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“Love you,” she whispers into my hair.
“I know,” I say, giving her a squeeze before letting go.
* * *
It takesthirty minutes to get home, and Noelle’s red VW Bug is already parked in the garage when I pull in. She’s sitting in one of the stools at the kitchen island when I enter the house.
With a concerned expression she begins, “I was just about to call you. Where were you?”
Before I can answer, she points to myAerosmithshirt, tilting her head and asks, “Weren’t you wearing that last night?”
Looking down at my shirt momentarily, I shrug, “Yes. I stayed at Georgie’s.”
It’s not a lie, but I feel it in the pit of my stomach. Looking at her big blue eyes staring back at me, I decide to change the subject.
“Did you eat breakfast already?” I ask, chugging a bottle of water that I grabbed from the fridge.
“Skittles,” Noelle says smiling, and I shake my head.
I’m not known for my cooking skills, but my kid does eat better than Skittles for breakfast.
“It was left over from Halloween last year and we wanted to see if it was still good,” she laughs.
“Berdena’sorAlo’s?” I ask, naming off her two favorite cafes for breakfast.
“I’m feeling French Toast this morning,” Noelle replies, gathering her hair into a bun.
“Berdena’sit is.” I toss the empty water bottle in the trash. “Let me go change and we can go. I’m starving.”
Running down the hall to my bedroom, I pull off my shirt, noticing how it smells like him, a mixture of masculine cologne and sweet liquor. Bringing it to my nose, I inhale slowly, allowing myself a few scandalous thoughts about the young musician with the pretty face and the kissable lips.
Tossing my shirt in the hamper, I exchange Georgie’s underwear for my own before heading into the bathroom to grab some lip gloss and use my finger to spread it over my chapped lips. My thoughts are interrupted when Noelle enters my bedroom and plops down on the bed.
“Did you hear the monsoon storm last night?” she asks, unaware that I was at the center of it.
“Yeah.” I throw the lip gloss back in the drawer and walk out to my bedroom. The king size bed sits in the center of the wall opposite the bathroom, adorned with decorative pillows. An oversized chair sits in the corner by the window.
“It was wicked. One of the umbrellas in Sofia’s back yard fell in the pool. We helped her dad fish it out,” Noelle says with a smile.
“I bet you did.”
“What did you and Georgie do last night?” she asks while I grab a shirt from my closet and slip it on.
“Got into a whole lotta trouble,” I tease, wiggling my brows.
Noelle laughs. “I don’t doubt that,” she says. “I bet sitting at home watching movies with me will be boring in comparison.”
Sitting down on the bed next to her, I drape my arm over her shoulders. “I’d rather watch movies with you any day of the week then raise hell with Georgie,” I tell her.
6
BRIDE OR BRIDE?
Polyester Bride by Liz Phair
Slipping on my heels, I rush into the kitchen. As usual, I’m running late.
Noelle sits on the kitchen island, her feet dangling as she smiles while taking a sip of her coffee. I give her a disapproving look.
