The Mistake (Bad Bridesmaids #1) - Noelle Adams Page 0,26
Serena and Ri were shocked and thrilled by that revelation. It took a couple of minutes for them to process it and subdue their gasps and giggles.
Amanda gave them a minute to get themselves under control. “It was just a random thing. I mean, it was good. Really good. But we both knew it wasn’t anything more. And I’m definitely not blah about it now. I enjoyed it. But it’s over.”
“But that’s the reason you haven’t been interested in other guys lately?” Serena asked.
“I guess so. But it’s not because I want Robert. It’s just because the sex was really fantastic. And I can’t imagine any of the guys who asked me out giving me that much in bed. Plus I really just don’t have the energy. I don’t have a thing for Robert Castleman.”
There. That was the truth.
Her friends didn’t look convinced.
THAT EVENING, ROBERT sat in his favorite leather chair, drinking scotch as he half watched the news on a cable network and half read news on his phone.
He always worked late, often not getting home until seven or eight in the evening. Lately that had been his favorite way of relaxing afterward, grumbling to himself about politics and world events and doing everything he could not to let his mind wander down dangerous avenues.
Today was Saturday, but he’d gone into work anyway since he didn’t have anything else that needed doing. He’d gotten takeout for dinner on his way home. Now it was eight o’clock. The news was bad, but the scotch was good, so things could have been worse.
He was mentally arguing with the commentator on cable when his phone buzzed with a text. It was Taylor, which surprised him since she only texted if there was something to say.
I’m outside. Dad and Martha sent over some cake. You there?
Arching his eyebrows, he texted her to come on in and then got up to unlock the door.
She was walking up the porch steps when he opened the door for her. She gave him a quick once-over and frowned. “You weren’t in bed, were you?”
“You think I go to bed at eight o’clock?”
“Not really. But you’re in your pj’s, so I just asked.”
He scowled at his niece as he stepped aside to let her in. He was wearing a pair of blue flannel pants and a T-shirt. He wouldn’t call them pj’s. “I changed clothes when I got home since I wasn’t planning to go out. Are you telling me you don’t do the same thing?”
“Yes, I do the same thing.” Taylor was scowling back at him, but it was a normal expression for her, so he wasn’t worried. “But I didn’t think you would on a Saturday night.”
He normally wouldn’t. Normally he’d be out on a date right now, but he hadn’t asked anyone out for nearly two months.
He wasn’t foolish enough to say that, however. He just gave her a lofty look as she walked through the living room and dining room into the kitchen where she set the container of cake on the counter.
“Why did they send me cake?” he asked, pulling up the lid to investigate. It looked good. About a quarter of some sort of spice cake.
“Martha made it, and they had a bunch extra,” Taylor explained, reaching into the refrigerator to help herself to a bottle of the expensive sparkling water he liked. Martha was his brother’s second wife. “And I think she and Dad are worried about you.”
Robert was afraid of that. “Why are they worried?” He knew why, but he pretended not to because that was what he always did.
“You know why. You’ve been holed up here for weeks now, not going out or anything.”
“I haven’t been holed up. I go to work every day. I do errands. I do everything I need to do.”
“But you haven’t dated. You always date, and you haven’t for ages now.”
“Not ages. A few weeks.”
“More than a few weeks. It’s been lots of weeks. They’re worried.”
“They shouldn’t be. Dating isn’t a necessary requirement for a healthy life.”
“I know that.” She looked faintly annoyed with him, but that was a normal expression for her too. “But your habits have changed. Significantly. And when our habits change, people who love us worry. If I stopped being a bad-natured hermit and started smiling and giggling all the time, people would worry about me. And when you stop dating, people worry about you. This can’t surprise you.”
Of course it didn’t surprise him. He’d just been vaguely hoping it