“It’s only one night,” I said as we checked our coats.
He pocketed the claim ticket, arching an eyebrow at me. “And you’re so thrilled when my parents drive in.”
“Touché.” But while my dad was conservative, nobody would dare call him stuffy like the Wilsons. I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “You don’t have to come, but I know he’d like to see you.”
“Sure he would,” Bill said. “Where else would he get free legal advice?”
As we navigated through clusters of murmuring theatergoers, I kept a lookout for Lucy. “You’re exaggerating. Dad’s too prideful to ask for free things. Anyway, he has plenty of corporate lawyer friends he can go to.”
“I’m not talking about work, Olivia. I mean his divorce from Gina. Lawyer friends don’t put up with that shit—they charge you for it.”
“Luckily, his divorce is almost finalized anyway,” I pointed out. “And I’m sure if you ever need advice on how to win over girls half your age, he’ll be happy to repay the favor.”
“Half my age? Are you trying to get me locked up?” he asked. “I’d say I’ve got my hands full as it is.”
I turned, reached up to my six-foot-one husband, and pushed a lock of brown hair out of his eyes—while making a mental note to schedule him a haircut.
This time, when he hugged me and ran his hands up the hem of my dress, over my backside, I didn’t stop him. Public foreplay was, at least, one thing we hadn’t tried. Maybe it was what we needed. WhatIneeded. After all, Bill wasn’t the one with an issue, but it wasn’t as if he’d come up with a solution, either. I’d have thought our sex life would be sorted five years into our marriage, but here I was, wondering if getting revved in front of a well-to-do crowd might help bring me to orgasm when nothing else with Bill—or any partner—had worked.
“Oh, there’s Lucy,” Bill said, walking past me. “Did you know Gretchen was coming, too?”
My two best friends stood at the center of a group of men and women. From behind, they looked about as different as their personalities actually were. Gretchen, boosted by spiky heels, stood tall in a revealing pink dress. Her long platinum hair bounced in signature curls as she gestured wildly with everyone’s eyes glued to her.
Next to her, petite Lucy dodged Gretchen’s flailing limbs. She wore a boat-neck black dress, her short chestnut-colored hair fashioned into a perfect chignon as she clasped her hands in front of her.
Lucy’s boyfriend spotted us first. Standing off to the side, wringing a program, Andrew grinned toothily and beckoned us over. “Sorry, Gretch,” he interrupted her mid-sentence. “Everyone, this is Bill and Liv Wilson.”
I shook hands with one of Andrew’s associates. Since I’d never officially taken Bill’s last name, I was still technically OliviaGermaine, but I didn’t bother correcting Andrew.
“Liv is Lucy’s other best friend,” Andrew said. “They met in college.”
“Now I’m theotherbest friend?” I joked. I’d only introduced Lucy, my college roommate, to Gretchen, who’d befriended me my first day at a new elementary school. We’d stuck the same magazine tear-out of Andrew Keegan in the plastic covers of our respective binders while everyone else in our class fawned over Jonathan Taylor Thomas.
Lucy showed me her YSL pumps. “Look, we’re the same height tonight.”
“I don’t know, shrimp,” Bill said. “Liv’s still got some inches on you.”
She scowled playfully. “I’m glad you guys are here, by the way. To celebrate the tax season ending, Andrew’s boss practically bought out the theater for clients, accountants, and the rest of the staff. Plus, I know Liv has been wanting to see this.”
“Have you?” Bill looked down at me. “I would’ve brought you if I’d known.”
“We’ve been busy,” I said. Bill spent more time at the office than at home lately, but I regularly worked eight-to-ten-hour days, too, so I couldn’t complain.
“Anyway,” Gretchen said, picking up whatever story we’d interrupted, “the plane lands, and I rush to the station, barely making the train. Since it’s now one in the morning and I’ve been traveling for fourteen hours, I immediately pass out. When I wake up, the stewardess says, ‘Welcome toChile.’”
“Chile?” one of the women cried.
“I’d gotten on the wrong train, slept through the entire ride, and ended up in Santiago.”
I politely joined in everyone’s laughter, though I’d heard the story of her travel blunder twice before.
“To make matters worse,” Gretchen continued, “it was fifty-something degrees outside, and I was wearing shorts and a tank top.”
The man next to me guffawed. He was the only one who’d been introduced without a partner—Gretchen’s lure was cast. “What do you do that you can take off to Chile whenever you like?” he asked.
She turned her megawatt smile on him. “I’m in entertainment PR.”
“Hook, line, and sinker,” Bill muttered, reading my mind. When I giggled, Gretchen shot us a dirty look, her blue eyes as playful as they were piercing. I couldn’t blame the man for falling under her spell.
