“But the customer was happy?”
“Oh, yeah. She fucking loved it.” She rested her elbows on the table as she prepared to switch topics, peering at me with a hard look, and my stomach filled with dread. I’d seen this expression from her before. It meant all-business. “So, you’re officially back on the market.”
I picked up my drink and took a sip, using it as an excuse not to answer.
My friend wasn’t deterred. “Before you leave tonight, we’re putting you on Match.com.”
Tea slid down my windpipe as I swallowed wrong, and I sputtered, “We are not.”
I loved my friend. She’d been my rock throughout the divorce, but she had a bad habit of thinking she knew what was best for everyone, sometimes without even asking if it was what they wanted. Uh, oh. What if she’d started building my profile already?
Movement behind her stole my focus. Then, all the air went out of the room.
Every time I’d come over since Troy had moved back in with his parents, I’d never seen him at home. Their guest house was a full apartment and that was where he stayed.
Until now.
He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, as if an invisible force field prevented him from moving farther, a bowl full of cereal, complete with a spoon, in his hand. Our gazes locked, and he blinked rapidly, as if he couldn’t process what he was seeing. Had I done the same thing? Because it was exactly how I felt.
Jenna, however, was unaware since he was behind her. “Maybe not Match,” she laughed. “How about Tinder? You said you’re horny all the time now.”
Oh, no.
My mouth dropped open, and the horrified sound that came from my throat was inhuman. Troy’s expression flooded with shock as his eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to stare at the back of his mother’s head.
“Jenna,” I choked out, but she was oblivious to my distress.
“Actually,” she nodded to herself, “I think that’s exactly what you need. Find some hot guy who’ll bang your brains out. Doesn’t matter if he’s stupid or broke or crazy, as long as he’s down to fuck. You can ghost him later.”
A void opened inside my head, preventing me from functioning, and a similar void was likely consuming Troy as he heard his mother utter the phrase “down to fuck.”
“After Clark?” Jenna scowled. “You need to be with a man who’s dying to get on you. Tell me I’m wrong.”
My heart was galloping a million miles an hour, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him. His simple gray t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest, flaunting his powerful frame. Jeans clung to his hips, and his brown hair was mussed, but not messy. He was casually styled and effortlessly sexy.
His expression caused me to unravel. Jenna had said I needed someone dying to have me, and for one long moment, he gazed back like he could be that man.
And I wanted that too.
Warnings triggered in my mind, but the loudest was that she’d asked me a question, and if I didn’t answer soon, she might wonder what I was looking at. I ripped my gaze away from him and focused on her.
My voice was weighted with reluctant truth. “No, you’re not wrong.”
She beamed a smile. “Yes! And once you have your fling, you’re going to tell me every dirty detail, so I can live vicariously through you.” She leaned closer like she was going to whisper a secret, but the volume of her voice did not change. “Ever since Bill hurt his back, we can only do it if I’m on top. I’m desperate for some spice.”
That was the limit Troy could take, because he suddenly propelled himself into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom. I’m out of milk. Can I steal some of yours?” He forced casualness into his tone, like he hadn’t heard any of the previous conversation, and then paused, for a fraction of a second, unsure. “Hey, Ms. Graham.”
My throat was sticky. “Hey, Troy.”
Thankfully, his mother didn’t notice. She turned in her seat to glance at him, and her attention went to the bowl he was carrying. “You’re eating cereal? For dinner?”
He shrugged and opened the fridge.
Jenna sighed as she turned back to face me. “I swear I taught him how to cook, but I think that’s all he eats.”
“It’s easy,” he said from behind the door. “And fast. I’m heading out in a few minutes.”
“To go hang out with your boys?”
“Yup.” He shut the door, dug into the colorful cereal with his spoon, and crunched a bite. “It’s Preston’s birthday.”
“Ah, to be twenty-four again,” she said with fake wistfulness before turning her amused attention back to me. “Remember when we were young, and our nights started at ten p.m.?”
Technically, my evening was starting at ten. At least my working one, since that was when Lauren’s set began.
“Don’t stay out all night,” she said to him. “Bill’s going to need your help tomorrow. They’re demoing the bathroom in the Glasgow home.”
“Great.” His dry expression said it was anything but.
His eyes flicked toward me, and he held my gaze for a single beat, filling it with all the things unspoken between us, before turning and shuffling off.
“But have fun!” his mom added, realizing she’d overstepped yet again.
I swallowed thickly, finding air now that he was gone. It was unreal the effect he had on me, and it was extra tense because his mother was right there. I understood his frustration with her. When I was his age, I’d felt smothered by my family, and even marriage hadn’t helped me escape.
“He’s going to be exhausted,” she grumbled under her breath. “He stays out all night, and then Bill says he’s the walking dead the next day.”
I pressed my lips together and mentally told myself not to get involved. “He’s a good kid.” It’d been an offhanded comment, but boy, the word sliced through my ears like a snapped guitar string. Kid. I forced it away. “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”
She shot me a dubious look. “He hasn’t said anything to me about a girl.”
It came out before I could stop myself. “Would he?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I don’t know why I asked it.”
Beneath her bangs, Jenna’s eyes narrowed with doubt. “Troy and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”
Well, that I knew for a fact, wasn’t true.
And now I was keeping them from her too.
The stage at Blanche’s wasn’t big, and only as high as a barstool, but it was just tall enough that I could see Lauren’s head and shoulders over the people standing on the floor in front of her. Her blonde hair was a sleek curtain draped on either side of her face, and the ends of it brushed against her sleeveless plaid crop top. It was tied in a knot above her flat stomach, of course, and she’d completed the outfit with cutoffs and cowboy boots.
Her country sound influenced her look, and she’d leaned into it hard for the tourists. It was paying off too. The white tip bucket with her name on it at the edge of the stage was nearly full. Although I had concerns those tips had less to do with her talent and more to do with her looks. The buttons down the front of her shirt were undone enough that the center of her pink bra was visible whenever she moved.