Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
His brows lift, querying. I’m staring.
“Oh.” I turn my back to him, as much to recover my composure as to get my zipper up. “It’s stuck. Can ya help?”
He doesn’t answer, and his steps are so quiet I barely hear him cross the room, so the heat of his body warming my exposed skin startles me. The backs of his fingers brush over my spine as he pulls the zipper. It doesn’t budge at first, so he has to tug. Even just that whisper of a touch reminds my skin how to goose-bump. I glance over my shoulder and up, my breath hitching when our eyes collide. The air around us practically crackles, charged with a familiar current I’d forgotten was even possible.
He clears his throat and slides the zipper to the top. “There you go.”
I turn to face him and am unprepared for how close he stands. I’m barefoot and my view narrows to the broad chest and shoulders of the man in front of me. We’re not alone like this often anymore, leading separate lives that only intersect at our kids and our business. Kassim and Deja are usually around, or staff, friends, coaches, teachers. It’s rarely just us. We used to know each other better than anyone. Now I’m not even sure what he watches in the little free time he has away from this place, or really what he does at all.
“Have you seen Ozark?” I ask.
The thick line of his brows dips. “Nah. Should I?”
“It’s one of the best shows I’ve seen in a really long time. The acting, directing. The writing is stellar.”
I’m rambling. I want to shove a sock in my mouth to make it stop running.
“I’ll have to, uh…check it out.” He glances at the door. “I need to get back to Granders.”
“Yeah.” I reach into the bottom of my suit bag to grab my green heels, bending to slip them on. “I gotta go too.”
He runs a thorough glance from my head to my shoes. “You look…nice.”
“Nice?” I scoop up the suit bag, now stuffed with my clothes, and speed to the door, grinning over my shoulder. “Pfftt. I look amazing.”
He shakes his head, allowing a small smile. “You look amazing. Have a good time.”
“I’ll try not to be out too late. And don’t let the kids stay up all night, Si. They have school tomorrow.”
“Like I’m the pushover parent.”
We both know he is, so I just stare at him until his smile broadens to that startling brightness that will snatch your breath if you let it.
“Get outta here,” he says. “I’ll see you at the house.”
The house.
Not home. Not the dream home we worked for and fantasized about for years. Now it’s just the house where the kids and I live. Josiah’s in the same neighborhood, but two streets over. I’m not sure why my thoughts keep revisiting the past tonight when my reflection, my mindset, everything has “future” written all over it.
“Shake it off,” I tell myself, climbing into the car and pulling out of the Grits parking lot. “It’s time to party.”
Chapter Two
Yasmen
It’s Soledad’s birthday,” Hendrix mutters into her Moscow Mule. “You think she’d be eager for some grown-girl time, and yet she’s late.”
“She’s on her way.” I reread the text Soledad sent. “As of twenty minutes ago. She said Lupe’s cheering practice went over, Inez is working on a science project, and Lottie had dance lessons.”
I study Hendrix over the rim of my drink. She has a face as bold as her name, punctuated by sloping cheekbones and an audacious nose, nostrils flared to scent adventure and bullshit. Her dark, arched brows are as quick to pull into a frown as the wide bow of her mouth is to stretch into a smile. She gets shit done and is as driven to help people as she is to succeed. Helping people is, at least in part, how she defines success.
“How are your housewives?” I ask, sipping my French 75, the gin and the twang sloughing the edge off my frayed nerves.
“Girl, a whole-ass handful. The producer had the nerve to call and ask me to keep my clients in check. Bitch, you check ’em. My job was to get them there. Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other before the season ends.”
“Seems like the more drama, the better the ratings, so what’s her problem?”
“Yeah, there’s drama and then there’s…” Hendrix lifts her brows meaningfully. “Their shit. Fistfights, weaves yanked out, tires slashed.”
“Sounds like high school.”
“Or day care, and my degree is in PR, not babysitting. Though, for real, that feels like my job half the time.”
She aims a smile over my shoulder. “Speaking of babies, here comes Mommy-in-Chief now.”
I glance around and spot Soledad climbing the stairs to Sky-Hi’s rooftop. She wears her usual slightly harried expression, but tonight it’s paired with a butt-hugging red dress that screams Work it, girl; it’s your birthday. Her dark eyes search the crowd until she finds us. A blinding smile lights up her pretty face. She’s short and curvy, and springy sable curls bounce around her shoulders, reflecting the energy packed into her petite frame. She waves and crosses quickly over to our table.