Page 11 of Captive Audience
“Listen.” I curled my hair behind my ears. “Aaron’s a freaking unicorn. We all know you won the life lottery finding each other. But that golden retriever husband of yours is statistically the person most likely to murder you.”
“Murder me?” Beth scoffed. “That man worships the ground I walk on.”
“Maybe. But it’s a fact that every woman should consider before sayingI do.” I picked up a chip and took a bite.
Daisy’s brows drew together. “So that’s it? You’re really just gonna hit ’em and quit ’em for the rest of your days? I thought maybe this was a phase since…”
Since a man I’d trusted had taken something I’d never consented to.
Daisy didn’t finish her sentence, because we didn’t mentionhisname out loud. Not ever. I’d asked the girls not to. It was still too triggering.
I saved Daisy from the awkward silence by clarifying. “Not a phase. I just arrived early at the same realization most divorced women have: Men are bad for us. Physically. Emotionally. As I said, disposable. You won’t ever see a wedding ring on my finger.” I took a big sip of my cocktail. “Not that there’s any risk of that when I can’t even land a hookup on a dating app brimming with men looking for no-strings sex.”
God. When I said it out loud, my situation sounded more dire than I’d thought.
“Maybe it’s time to ditch the apps and find some fun the old-fashioned way.” Beth waved her hand around the bar.
“Ugh.” I groaned. “You mean flirt with an actual person?”
“Yesss!” Daisy bounced in her seat. “Let’s find you someone who’ll rearrange your insides until you go cross-eyed.”
I arched a brow. “Sounds optimistic.”
I could hardly remember the last time I’d had half-decent sex, let alonegoodsex.
Beth shrugged. “What have you got to lose? Pick a random guy, walk right up to him, and watch his eyes fall out of his head over how hot you are. That’ll get your self-esteem back on track.”
“Or kill it once and for all if they laugh. I think I’ll stick with online dating.”
“No.” Beth placed both palms on the table and stared me down. “Those stupid boys on those stupid apps have messed with your head. Any man in this room will think it’s his lucky day if you hit on him.”
“When I came out tonight, I was hoping for a distraction from my problems, not an intervention.”
“Too bad. You’re getting one.”
“Fine. But when I get turned down, you’re buying me drinks for the rest of the night.”
Beth nodded toward the bar. “What about green shirt with the mustache over there?”
“Nuh-uh. I’m getting Ted Lasso vibes, and I can’t get rejected by my favorite coach.”
Beth blinked. “You’d sleep with Ted Lasso?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, wouldn’t you? Ted’s no quitter. You just know that man would get you there.”
“I hadn’t thought about it until now,” Beth replied, and made a spinning motion with her pointer finger. “Let’s revisit this conversation after a few more drinks. We’re getting off track. What about the blond guy eating a taco? Could be a good omen.”
I scrunched my nose. “He has itty-bitty hands.”
“Good catch,” Beth said.
“Shut the front door.” Daisy gasped and clutched my forearm. Her wide eyes were fixed on something behind Beth. “McHottie alert. Two o’clock.”
I scanned her field of vision until my gaze locked with a man’s in the back corner. He looked away quickly, but my stomachdid that thing like when turbulence hit an airplane.
He sat alone at a booth, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular, tattooed forearms that had no business looking that good. The cut of his shirt hinted at the breadth of his shoulders and the power beneath. Dark hair combed back and shaved short on the sides, and grown-out stubble framing a jawline carved by the gods of testosterone.
Just being in the same room as McHottie made my feminism roll over and spread her legs, because everything about him was so panty-meltingly masculine.
