Page 13 of Worth the Fall

An image of her in that tight purple workout outfit takes over my thoughts. All the blood that spent the day pumping through me has suddenly rushed to one particular area. I reach my hand beneath the steering wheel to adjust myself, pissed I can’t seem to control my thoughts these days. Then again, I don’t mind the thoughts, even if I feel a slight sense of guilt.

The leather of the steering wheel creaks beneath my grip, the sexual frustration that’s been building in my balls for the last—fuck, however long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid, growing even thicker.

"Oh God, how long has it been?" I think back to the last time Celine and I had sex before I caught her with Todd. My grip tightens on the wheel so hard pain starts to radiate up my forearms. Considering our divorce has been finalized for over a year now…

"Fuck me," I groan in embarrassment at the realization. "No wonder I’m wound so damn tight?—"

The person behind me lays on the horn, alerting me that I’m still stopped at a now green light. I hit the gas but it’s not quick enough for the man who swerves around me, flipping me the bird and mouthing a few choice profanities my way.

"Relax, man," I shout back as if he can hear me. "I just realized I haven’t had sex in over a goddamn year!"

Saying it out loud only makes it worse. Now I’m just a pathetic horny single guy. My excitement deflates and I turn my attention back to princess pickup, reminding myself that my only focus right now is being a good dad for Felicity, even if Maria and Becca and Taylor and probably Tarryn all can see that I’m about a second away from drowning.

CHAPTER 3

Mia

I'm staring at my closet for the third time this morning, discarding yet another silk blouse that's betrayed me with sweat marks. My phone buzzes on the dresser.

Becca

How's it going? Ready for "coffee" with Miguel?

I glance at the growing pile of rejected outfits on my bed, then at the clock. Forty-five minutes until I need to leave for our coffee date.

Me

Great! Totally fine. Everything's fine.

Becca

Your overuse of "fine" suggests otherwise

Me

I may be on outfit #4

Becca

You've got this! Just be yourself

I smile at her message, grateful for this new friendship that somehow feels easy despite how recently we met. After twelve years of being surrounded by other couples, most of which I met through Cameron, it's refreshing to have someone who's just mine.

I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, critically examining my fourth outfit change of the morning. The navy pencil skirt and cream silk blouse had seemed perfectly professional-casual when I laid them out last night. Now they feel about as subtle as a neon sign reading "TRYING TOO HARD."

"This is just coffee," I mutter to my reflection, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from my skirt. "A completely normal, professional coffee meeting to discuss a legal matter."

The legal matter I'd completely invented in a moment of panic.

I glance at my watch, seeing it’s seven fifteen a.m. My "casual" coffee meeting with Miguel isn't until eight. I'd planned to arrive at 7:55, stride confidently through the door of Noble Coffee right as he was arriving, and… what exactly? Suddenly transform into a smooth, sophisticated woman who doesn't trip over her own feet or ramble nervously about tort law when stressed?

Looking at my reflection again, I have to admit I look like I'm headed to argue before the Supreme Court rather than getting coffee. The bruise from the pickleball incident has mostly faded, though there's still a slight discoloration near my temple. With a sigh, I change into my favorite work pants and a soft blue sweater that brings out my eyes. Professional enough for a morning meeting, but not screaming "I tried on four outfits!"

Twenty minutes later, I'm walking into Noble Coffee, my heart doing a weird flutter when I spot Miguel already seated at a corner table. He's wearing a charcoal-gray suit that fits him perfectly, and there's something so endearing about the way he's clearly tried to tame his usually messy dark curls.

I'm so distracted by the sight of him that I don't notice the condiment station until I back right into it, sending sugar packets and stirrers flying everywhere.

"Oh God," I mutter, dropping to my knees to gather the scattered packets, praying I can salvage this situation before he notices. A pair of perfectly polished dress shoes appears in my field of vision, and I look up to find Miguel crouching beside me, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he helps clean up my mess.

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