time. Plus she was smart and fun and cool. Perfect wife material. If she weren’t my best friend, I might have been jealous of her.
“One problem,” I said. “Haven’t you kind of dated everyone around here who’s even an option?”
There were only so many men in Cape Carolina.
“Yeah,” she said. “But I figure every eligible bachelor from Raleigh east will be here at some point this summer. So my plan is basically to work even less than normal and spend every spare moment man hunting.” She ran her hand through her ponytail. “I’ll need a sidekick.”
I laughed, even though my brain had moved on to my to-do list for the day: Check with marketing to see if the banners are ready for the Design Influencers Conference. Schedule a lunch with the CFO of Glitter. Whittle my unread e-mails to below 250. Sign Wagner up for basketball camp. Send last month’s profit-and-loss statements to my attorney. I lifted my stainless water bottle and clinked it with Marcy’s. “To husband hunting,” I said. “But just so you know,” I added, “husband hunting for me is the last thing I ever want to do again.”
We turned as we reached the row of brightly colored houses that was our halfway point.
I had heard—especially from my sister, Quinn—that I should stick my marriage out so Wagner could have as normal a life as possible. The problem is, when your husband walks out that door, there’s not one thing you can do about it. Greg was fully immersed in the pleasure zone that was Brooke. I probably should have paid more attention earlier, but when you’re growing a media empire and trying to be supermom, it’s easy to become caught up in your path to success.
“It’s a good thing you’ve stayed hot,” Marcy said, getting me out of my thoughts.
I looked at her doubtfully.
As we reached the pool deck again, Marcy refilled our water bottles from one of the large coolers all around the pool while I spread towels on a pair of matching teak loungers for us, folding my cover-up neatly at the bottom of mine. Returning from the cooler, Marcy raised her eyebrows and pointed toward my bathing suit bottoms. “What is that?”
I shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“What’s with the high-waisted bikini bottom? You hate those.”
“Yeah… but they’re in, right?” She looked at me skeptically, and I laughed. “Okay. You caught me.” I looked around and then whispered, “It covers my ringworm.”
Marcy’s mouth hung open. “Ew. Ew. And again, ew.”
“Wagner found a stray puppy that ended up belonging to one of our neighbors. We gave him back, but not before he gave Wagner ringworm. And Wagner gave it to me.”
“Oh my word. I’m rethinking having kids.”
I nodded. “Yup. They’re vile little beings. He’s lucky he’s cute.” I felt a lump forming in my throat. I cleared it to keep myself from crying. How was I possibly going to make it three weeks without him?
“Are you sure that’s what it is?”
I smiled. “I was certain I had some late-onset STD from Greg, so I ran directly to the doctor. He was pretty amused by the whole thing.”
“I guess that would have been worse,” Marcy said. “But just barely,” she added under her breath.
I couldn’t help but smile as I caught a glimpse of Andrew, who was opening the gate, out of the corner of my eye. He was even cuter than he’d been earlier, if that was possible, with a line of sweat around his slightly wavy brown hair. I tried to ignore my racing heart as he approached.
“It’s just a drink,” he said, shrugging. “That’s all I’m asking.”
I adjusted my ponytail. “You’re sweet, Andrew, but I’m really trying not to be that stereotypical divorcée.”
He grinned. “So you won’t go out with me because of your reputation, but you still think I’m a fox?” He flashed that dimple at me. “Okay, how about this? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Yeah, Gray,” Marcy chimed in, clearly amused. “Just give him a chance.”
I shot her a warning look.
“Fine. One drink. Next week. But you may not take me anywhere even decently nice where I would know a single person.”
He laughed. “Oh, believe me, I know just the place.”
When he was out of earshot, Marcy clapped approvingly. “Why would you throw all that hotness at some eighteen-year-old who’s too drunk to even appreciate those sexy diagonal ab lines peeking over his shorts?”
“He had his shirt on, Marcy.”
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Yeah, but you