Page 11 of Homewrecker

“You didn’t even check your calendar.”

“I know what I’m doing Saturday.”

I narrowed my eyes. “One dinner.”

His laugh followed me as I walked toward the door.

“Seven?” he called.

I turned around. “Eight.”

“Why eight?”

“Because if the date is terrible, I can catch up with my girls after.”

“And if it’s good?”

I pushed the door open. “We’ll never know if you keep asking questions.”

Saturday night, I changed my outfit four times. The first dress looked like I was trying too hard. The second looked like I wasn’t trying at all. The third made my ass look incredible but gave I’m prepared to make a poor decision tonight, and despite what later events would suggest, I did occasionally have sense. The fourth dress won since it was a simple black dress that was low enough in the front to remind Caleb I had breasts without them spilling all out.

I stood in the mirror brushing my hair when my phone rang.

“Please tell me you’re not still getting dressed,” my best friend Gabby said the second I answered.

“Hello to you too.”

“It’s seven forty-two.”

“He said eight.”

“You live twenty minutes away.”

“I’m fashionably delayed.”

I put her on speaker and reached for my earrings.

“So this is the client?” she asked.

“Former client,” I corrected.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t do that sound.”

“What sound?”

“That judgmental little ‘mhm’.”

“Mhm,” she said again, dragging it out.

“Bitch.”

She laughed. “So what’s his situation?”

I fastened my earring. “What do you mean?”

“Kids?”