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Chunky sweater, check.
“Brooke, what the hell are you wearing?” Lettie glares at me like I just ate the last salted-caramel brownie.
I check myself in the mirror and see the reflection of a woman who’ll be warm at the bonfire. “What?”
“Hot guys will be there. Football players who just won the College Football National Championship, ready to celebrate.” She winks at me as she jerks the hat from my head.
I know she’s right, but I’m not ready. I mean, do I make out with someone? Then follow it up with the declaration and say, “By the way, I have a three-year-old son.”Talk about a cock blocker. Instead of voicing that concern and getting yet another lecture from Lettie, I rip the hat from her hands. “I’m wearing the hat.”
Lettie throws her hands up, backing away. “All right, I guess getting you out of the house once every six months will have to be enough for me.”
Over the last two years, I’ve learned that January in Kentucky can be tricky. Last year, we had a blizzard with fourteen inches of snow piling up. I grew up in Michigan where my dad was the hockey coach of the Dawson University Destroyers. Up north, they clear and scrape the snow within hours, and everyone would be at work. But here, everything was closed for days.
Not complaining, Caleb and I played in the snow for hours, then came in, drank hot chocolate, and after naptime, we would start all over again. I’ll never forget his red cheeks and cold, chubby hands when I took off his superhero gloves. He wrapped his arms around my neck and said, “Love you, Mommy. Next time, can we build a Daddy snowman?”
Sighing at the memory, I take one last glance in the mirror and grab my purse hanging on the door.
Here goes nothing.
After locking the door behind me, Lettie and I walk next door so I can give my little man a hug and kiss goodnight. Caleb is having a sleepover with my next-door neighbor’s son, giving me zero excuses to stay home.
This is the first time he’s spent the night with anyone except my dad, and that’s rare as he travels for his job.
Caleb barely notices me as they build a fort with large cardboard bricks. Fascinated by his hard-working personality, pride swells inside my heart. I’m a good mother. Caleb wasn’t planned, but he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.
He gives me a quick hug and pecks me on the cheek, then pushes out of my embrace, telling his friend to place the blue triangle on top. It’s a sweet and sour feeling that he doesn’t need me and how fast he’s growing up.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine, and you will too. It’s good for him to see a happy, fulfilled mom,” Nicole says.
Giving her a tight-lipped smile, I say, “Okay but call me if he needs anything. I’ll have my phone in my pocket.”
“Go. Have fun.”
Lettie pulls me out the front door, giggling. “We need to stop by the liquor store.”
I shake my head, knowing if she has her way, I’ll be plastered and naked in the back of a pickup truck with some football player tonight.
Not saying I would be opposed, but it turns out that what I thought was a relationship was just hooking up—and I have a three-year-old to prove it.
We pick up two more of her friends. They bring a small cooler and insist on doing shots when we arrive at the farm. Several guys zone in on us as we step out of her velocity-blue Mustang GT, which matches the color of the Stallions logo. Her friend Jules lines up the shots on the hood of the car.
“What’s in them?” I ask.
Jules says, “Fireball with cherry-flavored Jell-O.”
Cherry and cinnamon sounds like a good combination. They’re in clear plastic cups that most people use for wine, definitely more than an ounce of liquor.
Jules counts, “1.2.3. Shoot.” The four of us suck the Jell-O into our mouths, and I have to force the last bit down my burning throat.
“That’ll warm you up,” Lettie says as she tilts her head to the gaggle of good-looking guys approaching. “Incoming.”
“Hey ladies,” one of the guys says, while scanning the car. “Lettie. Jules. Who are your friends?”
“This is Brooke and Tessa.”
He flashes me a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” I raise my eyebrow to Lettie as she picks up another Jell-O shot and shrugs. “Lettie, you’re the designated driver, remember?”
