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“I’m really dressed for a girl’s night,” I hedged. Amy was well aware of the fact that I’d been absent to all girl’s nights the past year, including the one with world famous actress Anastasia Edwards in attendance. The very same one where she’d been kidnapped.
I’d heard all this after the fact, since Mia was at my house the very next day with coffee, donuts and all the gossip. Thankfully, she hadn’t come with her two boys, since I usually needed an hour to prepare the house and remove all possibly dangerous objects in order for those hellions to visit. And needed to have at least three fire extinguishers on hand.
So yeah, life hadn’t stopped since my husband died, the crazy continued.
“You look amazing, actually,” Amy countered, looking me up and down. “Which isn’t really a surprise since you’re a stone-cold hottie. But you’ve also lost your husband, your heart has been broken and your world has pretty much imploded. That shit is bound to show up on a girl’s complexion.” She moved to cup my cheek, smiling sadly. “But you still look beautiful. A different kind of beautiful, a sad one which breaks my heart. I wish I knew a dark magic to make this all go away, but the only magic I know can make it hurt a little less and comes in a cocktail glass.”
She let go of my face and stepped back before I did something insane like cry in the face of Amy’s unique form of comfort.
“Do you really think girl’s night is a good idea?” I asked, nervous to be around everyone, wondering if they’d be mad at me for avoiding them and ignoring all of their calls. Even though that wasn’t how our group worked.
“No.”
That answer didn’t come from Amy but from behind her.
Brock was leaning against the wall, watching his wife primp with heat in his eyes.
Amy frowned and whirled around to face her husband.
“Ah, even after all these years of marriage you still think you have any kind of say in where I go or what I do. How adorable,” she cooed with saccharine sweetness. “Shouldn’t you be watching the children, honey?”
I bit back a smile.
“Girl’s nights don’t really have the best track record lately,” Brock replied, eying his wife while smartly not commenting on her statement. There was a warning in his tone and a danger in his gaze. The kind of danger that most men and women would blanche at and go off running, no matter how much Brock resembled a chill surfer dude.
Amy merely rolled her eyes. Old Ladies were immune to all the intimidating and scary glares. Which was mostly why they were Old Ladies. These men didn’t want women who scared easily; they needed women who could weather their alpha bullshit and throw them sass right back. Or be gentle in the face of it.
Amy wasn’t about being gentle right now, though.
“Well, the last one doesn’t even count because Rosie totally planned on Anastasia being kidnapped,” she snapped.
“And the rest?” he asked, a whisper of a grin teasing at the corner of his mouth.
She waved her hand. “All part of the Sons of Templar mating process.”
He blinked. “Sons of Templar mating process?”
She raised her brow. “Oh, come on, don’t play dumb. We’ve only been through this like...” she trailed off, counting on her fingers. “Eight times. Give or take. You know that once a man in a leather cut sets his sights on a woman, that woman most likely gets involved in trouble. Usually through no fault of her own.”
Brock was flat out grinning now. “No fault of her own?”
She scowled. “Are you trying to tell me that Gwen wanted to be kidnapped by those creepy Spider dudes? That I wanted to be kidnapped by an arguably creepier crime lord type dude? That Mia wanted to be kidnapped by her gross, asshole ex-husband? And that Lily, Bex, Lauren, Macy and Caroline wanted all the shit that happened?”
Brock looked suitably chastised. His grin disappeared, most likely from the memory of his now wife’s kidnapping and all the dramas and near-death experiences that came after it. “I’m not saying that at all.”
She put her hand on her hip. “Well, you should stop saying anything at all if you want to get lucky tonight.” She hitched her purse onto her shoulder, one that I was pretty sure was worth as much as my first car, though, I was used to her pricey accessories by now. “Now, Lizzie and I and the rest of the girls are going for a quiet drink, to shoot the shit with Laura Maye. No drama. And even if there is, we’re all more than capable of handling it.” She winked, leaned in to kiss her husband then left.The table that was always reserved for us at Laura Maye’s bar was almost entirely full of glamorous women, laughing, drinking cocktails and commanding the attention of everyone in the bar when we arrived.
