Page 47 of Back for More
“Have you met my buddy Neal?” I ask him as I step to the side, trying to block his view of Lily.
Neal shakes Dan’s hand vehemently. “Hey, man. Great to meet you. Smokin’ hot buffet of women. You gotta get in there before the good ones are taken!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Neal practically shoves him past the bouncer.
I’m pretty sure Dan didn’t get a good look at Lily, but I won’t be mentioning it to her regardless.
I walk over to my truck, which is parked pretty close to where Lily and Alecia are standing. Neal pulls Alecia to their car. We drove here separately. Lily looks over at me, abandoned by her friend.
“You want to go with them?” I ask casually.
She watches Neal and Alecia grind on each other, backed up against the minivan. “I don’t think they’re actually going to make it to the bar.”
“They’ll get there. Eventually.”
I open the passenger-side door for her.
She tilts her head and smiles so sweetly, touching her heart. “Aww, you still have the same truck?”
“I have a car for work, but I will always have my truck.”
“I love this truck.” She runs her hand along the hood of my black 1970 Chevy pickup, and she may as well be running it up my thigh. “You’ve kept it in good shape,” she says, eyeing the white roof. “Looks good.” That flirtatious tone is back, now that she’s had a minute to get her distance from me.
“I take care of the things I care about,” I say.
She gives me a slow blink, resting her hand on my shoulder as she climbs inside and gets settled into the seat. “Yes. You do.”
This lounge is more my speed, and it’s the only bar I come to when I go out for drinks in Belford. It’s got a mellow, sexy vibe—not too hipster, not too classy, zero douchebags and, strangely enough, the best tacos in town.
“Mmmm! These tacos are fantastic!” Lily says with her mouth full. I so rarely get to see her eat, it’s nice to know she can enjoy food. “These are as good as anything I had in LA. How long has this place been around?”
“Three years, maybe.”
The four of us have settled into a booth near the back of the not-too-crowded room. Alecia’s sitting on her husband’s lap across from me, and Lily is at my side. There’s some bearded-guy band playing over the speakers, and I’m just watching Lily eat like it’s a sexy nature show on TV.
“Char’s obsessed with the wig you brought her,” Neal tells Lily. “She didn’t want to take it off when I put her to bed. I was afraid she’d turn her head and suffocate in it or something, so I let her hold it like a stuffed animal. And Spencer played with the baby laptop all night.”
Lily sits up so straight, so proud, you’d think he was presenting her with an Oscar. “Really?” she says. “I’m so glad! I had to have big thick curly blonde hair in a commercial a couple of years ago, and they let me keep the wig. I sewed the cap to make it smaller. I had a feeling she’d like it. And I thought the laptop toy was cute and not too big or noisy.” She looks over at Leesh.
“You did good, Auntie B-face. You did good.”
“Leesh decided to display the cock and beaver on our bedside tables.”
Alecia grins and shrugs. “Just to remind us that we have them.”
Neal and Alecia start kissing again, making it difficult to believe they need a reminder. I guess it’s rare for them to be alone with each other. Not that they’re actually alone, but Lily and I know better than to tell two young parents to behave themselves in public.
Our eyes meet, and we laugh. This is what it would have been like if we’d all hung out together years ago when they were dating. I can tell this is what Lily’s thinking too. When the waitress comes by to ask if she can get us anything else, Neal and I are good with our beers, and Alecia orders a Cosmopolitan. I give Lily a look, trying to silently suggest that maybe she’s had enough to drink tonight. Maybe if she could keep a clear head, we could both enjoy the night a little longer…
She knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Another vodka Greyhound, please,” she says, refusing to meet my gaze. After about a minute of trying to avoid staring at Nealecia’s make-out session, scanning the room, and checking her phone, she finally acknowledges me again. She attempts a defiant expression—one she’s flashed me many times over the years. But I’m not going to push her. If she’s still nervous about us, I’ll make her not nervous.
“So,” I say, stretching my arms out along the back of the vinyl booth seat. “You’re gonna have the mansion to yourself next week.”
“I am?”
“When Vicky’s not there, I mean.”
