Page 7 of Mr. Infuriating

My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out of my purse. Only this time it was from Laura.

Laura: Happy hour tonight?

Me: I don’t think so.

Laura: Come on; Thursday night is ladies’ night! You need to get out and embrace your new found freedom! You’re officially single! It’s time to start acting like it!

Me: Um, I have a *child*. I can’t just go to a bar on a whim.

Laura: I know for a fact Carrie would love to watch him.

Me: How do you know “for a fact” my sister would love to watch him?

Laura: I already asked her for you. She’ll be at your house in 30 minutes.

Of course she had.

I never thought I’d find myself single again at the age of thirty-one. It hardly felt like something I wanted to embrace. Although, “marry a cheater who abandoned his family” hadn’t exactly been on my bingo card, either. Yet here I was.

Maybe Laura was right—I should welcome my new marital status.

Yet the second I thought it, it still didn’t sound appealing.

Power through, Gretchen! my inner voice chided.You’re lucky to have people who love you and are willing to support you!

I decided to compromise.

Me: I’ll come for one drink.

Laura: I’ll meet you at Flannigan’s in an hour.

With a sigh I put my car in drive. If I hurried, I could pick up Jake, go home and help Carrie with dinner, change out of my teacher clothes and into something more bar-worthy, freshen up my makeup, and only be a few minutes late.

I could at least look the part of an available woman. Maybe I’d even get a free drink because, thanks to Gabe Mitchell, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to afford anything more than water or maybe a soda.

Screw you, Troy.

And screw you, too, Gabe Mitchell.

And while I was at it—screw the asshole at the electric company who charged me a setup fee to remove my ex’s name from my utility bill.

I was still sore about that one, too.

Getting divorced wasn’t for the weak. Or poor, as I was quickly finding out.

****

Gabe

I thought about Gretchen as I drove to Brayden’s game. I didn’t want her to think I was a creep.

I mean, I had been crude—no doubt. And I was embarrassed as fuck about it. But I’d apologized, dammit. She should have accepted my apology.

Why should she?my inner voice asked.

Because I really was sorry!

I was also sorry we were going to have to sue her if she didn’t pay up.

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