She folded her arms. He was getting a little too close for comfort with his character assassination of her. “Did you take your own advice, Mr. Know It All? Is that why you’re not married anymore and kicking ass and taking names with a championship winning hockey team?”
At his infuriating brow quirk, she kept going. “Uh huh. I know things, too. It’s not that easy for me, Elliott. I can’t just decide one night in a bar while tipsy on Fizzy Kisses to change my whole life.”
Okay, next time she was going to go off on a rant she’d make sure she picked something with a less ridiculous name than a Fizzy Kiss.
“The old Clare wouldn’t think twice about it.”
“Gah! Old Clare isgone. There remains only this haggard, chubby, saggy boobed worker bee who still loves fried cheese more than she should.”
“Stop being afraid of what could go wrong. What about what could go right?”
The Band-Aid over their long distant past had snapped like an elastic band. They were no longer two people who used to know each other. Nope. They were all-the-way-in-deep like no time at all had passed and like they were the same people, just twenty years later.
She tipped her chin. She hadn’t missed this. His smug, superior,do as I say not as I doattitude. He didn’t know shit about her, her kids, or her life. What gave him the right to just swan back into her life after so long and give her commentary on it?
Except…he also wasn’t wrong.
“You want some help updating your resume?”
Yes, please. “Thanks, but I can handle it myself. I’ve done just fine without your help for two decades thanks.” Ouch. She winced. That was… Oof. Too far. Target acquired. Shots fired. Direct hit. Direct. Fucking. Hit. Eesh.
He looked like she’d kicked his puppy. “Okay. Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.” He nodded to the bartender and turned to his players still huddled at the end of the bar.
He’d left way too much money for his beer.
“Eli?”
He paused and stepped back toward her. She lifted the cash from the counter. “You left too much.”
“You know, it’s so weird hearing my given name. My folks call me Son, my team and colleagues call me Coach, my ex calls me Satan… I almost forgot I had an actual name.” His warm smile undid her.
She held out the cash, he took it, and handed it over to her new bestie. “That should cover her tab, too.”
When she started to protest he put a finger over her lips. “It’s the least I can do.” He flinched, hesitated like he had something else to say, but then he was gone.
New Bestie whistled, leaning forward, his forearms on the edge of the bar. “You wanna talk aboutthat?”
“There isn’t enough fried cheese or Fizzy Kisses in all the world to make me talk aboutthat.”
“Boy’s got it bad.” He arched an eyebrow.
She snorted. “Guilt money.” She shrugged and swallowed the last of her drink. “I won’t ever say no to Fizzy Kisses and mozzarella sticks though. I’m not picky when it comes to snacks. A total snack ho.”
“So noted. You sure you don’t need to unload?”
She gave a sidelong glance at Elliott’s back as he patted a player on the shoulder and made his way to the exit. She was drowning in the past, in her feelings, in sadness at what could have been and what never was. She had no idea what the hell she needed.
Chapter 5
Clare
When the doorbell rang, Clare almost rolled face-first off the couch. She hadn’t ordered dinner yet, her kids weren’t home, and she had already received the embarrassing pile of Amazon packages she’d ordered a few nights ago while under the influence of a few glasses of wine. Fine, a bottle.
The pile of unopened boxes stood proudly next to the front door, and she cringed every single time she walked by. She needed adult supervision. And more money to fund her late-night one-click frenzies.
The doorbell chimed again. It was one thing she hated about her house—you couldn’t peek around the doorframe of any of the rooms without being busted by whomever stood waiting on the porch. She’d always talked about putting frosted glass in the door, or blinds, or a security camera, or trying to dosomethingto give herself a little more time to decide on whether she actually wanted to open the door or not.
But, like so many other honey-do projects around the house, she was the only “honey” around, and by the time she got done with her day, or week, she just couldn’t “do.”
