might even slip her some tongue. She’s a devious little genius, and I love her for it. I don’t know when our roles flipped, but I’m glad to accept her advice.

This afternoon, after seeing the new bartender flirting with my husband, I of course ran straight to my best friend blubbering. Wren took one look at me and said, “Of course you feel like shit, you’re wearing a skirt the color of diarrhea.”

Then she put her arm around me, steered me back to my car, and guided me to my own passenger seat. “Hop in sweet cheeks. We need to get your groove back. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been dressing like a sad soccer mom for about a month now.” She turned the key and drove us in the direction of our little enclave in this community.

Sad soccer mom. Ouch. It fit though. That’s how I always thought of the other moms before I allowed their poison to seep into my psyche and influence my actions.

I pluck at the fabric, pulling it away from my body, examining it like I’m seeing it for the first time. “Why did you let me dress like this for a month without an intervention?”

Wren winces. “Don’t be mad.”

I’m already shaking my head. “Those idiots started a pool for how long I’d dress like a, what did you call me, asad soccer mom, didn’t they?”

“You know how they are. There was the pool they had about how long it would take Scott to propose to Harlow. I’m pretty sure they have one about whether I’ll ask Griffin to get snipped or let him talk me into a sixth kid. Betting on how long you’d dress like—” she waves her hand up and down in front of me, “that, is hardly surprising.”

“Who wins if I go back to my fabulous self today?” Now that she’s metaphorically slapped some sense into me, I don’t want to spend another moment in these shit-colored clothes.

“I think Scott does. Those dumbasses have totally corrupted him.”

I shake my head. “Nah, I think he’ll hold out. He’s not as innocent as he seems. Just as long as Liam isn’t going to win. I know he’s sober and we’ve forgiven him and shit, but?—”

She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. He’s a completely different person sober, but I’ll never be able to forget who he was when he was drinking, even if I have forgiven him now. But, we’re not here to talk about me or my ex-husband.”

“You mean your stepson,” I interject. Not that she’s forgotten, but I do love to remind her how deliciously fucked up her relationship is.

I’m not judging. I love every kinky bit of it for her. She found herself a daddy, and she’s never been happier.

Wren pokes me in the arm. “You’ve got your thinking face on. What is worth risking a wrinkle between your eyes?”

“I was just wondering if I should try calling Donovan, ‘Daddy,’” I muse.

She bursts out laughing. “Nope. That is not you guys.” Her lips purse and she narrows her eyes assessing me. “What’s going on?”

I shrug. “We never fight.”

“And that’s a problem?” she asks confused.

“You remember how we were when you first met me? Back when Donovan and I were dancing around each other? We bickered over everything, and good lord was the sex hot.”

She bites her bottom lip. “And how is it now?”

“Routine,” I answer without thinking. We used to go at it any time we could, now we pencil it in between work and Jack’s activities.

Wren’s nose scrunches. “Say no more. It sounds like you need to reconnect with your inner brat to get that spark back.”

I can feelDonovan watching me as I move around my section taking orders. It’s possible I’m flirting a bit with some of the customers to goad him. If the tension in his muscles is a goodindication, he’s about ready to snap. I’m excited to unleash him again, not the domesticated version he thinks he needs to be.

I lean forward just enough to let my skirt slip up my thighs. The men at the table I’m waiting on focus all their attention on me. They’re one of the few groups of single guys who seem to be here primarily to watch the game.

My skin tingles and without turning around I know Donovan is behind me. I feel the heat of his body as he leans down to whisper in my ear, “Be careful, Bessie. Don’t bend down too much.”

His hand grips my thigh, and slowly moves up between my legs. I hold my breath anticipating his fingers brushing against my core, but he teases me instead. “If you let anyone see what’s mine I’ll have to punish you.”

I shiver as all sorts of ideas flit through my mind. Flashing other men doesn’t appeal to me, but riling up my husband absolutely does. After I take the orders of the college boys at the table, I sashay up to the bar.

Instead of handing over my order across the bar, I walk behind to pour the drinks myself. “Excuse me,” I say as I brush past Donovan, purposely pushing my ass against him. His hands drop to my hips and grip tight. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back and his breath hitting my neck.

“I know what you’re doing,” he pants into my ear.

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