Page 28 of The Seven Month Itch
Like Madison.
I’m not like her or Emma. I can’t compete.
The next man I date will look average, have an everyday job, and maybe a little fluff. Like an accountant or something.
I gather my purse to head for the door but stop at the full-size mirror. In front of me is a woman who doubts herself. One day she’ll see her worth without second-guessing her value. At least, I hope. “You’re more than enough,” I say in a whisper.
“Yes, you are.” I lock eyes with Emma in the reflection. She leans against the wall with her arms folded over the towel tucked into her cleavage. “Is this the day you’ll finally stop questioning yourself?”
“Maybe?” The jury is still out. I turn to face her. “Where have you been?” I haven’t seen her all day, and I thought we’d do these treatments together.
“Had some business come up. My session ended, so I’ll go back to the room with you if you’re headed that way.”
“Are you coming to the whiskey tasting tonight?”
Her face scrunches. “Hard pass, ladybug. Vodka tasting? Yes. Whiskey? That’s all you.” I roll my eyes. She acts like I asked her to knock back cough syrup for the hell of it.
We leave arm in arm. “Guess I’ll be out of my shell tonight.” I’ll die of shock later. Speaking of shock. “Em, you won’t believeit, but I caught Miles mouth-banging someone in one of the spa rooms. It’s the freakiest thing!”
She snorts. “Oh, Justice. You really are too innocent for your own good. Have you learned nothing after all these years?”
Chapter 13
Justice
We spend the next three hours in the bistro. I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time. I’m talking full tears. I miss my friend, and I cherish the moments we have together. We text daily, but it’s not enough.
There are no thoughts of my ex, what he’s doing, orwhohe’s doing. Day blends into night, and by nine o’clock, we’re ready to go our separate ways.
“Holy shit, Jay!” Emma’s voice bounces through the common area of our suite. I give her a sultry twirl in my black silk dress and peep-toe booties. My natural curls are on full display, courtesy of a wash-and-go. I’m ready to hit the whiskey tasting solo.
“Do you think it’s too much?” I smooth the sides of my dress. It’s not skintight but holds my curves in the right places.
“Honey, if I didn’t love dick so much, I would take you home with me tonight. You lookamazing!”
I steal a final glance in the mirror, apply my red lip stain, and put it in my clutch. “Thanks, babe. You know how to make a girl feel special,” I say with a wink. If I get a compliment from Emma, I know I look good. “Where are you off to tonight?”
Her eyes avert mine to fix her bracelet. “You know, a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” she says in a jumble. “There’s a poker game on one of the upper levels I want to check out.”
Emma at a poker table isn’t unusual. As a little girl, she watched her father play other congressmen, and she has skills. Men who sit across from her soon learn she’s more than a beautiful face in a designer dress. She’s an ice queen who will steal your heart and the pink slip to your car if you underestimate her.
I smile at memories of her cleaning house on fraternity row in college. Em was Robin Hood. She’d take rich boys’ money and their most expensive possessions with a royal flush or a four of a kind and give it all to the women they scorned. To see her work is to watch an artist create a masterpiece.
“I pity anyone who tries to take you on. Don’t hurt them too much.”
She pouts. “Where is the fun in that?”
I find my name on the attendees’ list at the check-in table. There’s a very good chance Terrence will be here tonight, but I don’t care. I refuse to hold space for him in my thoughts any longer.
Tonight, I will enjoy myself.
I march into the tasting area with renewed purpose. A bar made of reclaimed wood stretches across the back of the room. Industrial light fixtures and greenery hang from theblack ceiling. People chat at tabletops with wine-barrel bases. Whoever the decorator is deserves a raise and a show on HGTV.
A guy in a suit approaches me wearing the biggest grin. “Welcome to the tasting room,” he says, like we’ve been friends for years. “There are whiskey flights for your pleasure at the bar. Enjoy.”
I give a smile and a quick nod. Tons of people are here, but I shake off my nerves and keep my head held high. A seat opens up on the right-hand corner of the bar. I try not to squirm at its warmth and look at the menu.
“Hello again, beautiful,” a smooth and familiar voice says in welcome.
