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Enough with the self-pity. She threw off the sheet and tried out the ankle. A bit stiff, but otherwise fine. Good thing, she had five aqua bridesmaid dresses to make for the Palmer wedding three weeks from now. They’d come begging a few days ago, after the groom’s mother realized the job wasn’t as easy as it looked. Ha. Andie loved last-minute gigs like this. More money per dress and less whining from the clients because they didn’t hold the power. Being in control was nice.
In the bathroom, she peeled off her pajamas and leaned over to start the shower. Her gaze snagged on the mirror. She’d seen the reflection of her ass thousands of times. Lord knows she checked it frequently enough, ever on the lookout for cottage cheese dimples and orange peel ripples. No sign of the above, but it was pink instead of the usual never-sees-the-light-of-day white. Had to be from rubbing the brick wall.
She hopped onto the toilet seat for a better view in the vanity mirror. Oh, yes. Her knees were worse. Stained and scratched from when she’d lost control with Mason. Control she’d given to him or allowed him to take, the line kind of blurred between the two.
She’d been fifteen the first time she truly made out, and that was…good god, twenty-five years ago. In all that time, she’d never had so much as a hickey. Look at her now. The woman in the mirror smiled back, full of smug satisfaction. She was officially ready for adult-grade dating.
* * *
ANDIE
Scott’s cell number lit the phone display around five-thirty. The Blue Jays had wrapped up their afternoon game with a victory fifteen minutes earlier. She hit the talk button, ready for Dylan’s recount. She already knew the details—she’d listened to every at-bat while working. But her baby boy always called to tell her about his day, and that’s what mattered.
“Hey, how was the game?” she asked by way of answering. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, And.”
Not Dylan, but his dad, his voice dripping with a sarcasm-desperation mix. As usual, he’d shortened her name to a single syllable—one of his habits that irked the crap out of her. One of many.
“Hello, Scott. I hope you’re not talking while driving. It’s dangerous, illegal, and the fine is over one hundred dollars.”
“Nice to know you still care, hon. Not driving. Dyl and I are waiting for a table at The Grindhouse.”
She cringed. She was absolutely not hishon. “Put Dylan on, I’d like to hear his voice and say goodnight.”
“He’s in the restroom.”
She took a breath, exhaled quietly. Must be cool, not let Scott win by showing irritation. “And you’re calling me because…?”
“I thought you might like to join us for the rest of the weekend. If you left now, you’d be here in time to catch a late movie with us. I’m sure I could arrange another seat for the game tomorrow. I know how much you enjoy baseball.”
More than she was supposed to, by Scott’s standards. The time she’d jumped up with the stadium crowd in doingthe wave, he’d turned a shade of purple she couldn’t name. “Thank you, but no.”
“Dylan would love it if you drove out.”
Typical Scott tactics. If bribery doesn’t get the desired result, play the guilt card. And it’d worked at the beginning. More times than she could count.
Not anymore, though. Scott had filled her head with so much worry, she’d taken Dylan to a family counselor. Behind Scott’s back. That hadn’t pleased her ex. God, if Scott knew that Dylan had been encouraging her to start dating lately… She shuddered to think what brainwashing he might try on their son. Scott wanted his family photo back in the frame. Period.
“Well, And—what do you say? Come watch the Blue Jays beat the Yankees with us, like old times?”
Like old times. While she missed the family parts of their life together, she didn’t miss Scott’s constant attempts to make her over into his vision of a proper wife. The wardrobe adjustments. Suggestions that she dance with less hip movement. Clap more daintily. Invitethe right peopleover for cocktails, instead of her over-the-top best friend.
Nor did she miss the permanent frost that’d settled in their bedroom. Physical contact had become almost non-existent after Dylan’s birth. A consequence she hadn’t foreseen, and one she couldn’t regret, because it had given her—given them—a beautiful baby. But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life that way, either.
“Is Dylan back from the men’s room yet?” she asked, ignoring the taunting request.
“No.” Scott’s voice switched to its cool, lawyerly tone. “Would you like him to call you later?”
Andie dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “Just tell him I love him.”
“Lucky kid.”
No degree needed to read between those lines. They weren’t having this conversation again, not a chance. She ran a finger over the pink scrapes on her knees. “Goodbye, Scott.”
* * *
MASON
