Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,22

I can’t afford to lose her. “How can I make it up to you?” I know it’s better to pay my penance now than to have her mad at me for the next month.

Turning her gaze back to me, her face is glowing, as she smiles from ear to ear. “Come to the church picnic with me next week.”

What a player.

She was just waiting for me to fall into her traps so she could con me into a church activity.

“Not the church picnic! Anything besides that. Please,” I beg. The only thing worse would’ve been her bi-weekly prayer meeting. So I add, “except prayer meeting. I’m not doing that again.”

“You would deny a pregnant woman this one simple wish?” she asks, an eyebrow going up to her hairline. “You just asked how you can make things up to me and that’s my answer—church picnic.” Her arms cross over her belly again and her face goes rigid.

Damn, she’s good.

“Fine.”

She squeals and hugs me so tightly that I’m afraid I’m going to throw up all over her pretty pink dress.

“Okay,” she says, standing up, “So, I’ll save you a seat at church.” She barely makes it out of my bedroom, before she pops her head back in. “Your mama will love to see you there.”

I roll my eyes and feel it in the back of my head… my still pounding head.

I said I’d go to the church picnic, but not church. The last time I beckoned the doors, I ran smack dab into Asher and Mindy. I barely made it through the sermon, anxiously twitching the entire time, kind of hoping God would smite them on the third pew in front of the entire congregation.

When the final amen was said, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

The next day, I let the air out of Asher’s tires.

That’s one thing I didn’t get caught doing… and didn’t go to jail for.

I feel like God knew I deserved that one and gave me a pass.

“Oh, and wear that green dress,” she yells back, as she’s heading out the front door. “It really makes your eyes pop!”

Even though it kills my head, I roll those eyes, because why do I need them to pop? Who are my eyes popping for these days? No one.

She and my mama have this crazy notion that my divorce is a phase. Asher is going to come to his senses and realize the error of his ways and I’m going to take him back and we’re going to fix this, as my mama would say.

I hate to break it to them, but that is not happening.

As angry as I am about the demise of my marriage and all of my hopes and dreams that went down the drain with it, I know me. I’m loyal to a fault and I thought Asher was too, that’s what made our marriage work. I trusted him. He’d been my boyfriend since I was sixteen. He was the only man I’ve ever been with. When I walked in that morning and found him in bed… my bed… with Mindy, everything changed.

I can’t say I immediately fell out of love with him. I don’t even know if that’s possible. Logically, I know there is a fine line between love and hate. A professional might say all of my actions lately have been misplaced feelings, lines getting blurred. Since I can’t love Asher anymore, I channel those emotions into other… things… like driving a truck into a pond and burning clothes and yelling at windows in the middle of the night.

Maybe Judge Carson’s punishment of anger management isn’t the worst idea. Someone to talk to, who isn’t closely connected to my life, would be nice. I really do need to get a grip and get on with my life. I might no longer have a husband or a vehicle, and soon, I won’t have this house, but I still have myself and my job, which I love, and my family. They may be pushy and overbearing, but they mean well.

Looking down, I take inventory of myself since last night is a big drunken, fuzzy blur. My shoes are off, but other than that, my clothes are still intact, which is always good after a night at the bar. I scan back in my memory, trying to piece the previous night together.

There was tequila.

And a few margaritas.

And singing.

And dancing… on the bar.

How did I get back here?

It physically hurts my brain to try and recollect the