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“What do you say to you and me going out tonight? Have some fun, just us girls?”
“Sounds great.” I grin, happily. “In fact, I would love to. I think that’s just what I need… a girls’ night out.”
***
Aurora has rescued me from an almost fashion disaster. I didn’t expect to go out to some fancy club, bringing mainly work attire and a pair of jeans in case. It’s late, and after today’s dramas, I could have easily gone to bed and called it a night almost regretting my earlier enthusiasm.
Emerson is raring to go, clearing it with Logan, and ensuring we have two bodyguards. She plans for us to go to a low-key club that plays Spanish music in a quieter part of the city. An older crowd frequents, though the tapas and sangria are apparently to die for.
Emerson looks gorgeous wearing a long-sleeve black dress and strappy heels that almost come to her knees. She complains about her hair being in terrible condition, asking Aurora to style it into a side wave.
I can’t fault Aurora on the dress she found for me—ivory lace that sits on the top of my shoulders, though slightly shorter than I normally wear, the hemline stopping mid-thigh. Aurora is vocal in telling me how much she loves my hair, styling it into waves that fall gracefully down my back.
“Argh… I love your hair so much. I really should stop cutting mine,” Emerson complains.
“I’ve always worn it long. Mama has long hair, too. It’s our thing.”
“You don’t speak much about your mom, or back home, for that matter.”
I smile. “How about we get to the club. After a few drinks I’ll be happy to talk about me.”
We arrive a little after nine and still manage to get a table. It’s in a great position, right in front of the dance floor. The lighting is dim, creating a somber mood and is exactly what Emerson wants. No one in the club seems to have recognized her, and she tells me it’s nice to relax unnoticed.
We eat delicious tapas and a seafood paella that’s amazing. The dancers show us their moves, while we laugh, drink sangria, and enjoy ourselves.
“We should find you a man.” Emerson giggles on her second sangria. “A man who can move his hips like that is bound to be good in the bedroom.”
“I can find my own man, thank you very much.” I laugh, my head spinning slightly from the sweet booze. “Besides, I don’t think there’s anyone here under the age of fifty.”
Emerson sways to the music, glass in hand. “What’s wrong with a mature, aged man? Maturity means experience. They know how to please a woman.”
I laugh. “Logan will kill you for saying that. Isn’t he your age?”
She dismisses my comment, finishing her drink and eating the fruit at the bottom of the glass.
“Yeah… I’ve always been with guys my age. But older men… something mysterious. Now, c’mon… how about that guy over there?”
I glance over and see an older gentleman with silver-colored hair, and he’s wearing a cravat.
“He’s old enough to be my grandpa.”
“What? No, he isn’t. Maybe just one dance. Look at him.” We both turn, making it obvious that we’re staring at him. “That hip replacement must really be working out for him.”
We laugh, almost in tears, feeding off our relaxed state from the sangria.
“I need a man who gets me. You know, someone who just makes me crazy in the bedroom and is wild. But also loves me and understands what I want,” I moan.
Emerson nods her head, pointing her stick at me and almost stabbing my face.
“I can find you a man like that. You’re beautiful, like seriously. There must be someone I know who would be your perfect match.”
“I like this guy I’ve met,” I admit, followed by a loud hiccup. “But that’s it.”
“Do you have a dick pic?”
“Emerson,” I yell, throwing a peanut at her face. “I don’t, but even if I did, I wouldn’t show you.”
No shit. How awkward would that be? Boyfriend sends me a dick pic, and I show his ex. I’m pretty sure his dick is one of a kind, and she would spot it straight away. I need to stop saying dick. It’s making me miss him.
