Had she really changed so much in the week and a half since starting the flip?
She propped a hip against the kitchen counter and reviewed the last eleven days. She’d gotten messy. Dirt-under-her-fingernails, hair-in-a-sagging-bun, clothes-covered-in-construction-fallout messy.
Somewhere in the middle, she’d given a blow job with her knees buried in sawdust.
Yes, that last one made flower arranging seem a little less pressing.
Thankful for her remaining few moments alone in the house, Bethany closed her eyes and remembered the taste of Wes’s rain-slicked mouth, how sure his fingers had been moving in and out of her. God, had that been almost an entire week ago? How had she survived without more of his touch since then? Had he been employing reverse psychology by deciding to move slow? Because the suggestion of a prolonged timeline was making her Horny. With a capital H.
Long as you let me give this body what it needs, I can remember the boundaries tomorrow.
Sure, sure. Boundaries.
They needed to have those.
But like, how solid were those boundaries actually? What did they consist of?
The lack of ground rules was making her edgier than an unstyled bouquet of roses could ever hope to do. Maybe she would pay Wes a visit after the meeting. Just to clarify exactly what boundaries meant. No other reason.
Bethany realized she was fanning herself and pushed off the counter, flicking open another button on her blouse while making her final rounds of the house. Throw pillows were all aligned, snacks were placed strategically throughout the space, candles were lit, and the temperature was comfortable.
Standing in front of her couch, she drummed her fingers against her mouth. Then she reached for one of the white throw pillows, turning it enough to let the small tag show. That itch on her neck woke up, demanding attention, but she ignored it and walked away in triumph. Look at you. A rebel without a cause.
Today? Pillow tags and messy flower arrangements.
Tomorrow? Who knew? Maybe she would forgo makeup at the next meeting.
What was responsible for these subtle changes in her? Was Project Doomsday acting as a radical immersion therapy for perfectionists? Or was it Wes?
Despite the attraction she’d nursed for him since he arrived in Port Jeff, she’d made Wes the enemy because he was the only one who saw her flaws. Now . . . now she wanted to be around him more for the very same reason. It made no sense.
None of what was happening with Wes made sense.
For once, though . . . she was considering leaving a relationship unarranged.
Messy.
If she could manage to let fate take its course, would she regret it?
A chorus of excited voices reached Bethany through the door before the doorbell started to ring. She smoothed her hair and made sure her bra straps weren’t peeking out of her silver metallic wrap dress. Her outfit tonight was fancy even by her standards, but she’d chosen it mostly because she felt sexy and less because she wanted to impress everyone. It had been a really nice change, slipping the thin material up her freshly showered, bare skin and not being inundated with worries that it wouldn’t be the perfect balance of understated and classy.
She’d gotten dressed for herself.
With a secret smile, which was also just for her, she opened the door and let in the milling group of women, greeting each of them with a kiss on the cheek and an inquiry about their job or family. And this time, she was really listening. Their words weren’t dulled by the constant buzzing in her brain or pressure to come up with a witty response. She was actually enjoying herself. More than she had in a long time.
Rosie arrived on the heels of everyone, glowing as she always did now that her marriage had been repaired, carrying fogged-up Tupperware containers on her hip. With a fall bite in the air, the evening had a cozy ambiance. Talk of Halloween costumes and Thanksgiving plans circulated in the breeze while Bethany passed out wine and champagne.
For once, Bethany took a moment to savor what she’d built with her sister and Rosie. This club of women that had come together with the sole mission of being supportive of one another. Celebrating accomplishments and consoling each other when they didn’t succeed. Bethany had been the one to come up with the initial idea for the Just Us League, but with a newfound clarity, she wondered if she’d done it for the right reasons. Had she hoped everyone else’s problems would distract from what was wrong in her own life?
Starting now, she would be more present. She would lead this club with unselfish goals. Except maybe for one. She wanted to be kinder to herself. It would take time. And it might even take longer before she could voice that hope out loud to anyone, but there was a seed germinating and that was more than she had last week.
Wes’s smile drifted through Bethany’s mind and she found herself sighing dreamily into her glass of chilled champagne. How had he spent his day? She’d picked up her phone to text him several times, but whenever she’d tapped out a message, her old rules had prevented her from hitting send. If she didn’t keep men at arm’s length, they’d think she was needy. But if she showed too much interest, they might latch on too tight. And around and around she went.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Bethany muttered, draining her glass and setting it on a leather coaster. She wove her way through the women standing in her living room and took her place at the whiteboard. “Everyone get comfortable,” she chirped, uncapping her favorite marker. “Somebody tell me something good that happened this week!”
A local lawyer and longtime Just Us Leaguer named Trinisha put her hand up, sending her bracelets jangling down her umber skin. “I made partner this week. It was a total surprise and quite a few of my colleagues were not happy about being passed over. I started to feel guilty, like I always do, but”—she flicked a wrist—“I earned it.”
The applause was enthusiastic, everyone toasting the accomplishment in a series of clinks and congratulations.
One of their newer members, a single mother with a short black bob, raised her hand. “I joined a dating site,” she said, blushing. “I haven’t been on a date in nine years, but . . . I’m meeting someone for coffee on Monday night.”
On cue, everyone launched four hundred questions in her direction, wanting to know his name, profession, eye color, and astrological sign. With amusement curving her lips, Bethany wrote “hot date” on the whiteboard and waited for the hubbub to die down. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” She winked at the single mom. “Let me know if you want to borrow shoes.”
“I’m not turning down that offer,” the woman replied, still beautifully rosy from all the attention she was getting. “I’ll be the envy of the club. We’re all dying to get a peek at that collection.”
What if it’s not as amazing as they hoped?
What if they move something out of place?
“Really?” Bethany tucked some hair behind her ear and leaned into the rising tension in her midsection. “Well, go have a look, everyone. I-if you want.”
The entire room went eerily still, before they all scrambled at once. They were up the stairs before Bethany could descend into a panic funnel. She waited with the marker clutched in her hand, telling herself it was stupid to worry what people thought about her shoe collection. But it wasn’t really about the shoe collection, was it? It was any extension of herself. Project Doomsday, a tea party, her wall of shoes. How long had she been basing her value on how perfect she could make things appear?