Page 14 of Flirting with 40

“That’s beside the point,” she says resolutely as she rises and heads to the kitchen to choose another bottle of wine. “For all you know, Slade was falling massively in love with you. You were going to have a quick, torrid love affair where he made you realize that you were a wildcat in bed, that Paul was more than selfish with giving oral, and that you are a badass at work who is going to get that promotion.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” I say through a laugh as the neck of the bottle clinks against the rim of her wine glass as she refills it.

“And I think a man like Slade is just what you need—a little youthfulness to remind you that you may be divorced but you aren’t dead. A little reminder to you that—oh my god!” she screeches as if she just had the biggest epiphany ever.

“What?”

“Do you know how awesome it would be if he went with you on your company retreat? Some hot, sexy man who all the women would be jealous over? He would make the bitches in your office see you in a new light.”

“Gee. Thanks.” I roll my eyes. “Because, obviously, you have no faith that I can win them over on my own.”

“No, that isn’t what I mean. You know I have faith in you, but women pay attention to men. They’d all be vying for a scrap of his attention while he’s too busy doting on you. Then they’ll wonder what you have that he sees but they don’t, and then”—she throws her hands up—“voilà. They fall in line, and you become the one everyone wants to be.”

“You’re forgetting one very important fact.”

“What’s that? That he has a huge cock—”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. In the whole twenty minutes we talked, we talked about how big his dick was. You really do need help.”

“Can’t blame a girl for thinking large.” She offers me a sarcastic smile. “And that is one very important trait.”

“Well, the fact I was opining on”—I clear my throat—“was that you can make up this whole Blake and Slade fantasy all you want, but it isn’t going to happen.”

“Says who?”

“Says the fact that I left without finding out anything about him other than his name,” I say. “So even if you concocted the most beautiful love story ever, it isn’t going to happen.”

The cogs in her brain seem to click into place as she settles back into her seat. “But if you did—if fate worked in some funny way and you had his phone number—would you call him?”

“Let’s not have you make up fake scenarios and live vicariously through me, hmm?”

“I’m serious.” She gestures dramatically. “If you had his number—no, better yet, if he told you he really wanted to take you to your company retreat, what would your answer be?”

I stare at her and her ludicrous ideas with a dumbfounded look on my face. “I’d say have another glass, er, bottle of wine.”

“The answer is yes. It’s always yes.”

“Whatever.” I wave a hand at her.

“I’m serious. If Slade was standing in front of you right now, the answer would be ‘Yes, please come to my mountain retreat with me. Show everyone else up with your easy charm, nice ass, incredible smile, and huge co—’”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I don’t have to.”

“He could be a serial killer.”

“He isn’t.” She holds her hand up to stop me from asking her how she knows that. “He’s the perfect rebound for you.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“What better way to get over stick-in-the-mud Paul than have a hot, young guy with all kinds of stamina who’d gladly ride you into finding your self-confidence again.”

“Your imagination is tireless.” The wine is hitting me, and my lips are starting to tingle.

“The answer, Blakely, would be yes.”

“You’re insane.”