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I scowl at her as she grins.
Fiona frowns, seeing something in my expression that I would have rather stayed hidden. “What happened?"
Biting my lip, I pick at the pilling fabric of a throw pillow. “It didn’t end well.”
Simone leans forward, mouth open in shock. “He didn’t get you over the edge? That’s surprising. I wouldn’t expect Sebastian to be a selfish lover.”
“It’s the way he looks at her,” Fiona says. “Like no one else in the room even exists whenever she’s near.”
I shake my head, not wanting to go downthatparticular road. “We never got that far.”
Trina hums. “What happened? Did you stop, or did he?”
The memory of his words and how they made me feel sends nausea spiraling in my stomach. I don’t want to say it out loud, relive it once more. But as I look up into my new friends’ faces, I feel an injection of strength. These women barely know me, but they’ve brought me into the fold like one of their own.
“He made this comment comparing me to his ex-wife,” I start.
“That rat bastard,” Fiona spits, surprising me with her vehemence.
“What did he say?” Trina asks.
“He said…” I inhale deeply, exhale, and still am barely able to say it out loud. “He said I could try to bleed him dry the way all women do—the way his ex did—but there wasn’t much to take from him. He thought I got my new house from the divorce settlement by taking my ex-husband to the cleaners.”
Simone makes a noise of righteous outrage, her eyes narrowing to slits. “That misogynistic prick. As if it’s completely outlandish to think you brought more to your marriage than your ex did.”
I pinch my lips, agreeing, not knowing what to say.
“That’s bad,” Trina says. “I’m not on Team Texas anymore.”
“No one is on Team Texas,” Fiona says, standing up to gather the empty mugs of coffee and tea we’ve finished. “Sebastian has an uphill battle if he thinks he can win us over again.”
The two other ladies nod, and despite the sick feeling in my stomach, my lips curl. It feels good to have these women in my corner, to have people to turn to when things go wrong. I help Fiona with the dishes while Trina and Simone straighten up the rest of the room.
“Any plans tonight?” Fiona asks when I’m drying the last mug.
The question warms me, chasing away the last of the discomfort from my encounter with Sebastian. I shake my head and am promptly invited to a yoga class at Candice’s studio, followed by dinner. The payment, they say, is retelling my morning with Sebastian to the other ladies who will join, “So they can leave Team Texas too,” Simone says.
Since it seems like a fair exchange for their support, laughter, and friendship, I happily agree.
I manageto avoid Sebastian for the rest of the week. It’s not hard, since I’m busy building new friendships, which is basically a full-time job. I check in at the Four Cups Café every morning, sipping coffee and admiring the multitude of artworks hung on the wall for sale. Then I invariably end up dragged somewhere to help—whether it’s the community garden down the street, the back of the café, or one of the ladies’ houses for dinner, babysitting, or catsitting.
I feel happy, but there’s something missing. Whenever I see Grant wrap his arms around Fiona, or I watch Trina pick her cat up and nuzzle him with Mac there to scratch behind Mr. Fuzzles’s ears, I feel like a little orphan girl with a bundle of matchsticks, looking into the window on my friends’ rich, happy lives.
“You need something to keep you occupied,” Simone tells me one evening after a yoga class at Candice’s house while we lie on our mats in the studio.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t stopped running around since you all adopted me into your group.”
She grins. “I mean something for yourself. A project. Something that makes you feel excited again. Right now, you keep thinking about Sebastian because there’s nothing else to look forward to. The man brought you to the brink of orgasm right before insulting you. No wonder you feel itchy and unfulfilled.”
I scrunch my nose. “You make it sound so pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic. It’s normal. Why wouldn’t you think about a hot cowboy in tight Levi’s—”
“They’re Wranglers,” Fiona says from the other side of Simone.
I lift myself up onto my elbow and meet Fiona’s laughing gaze with an arched eyebrow.
“What?” She shrugs, her hair splayed over her yoga mat like a fan.
