Page 9 of Flirting with 40

“A woman?” Her smile is wide, and her eyes glint with amusement.

“It’s always a woman when it comes to Henderson,” John says with a quick smirk and a shake of his head.

My mind flashes back to last night. To the green eyes peppered with temper and a full mouth not afraid to speak her mind. To a pair of sexy heels and long legs that I’m sure were even more impressive when she stood. To a woman who was stunning in a classic, sophisticated way that intrigued me. She was confidence laced with insecurity, defiance edged by doubt, and a captivating nature that shined through every so often when she let her guard down and forgot she was supposed to be angry.

“A woman? What woman?” Leigh adds.

“You actually have time to have a healthy relationship and then you went and turned down whatever offer came with that card?” Prisha asks. “Or did you get stood up?”

“My man here does not get stood up,” John says, having my back, in a conversation about me they obviously are fine having completely without my participation. “We all know better than that.”

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Prisha asks, but before I can respond, she turns to the rest of our friends. “He was stood up.”

“Definitely,” Leigh chimes in as if I’m not sitting between them. “He never sulks and he’s definitely sulking.”

“Since when do I get dumped?” I say and throw my hands up with a shrug, but the phone call I made earlier proved I’d been wrong-numbered.

“Hello?” the female voice came through the line as I looked around the diner, waiting for everyone to show up.

“Hi. I’m not sure who I should be asking for.” I chuckled. “You said your name was Blakely, but your card says it’s Hillary. Was this one of those situations where you gave me the wrong name until you were sure you actually liked me?”

“Blakely? I’m not sure who that is,” she said, the confusion in her voice about as clear as my own confusion. “This is Hillary with Edge Pharmaceuticals, can I help you?”

“The other night. You were drinking whiskey. I asked you about it?” I said to the silence on the other end of the connection. “The mountain retreat with your work. Your jerk of an ex-husband. All of that?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t—”

“The Bitter End?”

“Oh my god. You. You were the one with the dark hair, black shirt.”

Hallelujah.

“Yes. That was me.”

“I can’t believe she actually gave you my card.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I was too shy to approach you and let you know I was interested. I had on the pink dress and was sitting at the end of the bar? I gave the woman you were sitting with—your mom or sister or whoever—my card to give to you.”

My hand stopped my beer when it was halfway to my mouth.

My mom or sister or whoever. What the hell?

“Wait. So you’re telling me that we didn’t meet?”

“No. I was too shy to hand it to you myself.” Her laugh was throaty, sexy, and nothing like the shy woman she was claiming to be . . . and yet, I remembered her. The stunning brunette at the bar. The come-fuck-me eyes she kept trying to catch me with.

This woman was not shy.

No. She was trying to cut down any competition. Fucking females.

“Are you there?” she asked.

I didn’t have time for games.

“Thanks. I thought you were someone else.”