Page 8 of Flirting with 40

I gulp down the rest of my whiskey as the panic I was fighting back earlier—the good kind of panic because an attractive man was talking to me—morphs into the kind of anxiety that has me wondering what in the hell was I thinking?

Do I look that desperate?

“Christ, Blake,” I mutter as I rise from my stool, flustered and suddenly dying to get out of here before I make more of an ass out of myself than I already have.

There’s no way Slade is interested in a woman like me.

I push some cash across the bar to pay for the drinks.

He has to be waiting for someone.

Then I slide her business card under his drink for him.

Or maybe he has mommy issues.

I glance over my shoulder to where he went one more time, and then I walk out of the bar.

Is it a coward move?

Hell, yes.

But what am I doing thinking a young guy like him would actually be flirting with an older woman like me?

CHAPTER TWO

Slade

I stare at the business card in my hand. The one with the name Hillary on it and tattered edges from where I’ve toyed with its corners while listening to my team’s bullshit rambling.

One had a crazy lady who refused to keep her gown on.

Another got to scrub-in on a heart transplant.

A third got into a tiff with an attending and was put on a genital warts case as retribution.

They are all gripes that come with the territory but are things I miss dearly and can’t wait to get back to.

“What’s up, Henderson? You off in la-la land?”

“Nah. Sorry,” I say as four pairs of eyes turn my way and I drop the useless card into Leigh’s empty water glass, letting the ice cubes darken its edges. “Just thinking how much I miss this”—I flick my hand to the people sitting around the table—“but don’t miss the lack of sleep that comes with it.”

“Fucker,” John mutters but smiles.

“You missed our last bonfire,” Leigh says. “For a man who has nothing to do, you sure seem busy.”

I smile and shrug, too damn stubborn to admit it was too hard to hang with them. Sure, they’re my best friends, but being with them also reminds me of what I’m missing. “My mom’s been in town.”

“Ohhhh,” John says. “Nothing like a little nagging from Momma Henderson to make you antisocial. She still on you about dating all the wrong women? About needing grandchildren?”

“Something like that.” I push the business card farther down into the glass.

“You’ll be at the next one though?” Sarah asks.

“Sure. Yeah.”

“By the way you keep looking at that card, it must be important,” Prisha says and nudges me.

“No. Yes. Not anymore.” I half laugh.