AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 11
Flirting is a necessary skill in every woman’s arsenal regardless of whether she’s a ‘lady’ or not. ~ Phoebe’s rules for becoming a better person
“How is your tall, dark, dangerous looking drink of water?” Hailey asks with a wiggle of her brows.
I play stupid. “You mean Ryker?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, Wally.” She snort laughs, but my heart stops. Does she know I went to Wally? Did he tell everyone my real name? What was I thinking? I can’t trust anyone. I should know better!
Hailey hip checks me. “Come on. I want all the details about Ryker.”
My breath rushes out of me. She’s joking. She doesn’t know about my deal with Wally. “You sound like Suzie,” I say to buy myself some time.
I don’t have any gossip to share with her. Seriously. I’ve seen the guy a few times, but it’s not like we’re dating. I don’t even have his phone number. Well, I guess I do. Assuming the number he texted me from is his number. But his bossing me around by text did not fill my stomach with butterflies. Not like when he came up to me before he left the self-defense class and whispered in my ear, “See you around, Princess.” The memory of his gravely voice whispering in my ear gives me goosebumps.
“Fine. Keep your secrets,” Hailey grumps but then she winks. “What must people think when they see us together?”
My head can’t keep up with the change in topic. “What do you mean?”
“You looking like sex on a stick. And then there’s me.” She indicates herself with a sweep of her arm up and down her body.
I roll my eyes. She has no idea how beautiful a woman she is. Sure, she’s dressed in ripped jeans, boots, and a leather jacket that has seen better days, but she owns the look. I’d kill for a mere drop of her confidence.
As opposed to Hailey’s casual look, I’m dressed like a man-eater. On purpose, mind you. I’m not literally a man-eater. I subsist on a diet of vegetables and rice for gosh sakes. Men are not on my list of approved foods.
And why am I dressed like a woman of questionable virtue? We’re setting up one of our honeypot traps tonight. This is the original reason I was hired by We Cheat, You Eat. To ambush men who are stepping out on their wives.
When a wife has doubts about the ability of her husband to keep it in his pants, we step in. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t do anything with the men beyond a bit of not-so-harmless-flirting. But I do need to dress the part. Thus, why I’m wearing a Furstenberg wrap dress with my Louboutin heels.
This is why I haven’t sold all of the clothes from my previous life. I could most likely fetch a pretty penny for both items, but I need something sexy to wear for these adventures in flirting.
“What’s the setup for tonight?” I ask although the setup is almost always the same.
“Mrs. Jackson thinks her husband is cheating on her. She has no proof.” They never do. “But she’s about had it with him coming home drunk on Wednesday nights after she’s wrestled the kids into bed all by herself.”
“Drunk and smelling like perfume?”
She shakes her head. “No. I asked. No perfume smells or lipstick stains but the drinking occurs at the bar of the Grand Hotel…” She trails off with a shrug. She need say no more. There’s a reason all of our honeypot traps are set at this hotel. Apparently, adulterers aren’t very creative when it comes to picking out hotels to cheat in.
“What’s the husband’s name?”
“Albert.”
“How old is he?” Because Albert sounds like a grandfather, not a carouser.
“I didn’t ask, but Mrs. Jackson is middle-aged. If I had to guess, I’d say late thirties.”
She hands me a picture of the couple. Albert is staring down at his wife with a smile on his face while she gazes up at him like he’s her entire world. The couple look happy and in love. I hope he isn’t cheating on her and throwing her love away.
We walk into the Grand Hotel and Peggy, the receptionist, waves at us with a huge smile on her face. Peggy is a twenty-something who thinks the honeypot schemes are hilarious. Personally, I don’t think there’s a single thing funny about men who cheat.
Hailey veers off to get a room key from Peggy while I head to the bar. My butt barely has a chance to hit a barstool before Andy, the bartender, sets a martini in front of me.
“Phoebe, it’s been a while,” he says as he looks me up and down. Men. They’re all the same. Show a little bit of cleavage and they start panting like dogs in heat. Hold up. That doesn’t make sense. Boy dogs don’t go into heat. Anyway, you get what I’m saying.
I take a sip of my martini and moan in delight. Normally, Andy waters down my drink down to the point you could probably serve it to a toddler. It’s Hailey’s rule. She thinks I’m going to get drunk and belligerent. The joke’s on her. I’ve never been belligerent a day in my life. But who knows? Maybe the new Phoebe has belligerent in her?
Hailey glides by and leaves a keycard on the bar in front of me. She acts like we don’t know each other. I barely hold in my eye roll. I’m not sure who she’s afraid is going to see us together. No one’s here yet. We always arrive at least fifteen minutes early, and the bar is no-man’s-land until the businesses in the area close for the day.
