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“It’s like watching her in college all over again,” he whispered. “Drinking, flirting—”
“You’re doing the same things,” I teased.
“I don’t keep a wine emergency kit in my car,” he growled.
I laughed, but moved to go sit down, settling near Paula.
Owen settled beside me, nestling all the bottles down beside his ex. All except for the whiskey bottle, which he cracked open and guzzled from the bottle.
“Slow down, lover boy,” Paula told him. “You can’t take as much as you used to.”
“How would you know?” he countered. “I haven’t gotten drunk in front of you in…shit, probably ten years.”
She honked out a laugh.
“Bullshit! We got drunk on my sister’s wedding weekend two years ago. It took you three drinks. Three!”
He moaned.
“They put way too much booze in my sazeracs! Everyone knows it’s two ounces. Two! They half filled the fucking glasses with cognac and expected me to stay sober? They put too much money into the open bar and not enough into a capable bartender. That was the problem!”
She laughed her rear off and waved him off like it was all an excuse.
Owen rolled his eyes, but took another swallow before handing it off to Jamie, who did the same.
Paula was working on uncorking the wine, popping it with a loud thwunk, then pouring the two wine glasses, one for her, and one for me.
I sipped, watching the others with amusement. I’d never seen this side of Owen, and the others were a riot to be around.
“So,” Jamie said after a few drinks, obviously drunk by that point. “No offense or anything, but is it just me, or is the whole idea of doing this ex’s date thing really weird?”
Owen huffed a laugh.
“Thank you,” he agreed, waving at the man. “That’s what I said. Mia insisted we accept the invitation.”
“You just better not tell your mother that you’re on a date with your ex,” Paula said, bouncing her eyebrows. “Pretty sure she’d disown you, considering how happy she was once we’d finally divorced.”
My boyfriend groaned and covered his face, lying back onto the blankets.
“I’d never hear the end of it,” he agreed. “Just don’t mention it to her while she’s here, ok?”
“Your mother is coming?” Paula cried, crossing herself with her index finger like she was warding away a devil. “Oh God, please tell me I don’t have to see that woman!”
“She wants to see the kids. Not you,” Owen admitted.
Paula guzzled her wine and pointed at me with a shaking finger.
“Good luck to you, dealing with that she-beast. It was the one thing that made me want to leave that man long before we got divorced.”
“She’s not that bad,” he sighed.
“Uh, do you not remember when she called me a cow while I was nine months pregnant with Charlie? Seriously! She told me to stop eating sugar and bread so I could ‘lose some weight’!”
“She can be overbearing—”
“Overbearing is what we call a puppy eager to see his person. Your mother is straight up vindictive and hateful.”
He didn’t disagree.
