warm air into her hands and rubbing them together. “It’s the only solution.”
Bethany’s mouth curved into a smile. “Fair warning, ladies. I don’t do any half-assed girls’ nights out. If we’re doing this, we’re swinging for the fucking fences.”
Her sister whooped.
“Manhattan, here we come,” Bethany murmured, eyes sparkling.
A fire built in Rosie’s belly as she listened to Bethany formulate plans. How long had it been since she’d really cut loose? Tonight she’d make up for lost time.
Dominic had just ordered his second beer when Travis and Stephen walked in looking like someone had pissed in their Cheerios.
“Whatever it is,” Dominic said, taking a pull from his fresh Heineken, “I don’t want to know.”
Travis snorted and kicked out a stool, signaling the bartender as he sat down. “Shot, please. Whiskey.”
“One for me, too,” Stephen said, choosing to pace instead of sit down. “Make it a double.”
That gave Dominic pause. Stephen’s idea of partying was adding a second scoop of protein powder to his morning smoothie. His wife, Kristin, ran a tight ship, and since Stephen was trying to prove he was wholesome-family-man enough for her to start popping out babies, he didn’t drink beyond the casual beer. Whiskey meant the world was falling down.
Dominic knew a thing or two about that. He’d gotten shit-faced after the impromptu therapy appointment that had ended in disaster—and he was well on his way there again tonight. Every minute he spent sober, he replayed the moment Armie had told them his marriage to Rosie wouldn’t work. That it was really over. Deep in his bones, he knew that was impossible. But he had no goddamn clue how to prove that to his wife. Worse, if he could go back in time and relive that therapy appointment, he still wasn’t sure he’d come clean about the house. So there he sat. Flawed beyond belief and missing his wife like hell.
The bartender set down two shot glasses and sloshed whiskey into them from a pour spout, taking the twenty-dollar bill Travis slid across the bar. Travis tossed his back, the ex–professional baseball player swiping a hand across his mouth.
“You want to know,” Travis said.
“No, I don’t.”
Stephen leaned against the bar, holding his semi-full shot glass.
“Let me paint the scene for you,” Travis continued.
Dominic frowned. “Are you sipping that shot, Stephen?”
“I like to savor the taste.” To drive his words home, he took another dainty sip, visibly trying not to gag. “S’good.”
“Jesus, man. Just order a Coke.”
“A soda won’t erase the memory of my wife in ice-pick heels and a miniskirt trotting off down the driveway.”
“Christ. I knew this was woman-related.” Dominic eased back from the bar. “Look, I’ve got my own problems.”
“Yeah, you do.” Travis leaned an elbow on the bar and faced Dominic. “Again, let me paint the scene for you. I’m standing in my kitchen, minding my own business. Georgie is in the bedroom and I’m getting ready to . . . you know, go see her there—”
Stephen dragged his hands down his face. “That can’t be relevant to the story, you asshole.”
“It is.” Travis seemed to be fighting back a smile. “I was carrying her a glass of wine to the bedroom—our bedroom, Stephen—when she comes out . . .” His skin paled and he seemed to be having a hard time swallowing. “She’s in this dress I’ve never seen. It’s pure white. White.” He got off the stool and turned, looking back at Dominic and Stephen over his shoulder, one hand indicating his ass. “I could see the shadow between her—”
“Enough.” Stephen held out a stern finger. “Don’t say another word.”
“I’ve never seen those shoes, either,” Travis muttered, sitting back down and burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Dominic split a look between his friends, a growing sense of doom starting to mount in his chest. “Okay, so both of your women are dressed up. Where are they going?”
“Out,” Travis and Stephen stage-whispered, twin looks of horror on their faces. “Bethany showed up to both of our houses hanging out of the top of a limousine, drinking champagne straight from the bottle.”
The door to Grumpy Tom’s flew open and Wes walked in, tipped his cowboy hat to the bartender, and ordered a Budweiser. When he saw Dominic, Travis, and Stephen gathered at the bar, he nodded a greeting and made his way over. “You three look like your mamas told you to stop playing video games and take out the garbage.”
Travis slumped back on his stool. “Worse. Our