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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.
“Boo…” She giggles. “Logan would sooo kill me anyway.”
“You guys are great together. You mesh. Like, he just gets you, and you get him. And when you argue, you make up, and no one loses.”
Emerson lifts the jug, her hand unsteady as she pours some of the delicious liquid into her glass, spilling a little bit on the white tablecloth.
“That’s why I love the guy. When I was with Wesley, it was so toxic. He was toxic. Seriously, what a waste of time.”
My stomach caves. Either the sangria or Emerson’s opinion of Wesley is making me want to throw up. I take a deep breath, swallowing, then finishing the rest of my drink, which momentarily takes all the pain away.
“You guys must have had good times. He’s kinda hot,” I admit, rather foolishly.
Emerson raises her brow at me, my cheeks reddening from my brazen comment. I drink harder, forcing myself to forget what I’ve said.
But I am desperate.
I want to talk to someone.
