The conversation paused when their server stopped at their table, topped off their coffee, and handed out their checks before moving on to the next table.
“Sounds like you’ve got this weekend all worked out.” Beth slid a tip for the server under the salt shaker. “Why don’t you go in my place, and I’ll pull your shifts in the ER?”
“No way. I’m not into cockblocking.”
A startled laugh escaped Beth’s throat. “I’m not sure a girl can even get cockblocked. Isn’t that a guy thing?”
“Semantics.” Connie shrugged. “The point is, there could and should be one involved. If only we could see into the future.” Squinting her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temples and said, “I predict that you, Beth Roberts, will meet a tall, ripped, and totally lick-o-licious stranger who will fulfill your deepest desires…from across a crowded room.” She grinned. “And wouldn’t that be impressive?”
Shaking her head at her friend’s outrageousness, Beth blotted her mouth with her napkin and pushed back from the table. “Okay, that’s it. You have definitely been watching more than your share of romantic—and I use that term loosely—movies, and as delightfully entertaining as this meal has been, I have a meeting with the architect this morning to go over the blueprints for the ER expansion and need to get a move on.” Beth made her way through the maze of tables and out to the cash register, Connie trailing along behind her. “Lick-o-licious,” she muttered, handing her debit card to the cashier. “That isn’t even a real word.”
“Sure it is.” Connie stopped to admire the five-pound Hershey’s chocolate bar on display. “I can even use it in a sentence: That candy bar looks absolutely lick-o-licious.”
“I stand corrected.” Beth hooked her arm through Connie’s and led her out to the sun-washed parking lot. “Tell you what. If I see anything this weekend even remotely resembling lick-o-licious, I’ll buy you that candy bar.”
“Deal. And if you can snag one of Drew’s cameras, photographs would be appreciated as well.” Connie unlocked her car door and studied Beth over the top. “If a person were to think about having a weekend fling to work out a few kinks—and please feel free to interpret that in any way you choose—this would be her golden opportunity. An out-of-town weekend, a hotel suite all to herself, unleashing the inner vixen and playing out her fantasies with a hot guy she can walk away from the next morning…” She flicked her hand toward Beth’s car. “You know I’d give my ex-husband’s balls for a car like that, but I’m just saying it might be nice to get your hands on some muscle that doesn’t come with four tires, a three-hundred and fifty horse power engine, and a four-speed transmission sometime before menopause hits and your vagina stops working.”
“Yeah, if a person were so inclined,” Laughing, Beth opened the door of her 1969 Chevelle SS, tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel. While Connie’s comment struck a tender nerve, their friendship was too old, too solid for Beth to take offense at the nudge to get on with her personal life. “But you know what? I control the power behind this muscle, every cubic inch of it.” She clicked her seatbelt in place and grinned at Connie through the window. “And my vagina is just fine, thank you.”
Beth backed her car out of the parking spot and waved at Connie as she drove away, aware that her friend’s concerned frown followed her as she pulled out of the parking lot. At the traffic light, she reached for her iPod, plugged it into the auxiliary jack in the stereo, scrolled down the playlist, and chose her favorite song. The car’s interior filled with the slow, sexy throb of Jace Everett’s, Damned If I Do. His low, gritty voice wrapped her in a sensual cocoon as he crooned of being damned for wanting his lover. A deep yearning coiled in Beth’s chest. How would it feel to have a man want you so badly that he’d walk the streets thinking of you, crying into the night, I want you? Loneliness welled up and caught her heart in a vice.