My palms are sweaty, so I wipe them on the sides of my legs.
“I can do it.”
The words come out quickly before I can think them through or stop myself from voicing them out loud, and now that they’re out in the open, there is no taking them back.
Once again, Jessica stops. “What?”
“I can be your fake boyfriend.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JESSICA
“I’m just sayin’…” Mrs. Miller waves her wine glass in the direction of our little group. “That man didn’t grovel nearly enough to justify her forgiving him.”
“Amen to that.” Mrs. Tyson nods decisively, the two of them clinking their glasses together. “After everything he put her through, he should have tried way harder.”
A few more women in our group nod their agreement.
“Remember, ladies”—Mrs. Miller pointedly glances at me and a few other younger members of our book club—“if he ain’t holding you like a drop of water on the top of his hand, he ain’t doing it right.”
“Is that the reason why you keep dumping the men you’re dating, Trish?” Mrs. Santiago asks, chuckling softly.
“I love variety, if you catch my drift.” Mrs. Miller wiggles her brows, smirking like the cat who ate the canary. “Besides, most men are too lazy to put in any real effort these days, and they love to nag. I’m not spending my best days listening to that!”
Her comment has me snorting. I swear there is nobody quite like Mrs. Miller.
“I so want to be her when I grow up,” Savannah whispers while the older ladies continue discussing faults of the men in their lives.
“Right? She’s something else.”
My phone buzzes, drawing my attention. I pull it out, checking the notification just in case it’s work, but instead, I find an unknown number.
My fingers tighten around my phone as my palms turn sweaty with anxiety. Is it Damien? Did he get a new number so he can continue texting me now that I’ve blocked him? I wouldn’t be surprised one bit. He’s petty like that.
Put on your big-girl panties, Jessy, and just get this over with.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I tap the message, blinking to clear my vision when the text pops onto my screen.
Unknown number:
Did you think about it?
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t this.
How the hell does he still have my number? And now he finally decided to use it? After all this time? But why does the idea of it make my heart do a backflip inside my chest?
It’s ridiculous.
Locking my phone, I reach for my glass, draining what little is left inside. The bottle is empty, so I grab it and go toward the front to find a new one.
I worked at Reading Nook all through community college until I got my degree, and I’ve been a part of our book club for just as long, so this place is almost like a second home.
Exchanging the empty bottle for the full one, I grab the cork and open it.
Just then, my phone buzzes again against the counter with another incoming message.
Unknown number:
