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Because I’d never done that. Not a day in my life. I’d met Andrew when I was fifteen. I’d married him when I was eighteen. I didn’t even know how to dance. I’d never even been to an actual nightclub. While all my friends were going to college and partying, I was married and traveling the world with my military husband. There was absolutely no cutting up. Ever.
My head was still going. “Oh, I don’t know about—” I started, but all of a sudden, Holden was there, interrupting me.
“I think that’s a great idea. Miranda needs a night off and besides, it would do you well to get out and make some friends since you’re new to town. “
Well, if he wasn’t a muscled, shirtless, hot, unwelcome addition to this conversation. “I don’t know,” I sang slowly. “That’s not really my scene.”
I was trying to play it cool, but I was anything but, and I was also lying. I didn’t know what my scene was. But somehow I knew that a nightclub wasn’t it. I was pretty sure the only dancing I’d ever done was on Sunday mornings while I cleaned my house. And no one wanted to see that. Not even Parker because she’d told me so.
Miranda sat up on the end of the couch, clearly excited about the prospect of going clubbing with me, and I scooted to the end of the couch, too, terrified out of my mind.
This was terrible. The worst idea ever. I shouldn’t have even stopped by today. I wondered if this was all some sort of plan to get me out and about. I wondered if I’d been set up.
Holden sat next to me on the couch. “Come on, Ems. Miranda could use a night to blow off steam. Shit has been stressful for her lately.”
Damn it, I hated it when he called me Ems. The only other person who called me that was Andy. The man knew what he was playing at. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what was going on with Miranda, but I was a private person myself, so I made it a point not to intrude.
Even if they were intruding on my life.
I looked back and forth between the two of them in panic mode. How the hell was I going to get out of this?
“We don’t have to dance,” Miranda rattled off quickly. “If you don’t want to do that, we can just sit at the bar and have a few drinks.”
Holden set his hand on my knee. “Please. It would mean a lot.”
For fuck’s sake. How could I say no to two people who had just helped me move from another state and unpack all my stuff? “Fine,” I said quietly. “But no dancing.” I made sure to say that a bit louder.
Like a fool, I’d come over for coffee and received way more than I’d bargained for, but what could a drink out hurt, right? Or at least that was what I told myself, anyway.
Jesus, what had I gotten myself into?
Ipulled off the miniskirt I’d put on and exchanged it for a pair of jeans and prayer. What in the hell was I doing? I didn’t know what to wear out to a bar or club. I was someone’s mom. I used to be someone’s wife. And now I was someone’s widow. And that was all I was. I didn’t know how to do this. How to be the girl who went out for drinks and had friends. I was stressed to the max. And I was sweating like a whore in church.
I buttoned up my skinny jeans as Parker came into the room.
“You wearing that?” she asked, looking me up and down
I could feel the teenage judgment rolling off of her in waves.
I pulled my shirt down with a huff. “Yeah, is there a problem?” Yeah, I was a bit touchy.
“Well, it’s just. I mean.” She bit her lip. “I mean, Mom, you’re going out, not to work.” She walked toward my closet before searching through all my clothes. “Why don’t you try this pretty emerald green blouse?” She held it up. “Oh, I bet it will make your boobs look great.”
I could feel myself frowning. I knew which one she was talking about. And it did definitely make my breasts look good. But why did I need them to look good? “I don’t care about my boobs,” I argued back, but my hands still took the blouse from her and exchanged it with the black T-shirt I had on.
I slipped the sleeveless green shirt over my head and pulled it down. I hadn’t worn it in probably six years and the last time was on a date with my dead husband. But she was right. I did look good in it. It was cut low with a little frill around the collar and down into the V between my breasts to accentuate the girls. And they were accentuated. Even on display, probably. The bottom of the shirt didn’t quite meet the waistband of my jeans, leaving a sliver of skin bare at my midriff.
I stared down at the sliver of skin, knowing my forty-year-old ass had no business showing.
“Lord have mercy, Mom. You look so hot!” Parker shrieked.
I pursed my lips. “I don’t care about looking hot, Parker.” But I did brush the little bit of lint off my shirt because it was pretty and I did look nice in it. Even if it was out of my comfort zone.
I walked into the bathroom to finish getting ready and Parker followed.
“A man might care if you look hot, though.”
I looked in the mirror to find her standing next to me, dancing eyebrows and mischievous smile out, and I knew this wasn’t going to end well.
