“I wasn’t doing anything,” he said.
“Yes, you were.”
His hand moved under the covers, finding my hip, then disappearing, then reappearing.
He shot up in bed, then ran to the lights.
“Uh, Stella,” he said as we all blinked to adjust to the light.
Now his girlfriend sat up, flashing her boobs before pulling up the covers. My eyes hadn’t completely adjusted, but she looked disturbingly young.
The lump in my throat made it difficult to form words. The pounding in my ears made his voice seem far, far away. Even so, some survival instinct deep, deep within knew I had to play this situation carefully. I shocked myself by saying, “And to think, I’ve always wanted to have a ménage à trois. The least you could’ve done was invite me.”
Bolstered by the words, I slid slowly from the bed, dressed only in what dignity I could muster. Posture straight, steps slow despite the racing of my heart, I sauntered over to Ken and paused. Despite my supposedly advanced age, at least one part of him was happy to see me.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Stella, this is Eloise. Eloise, Stella.”
“Can’t quite say it’s a pleasure, Eloise.”
Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing other than a squeak emerged.
Now that I was standing in front of him and had adjusted to my new normal, I understood Ken perfectly when he said, rather hopefully, “Ménage à trois, you say?”
I glared at him. “I think we need to have a chat tomorrow.”
Ken sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. As my posture improved, his worsened. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Head held high, I walked out of the bedroom and gathered up my clothes from the hall floor.
Only when I was sitting in my car, waiting for tears to come, did I realize I’d also picked up the bottle of champagne. I couldn’t seem to find any tears, but condensation from the warming bottle did the job for me.
Chapter 2
Thus, on the second-worst day of my life, I shuffled, zombielike, into Finnegan’s Pub for a second time and plopped a lukewarm bottle of champagne on the bar.
“Uh, this isn’t a BYOB sort of place,” said the bartender.
Oh yeah. I liked her. Free glass of wine earlier. Spiky hair that was aspirational. Only, she might not be my friend, based on the expression on her face.
I couldn’t find the words, and her scowl faded into a concerned frown. “I can tell you’re not the same woman who came in here about an hour ago. How about I take this bottle and chill it for you? Maybe get you something stronger while you wait.”
I nodded.
“Vodka?” she asked as she placed a cocktail napkin in front of me.
I shook my head.
“Rum?”
Shook my head to that one, too.
“Bourbon?”
At my nod, she turned her back to me, and I clasped the bar to steady myself. Sound and light were both a blur. I couldn’t be sure how I’d managed to drive back to the square or even why. Nor did I know where my car was. Where had I parked it? Would my heart ever leave my throat? If it was in my throat, then what was banging around in my rib cage?
“Come back to add insult to injury?”
